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MACMILLAN'S 


VOL.  LII. 

MAY  1885,  TO  OCTOBER  1885. 


MACMILLAN    AND   CO. 

29  &  30,  BEDFORD  STREET,  CO  VENT  GARDEN  ;  AND 

|W0  fork. 

1885. 


W  .  J  .  L  I  M  T  O  : 


The  Right  of  Translation  and  1,'eprodvction  'is  Reserved. 


RICHARD  CLAY  AND  SONS, 

BREAD  STREET  HILL,  LONDON,  Z.C. 

and  Bungay,  Suffolk. 


CONTENTS. 


PAGS 

Australian  Appeal  to  the  English  Democracy,  An.     By  BERNHARD  WISE 161 

Baths  of  Casciana  in  July,  The.     By  JANET  Ross 354 

Bruno,  Was  Giordano,  really  Burned  ?    By  RICHARD  COPLEY  CHRISTIE 435 

Canadian  Loyalty.     By  ROSWELL  FISHER 26 

Commonplaces  on  the  Commonplace 272 

Court  Painters,  A  Prince  of.     By  WALTER  PATER 401 

Day  Schools  and  Boarding  Schools,  A  Few  Last  Words  on 64 

Drink  in  England,  The  Question  of.     By  R.  E.  MACNAGHTEN 348 

Dymond,  Mrs.     By  MRS.  RITCHIE  : — 

Chapters    IX.— xn 1 

,,       xiii.— xv 81 

,,        xvi.— xix 173 

„         xx. — xxin 241 

,,     xxiv. — xxvi 321 

,,    xxvii.— xxxi 455 

Educational  Endowments,  Scotch  and  English.     By  PROFESSOR  G.  G.  RAMSAY  ...      35 

French  Views  on  English  Writers.     By  M.  A.  W 16 

Inland  Duties  and  Taxation 392 

International  Co-operation  in  Scandinavia 199 

Landes,  A  Walking  Tour  in  the  : — 

1 221 

II 280 

Local  Government  in  Ireland,  The  Extension  of.     By  PHILO-CELT 446 

Local  University  Colleges 361 

Macaulay  and  Sir  Elijah  Impey 422 

"Maritis  the  Epicurean."     By  M.  A.  W 132 

Marlborough.     By  A.  G.  BRADLEY 188 

Modest  Means,  A  Hint  to  People  with.     By  CHARLES  H.  PEARSON 112 

Mommsen's  New  Volume.     By  WILLIAM  T.  ARNOLD 140 

Montevideo  to  Paraguay,  From : — 

1 96 

II.  .    204 


• 


vi  Contents. 


PAG?: 


National  Gallery  at  Amsterdam,  The  New 383 

Political  History,  A  Chapter  of.     By  J.  T.  B 314 

Review  .of  the  Month  : — 

May 71 

June 153 

July 232 

Rhodian  Society.     By  J.  THEODORE  BENT •  .    .    .    .  297 

Riel  Rebellion,  The,  in  North- West  Canada.     By  R.  MACKRAY 254 

Rural  Roads 371 

Songs,  Popular,  of  the  Scottish  Highlanders.     By  JOHN  STTJART  BLACKIE 304 

Station,  At  the,  on  an  Autumn  Morning.     By  H.  COURTHOPE  BOWEN 68 

Swiss  Village,  Notes  in  a.     By  MURROUGH  O'BRIEN 415 

Tarentum.     By  JANET  Ross 473 

Thrush,  The,  in  February.     By  GEORGE  MEREDITH 265 

Trouting,  Continental.     By  A.  G.  BRADLEY 441 

Unexplained.     By  MRS.  MOLESWORTH  : — 

1 49 

II 119 

Windward  Islands,  The 333 


10 


ARNOLD,  WILLIAM  T. 
BENT,  J.  THEODORE. 
BLACKIE,  JOHN  STUART. 
BOWEN,  H.  COURTHOPE. 
BRADLEY,  A.  G. 
CHRISTIE,  RICHARD  COPLEY. 
FISHER,  ROSWELL. 
MACNAGHTEN,  R.  E. 
MACKRAY,  R. 
MEREDITH,  GEORGE. 
MOLESWORTH,  MRS. 
O'BRIEN,  MURROUGH. 
PATER,  WALTER. 
PEARSON,  CHARLES  H. 
RAMSAY,  G.  G. 
RITCHIE,  MRS. 
ROSS,  JANET. 
WISE,  BERNHARD: 


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MACMILLAN'S    MAGAZINE. 

MAY,  1885. 


MRS.  DYMOND. 


CHAPTER  IX. 
JOSSELIN'S  STEPMOTHER. 

IT  was  not  in  Susanna's  nature  to  dwell 
upon  vague  and  melancholy  sugges- 
tions. With  the  morning  came  a 
hopeful  aspect  of  things,  a  burst  of 
sunshine  and  youthful  spirits.  Crow- 
beck,  notwithstanding  the  heavy 
cornices  and  hangings,  began  to  look 
more  homelike.  The  new  mistress  of 
the  Place  was  down  betimes ;  her 
presence  seemed  already  to  brighten 
everything.  She  went  out  into  the 
garden  for  a  few  minutes  before  break- 
fast ;  as  she  stood  on  the  lawn  in  her 
fresh  morning  dress  the  light  seemed 
to  set  her  hair  aflame.  The  hills  across 
the  water  seemed  to  be  touched  with 
some  gentle  mood  of  rainbow  light. 
The  green  slopes  beyond  the  lake  were 
green,  soft,  silent  as  the  sward  on 
which  she  stood.  George  Tyson  and 
his  father  came  striding  up  from  the 
boat-house  across  the  dewy  fields, 
trudging  upon  daisy-flowers  with  their 
heavy,  hobnailed  boots ;  the  little 
calves  ran  to  meet  them  with  play- 
ful starts  and  caresses.  Jock,  the 
sheep  dog,  leapt  a  fence  and  darted  off 
after  some  imaginary  sheep.  Then 
came  Jo,  advancing  from  beyond  the 
trees,  with  his  rod  and  with  fish  in  his 
basket. 

"  Good  morning,"  said  Jo.  "  Look 
here,  I  caught  all  these  up  by  my 

No.  307. — VOL.  LI i. 


uncle's  boat-house  this  morning. 
Tempy  was  out ;  she  seems  all  right 
again.  Aunt  Fanny  is  always  making 
scares  about  nothing  at  all." 

Susy  longed  to  ask  more  about 
Tempy  and  Aunt  Fanny  and  life  at 
Bolsover,  but  she  found  it  difficult  to 
frame  her  questions.  Jo  also  seemed 
anxious  to  explain  and  yet  reluctant 
to  speak ;  he,  too,  had  something  on 
his  mind. 

"  I  am  afraid  your  sister  is  very 
unhappy,"  said  Susanna  at  last. 

"They  are  both  very  unhappy," 
said  Jo ;  then,  with  a  heroic  effort, 
for  he  did  not  like  to  hurt  his  pretty, 
shy  stepmother,  who  seemed  to  him 
very  gentle  and  only  anxious  to 
do  for  the  best,  notwithstanding  all 
family  warnings  and  ominous  sug- 
gestions to  the  contrary.  "  I  think," 
said  Jo,  turning  red  and  looking  into 
his  basket,  "  if  you  had  known  more 
of  Charlie  you  would  have  advised 
my  father  differently." 

"I!"  said  Susy.  "I  never " 

then  she  stopped  short.  She  was  a 
new-made  wife  and  not  yet  used  to 
her  position,  was  it  for  her  to  disclaim 
all  responsibility  in  her  husband's 
actions?  What  did  wives  do  under 
such  circumstances  1  Susy,  in  her 
perplexity,  fell  back  upon  another 
question.  "  What  has  your  cousin 
done  to  trouble  your  father  so  much  ?" 
she  asked,  also  with  eyes  cast  down. 

"He    has    been   a   fool,"    said   Jo. 


Mrs.  Dymond. 


11  He  has  spent  his  own  money,  and 
he  once  got  me  to  back  a  lame  horse 
— papa  never  could  forgive  that.  I 
think  this  is  about  the  worst,  except 
that  row  at  Oxford,  when  Charlie  was 
caught  and  the  others  got  off ;  and 
— and  I'm  afraid  there  was  something 
else  in  London,"  added  Jo.  "  Papa  tells 
me  he  was  seen  drinking,  but  Charlie 
was  so  cut  up,  poor  fellow,  he  hardly 
knew  what  he  was  about." 

"  One  can't  wonder  at  your  father's 
anxiety,"  said  Mrs.  Dymond  gravely. 
"  I  saw  your  cousin  for  a  moment  in 
London.  I  felt  very  sorry  for  him." 

Somehow,  as  Jo  talked  on,  little  by 
little  she  began  to  find  her  sympathies 
enlisted  on  Charlie's  side.  "  Poor 
fellow  !  "  she  said  pityingly,  forgetting 
her  own  determination  to  blame. 

"There  goes  Hicks;  papa  has  done 
his  business.  I  must  get  ready  for 
breakfast,"  cries  Josselin,  abruptly 
disappearing  as  the  bailiff  issued  from 
the  study  window.  The  Colonel  fol- 
lowed. 

"  Mr.  Hicks,  I  want  to  introduce 
you  to  my  wife,"  said  Colonel  Dymond, 
seeing  Susanna  there ;  and  Mr.  Hicks, 
a  friendly,  brown,  tattered  man,  who 
seemed  bailiff  to  many  winds  and 
storms  and  moors,  made  a  clumsy, 
smiling  salutation  to  the  smiling, 
graceful  young  lady. 

The  new  family  breakfasted  as  they 
had  dined,  in  a  triangle  at  the  round 
table. 

Susy  poured  out  tea  from  behind 
the  old-fashioned  silver  urn.  The 
colonel  looked  round,  satisfied,  dis- 
satisfied. 

"The  place  seems  empty  without 
Tempy,"  said  he.  ".You  saw  her 
this  morning,  Jo ;  when  is  your  sister 
coming  back?" 

Jo  didn't  answer ;  he  was  not  at 
ease  with  his  father. 

"  I  am  afraid,  from  what  Jo  tells 
me,  that  she  is  very  unhappy  indeed," 
said  Susy,  blushing  up  ;  "  that  is  why 
she  keeps  away.  She  cannot  bear  to — 
to  differ  from  you.  John,  don't  you 


think — do  you  really  think — there  is 
no  hope  at  all  for  them?  Is  it  pos- 
sible," she  continued  bravely,  "that 
we  may  have  done  your  nephew  in- 
justice ?  Boys  are  thoughtless  and 
inexperienced,  but  Charles  Bolsover 
seems  to  feel  everything  very  deeply, 
and  sincerely  to  love  Tempy  very, 
very  much." 

"  My  dear  Susanna,  my  dear  wo- 
man," said  the  colonel  gravely,  putting 
down  his  paper  and  looking  fixedly  at 
her,  "pray  do  not  let  me  hear  you 
speak  in  this  way  again.  Josselin," 
with  a  stern  glance  at  his  son,  "has 
no  doubt  influenced  you.  Do  you  sup- 
pose he  cares  more  than  I  do  for  his 
sister's  ultimate  happiness  ?  It  is  no 
kindness  on  his  part  or  on  yours  to 
interfere — to  urge  me  to  consent  to 
Tempy's  life-long  misery.  My  duty 
as  a  father,  and  as  head  of  the  family, 
is  to  decide  upon  what  seems  to  me 
best  and  right  for  my  children  and  for 
their  good.  Do  you  know  that  this 
fellow  is  a  gambler,  a  drunkard  ?  He 
was  seen  drunk  in  a  public  eating- 
house  in  London  the  very  night  he 
had  asked  me  for  my  child  in  mar- 
riage. Tempy's  husband  must  be  a 
good,  true  man  she  can  look  up  to 
— a  trustworthy,  upright  man,  who 
will  love  her  and  make  her  happy 
and  respected.  You,  Susy,  know  but 
too  well  the  suffering  that  a  man 
with  a  low  standard  of  honour  can 
inflict  upon  a  high-minded  lady." 
(Susy  turned  crimson ;  she  could  not 
answer.)  "  We  all  have  to  face  the 
truth  and  to  act  for  the  best,"  said 
the  colonel.  "  I  am  sorry  to  speak 
of  my  own  nephew  so  harshly,  but  I 
look  upon  Charles  as  an  adventurer 
and  not  uninfluenced  by  mercenary 
motives.  Why  should  I  refuse  my 
consent  if  I  trusted  him,  or  believed 
him  in  the  least  worthy  of  Tempy  1 

"  Papa,"  cried  Jo,  hotly,  "  indeed 
you  are  unjust  to  poor  Charlie.  He 
is  desperately  in  love ;  he  has  been 
silly  ;  he  has  no  interested  motives." 

"  I  beg  you  will  drop  the  subject, 
Jo,"  said  the  colonel,  testily.  "  It  is 


Mrs.  Dymond. 


not  your  affair,  it  is  mine  and  Tempy's. 
Charles  Bolsover  is  penniless,  except 
for  what  the  Bolsovers  may  be  able  to 
do  for  him.  Tempy  is  rich,  as  girls 
go.  Even  without  your  share  of  my 
property,  the  interest  of  your  poor 
mother's  money  now  amounts  to  a 
considerable  sum,  and,  by  the  way," 
said  the  colonel,  glad  to  change  the 
subject,  "I  shall  have  to  get  you 
to  help  me,  Jo,  as  soon  as  you  are 
of  age,  to  make  a  provision  for  Susy 
here,  who  hasn't  any  expectations 
or  settlements,"  said  the  colonel,  smil- 
ing and  softening,  "and  who  would 
be  poorly  left  if  anything  happened 
to  me."  The  colonel,  as  elderly  people 
are  apt  to  do,  rather  enjoyed  discussing 
such  eventualities ;  neither  Susy  nor 
Jo  found  any  pleasure  in  the  conver- 
sation. 

"  Tempy  doesn't  want  to  be  rich 
any  more  than  I  do ;  she  only  wants 
to  marry  Charlie,"  grunts  Jo,  awk- 
wardly, getting  up  and  preparing  to 
leave  the  room. 

And  Susy  meanwhile  sat  silent, 
looking  at  the  walls  of  the  room,  at 
the  Landseer  stags,  the  showy  Italian 
daubs,  the  print  of  the  passing  of  the 
Reform  Bill,  with  all  our  present  Nestors 
and  Ulysses  as  spruce  young  men  in 
strapped  trousers ;  then  she  slowly 
turned  her  eyes  upon  her  husband,  as 
he  stood  with  his  back  to  the  chimney, 
erect  and  martial  even  in  retreat. 
Colonel  Dymond  was  making  believe 
to  read  the  paper  which  had  just  come, 
in  reality  greatly  agitated  though  he 
looked  so  calm. 

He  was  one  of  those  people  who, 
having  once  made  up  their  minds, 
never  see  any  great  reasons  to  alter 
them  unless  some  stronger  will  en- 
forces the  change.  When  Susy  looked 
up  with  tears  in  her  eyes,  all  troubled 
by  his  severe  tone,  her  sweet,  anxious, 
shy  look  seemed  to  absolve  him,  and  it 
won  his  forgiveness,  only  Susy  could 
not  quite  forgive  herself. 

John  Dymond  was  a  weak  man, 
kind-hearted,  hot-headed,  honourable, 
and  both  obstinate  and  credulous,  and 


created  to  be  ruled.  For  some  years 
after  his  first  wife's  death  he  had  con- 
stituted Aunt  Fanny  into  a  sort  of 
directress — her  unhesitating  assump- 
tion suited  some1  want  in  his  nature 
at  the  time — perhaps  of  late  he  had 
changed  in  this  respect.  It  most  cer- 
tainly still  suited  Miss  Bolsover  that 
people  should  do  as  she  told  them. 
She  should  have  been  abbess  of  a 
monastery,  prime  minister  of  some 
kingdom  where  women  govern  the 
state.  She  had  not  imagination  enough 
to  correct  the  imperiousness  of  her 
nature,  whereas  Susanna  had  too  much 
to  allow  freedom  to  her  actions,  and  so 
to-day  again  she  gave  in  with  a  sigh 
and  pressed  her  husband  no  more ;  the 
power  of  sulking  persistence  which 
some  people  can  wield  was  not  hers. 
That  gift  of  adaptiveness  which  be- 
longed to  Susanna  Dymond,  led  her  to 
acquiesce  in  the  conclusions  of  those 
she  loved. 

Tempy  did  not  come  back,  and  the 
colonel  said  he  should  go  over  to 
Bolsover  and  see  her  there  and  make 
further  arrangements ;  Susy  begged  to 
be  left  at  home.  She  spent  the  morn- 
ing unpacking,  settling  down,  exploring 
her  domain.  She  had  a  grand  bedroom, 
with  cornices,  red  damask  curtains, 
and  solemn  mahogany  furniture  to 
match,  there  were  prints  of  the  Duke 
and  Duchess  of  Kent  on  the  wall,  and 
of  the  Queen  as  a  pretty  little  girl 
with  a  frill  and  a  coral  necklace.  The 
young  mistress  of  Crowbeck  looked 
about,  wandering  along  the  passages 
of  her  new  kingdom  followed  by  an 
obsequious  housemaid,  who  led  her 
from  room  to  room.  Then  she  came 
back  to  her  own  pretty  boudoir,  where 
Susy's  prints  and  her  various  posses- 
sions were  lying  ready  to  be  set  out : 
among  them  was  that  old  drawing 
of  Naomi  and  Ruth  from  Madame 
du  Fare's ;  how  well  she  remembered 
it! 

Josselin  came  up  to  her  later  in  the 
day  as  she  stood  complacently  among 
her  girlish  treasures.  He  gave  a 

B  2 


Mrs.  Dymond. 


quick,  asking  look.  Susy  shook  her 
head — "Your  father  is  gone  over  to 
the  Hall  to  see  Tempy — he  ordered  his 
horse  just  now.  He  must  know  best," 
she  repeated  with  some  effort ;  "  we 
must  trust  to  him,  Jo." 

"  We  can't  help  ourselves,"  said 
Josselin.  Then  he  added  shyly,  "  Would 
you  care  to  come  out  with  me,  Mrs. 
Dymond  1 "  (He  had  elected  to  call  her 
Mrs.  Dymond.)  "I  shall  have  to 
be  back  at  my  tutor's  to-morrow, 
but  I  should  like  to  show  you  about 
the  Place  to-day.  Tempy  told  me 
she  might  be  over  in  Tarndale — I 
could  row  you  across."  As  he  spoke 
some  breeze  came  into  the  room,  the 
whole  lake  seemed  to  uprise  with  an 
inviting  ripple,  and  through  the  open 
window  the  distant  shriek  of  the  rail- 
way reached  them  from  the  station  in 
the  garden  of  sweetbriar. 

"That  is  the  afternoon  up-train," 
said  Jo  in  a  satisfied  tone.  "  Charlie 
is  gone  back  in  it.  I  did  not  like  to 
tell  papa,  it  would  have  vexed  him  too 
much.  I  thought  how  it  was  when 
Tempy  went  off  to  the  Hall  last 
night.  .  .  .  She  knew  he  would  be 
coming." 

"  Oh,  my  dear  Josselin,  how  wrong — 
how  could  she  !  "  cried  Susy.  "  Oh, 
Josselin,  my  dear  Josselin,  why  didn't 
you  warn  us  ?  " 

"  He  is  gone  again,"  said  Jo 
doggedly  ;  "  it  was  only  to  say  good-by, 
poor  fellow."  And,  as  the  young  step- 
mother, troubled,  bewildered,  began  to 
exclaim  :  "  Don't  you  tell  papa,"  her 
stepson  interrupted.  "  You  only  know 
it  because  I  thought  I  could  trust  you. 
You  will  get  me  into  no  end  of  trouble, 
and  poor  Tempy  has  enough  to  bear  as 
it  is.  Let  Aunt  Fanny  tell  papa. 
She  sent  for  Charlie,  not  I." 

This  was  true  enough,  bat  Susanna 
felt  somehow  as  if  the  whole  thing 
was  confused  and  wrong,  and  jarring 
upon  her  sense  of  right  and  family 
honour.  "  Listen,"  she  said  with  some 
spirit;  "if  ever  Charlie  comes  here 
again,  I  shall  tell  your  father.  This 
time  I  do  not  feel  as  if  I  could  inter- 


fere. But  even  at  the  risk  of  getting 
into  trouble,  Jo,  we  cannot  all  be 
living  in  his  house,  acting  parts  and 
deceiving  him.  It  is  not  for  Tempy's 
happiness  or  yours  or  mine." 

"  I  know  that,"  said  the  young  man 
impatiently.  "  Come  along,  I  will 
show  you  the  way  to  the  boat-house." 

CHAPTER  X. 

THREE    ON     A    HILL-SIDE. 

MEANWHILE  poor  Tempy  sits  high  up  on 
the  mountain-side,  on  a  spur  of  the 
"  old  man  "  that  overhangs  the  village, 
and  stares  at  the  distant  line  of  rail 
in  the  valley  by  which  Charlie  is 
travelling  away.  The  little  brook 
ripples  by  her  with  many  sweet  con- 
tentful sounds  and  chords,  then  a  fresh 
breeze  stirs  the  leaves  of  the  oak  trees 
round  about,  and  many  noises  come  to 
her  with  the  rising  breeze — the  clang 
of  the  blacksmith's  forge  from  the 
village  below,  and  the  cheerful  voices 
of  the  school  children  striking  like  a 
sort  of  sunshine  from  beyond  the  wood  ; 
a  cock  sets  the  wild  echoes  flying,  then 
a  cow  passes -lowing  across  the  road 
from  one  sloping  pasture  to  another, 
followed  by  its  calf,  hurrying  into 
green  safety.  The  soft  full  wind  of 
autumn  seems  suddenly  to  gain  in  life 
and  will ;  it  blows  up  the  ascent  into 
Tempy  Dymond's  face,  which  looks  so 
changed,  so  haggard ;  it  shakes  the 
folds  of  her  serge  dress,  together 
with  the  foxgloves  and  the  straggling 
weeds  that  fringe  the  stream.  Rain 
clouds  are  gathering  overhead,  and 
the  rocks  and  boulders  look  grey  and 
bright  in  turn  amid  the  heather. 
Tempy^as  she  sits  there,  listless  and 
depressed,  can  see  the  village  below 
still  bathed  in  sunshine,  and  the  team 
of  horses  winding  round  the  hill,  and 
the  water  of  the  lake  lying  bright  and 
restful,  and  a  boat  zig-zagging  across 
from  the  Place.  The  boat  disappears 
behind  an  elder  bush,  and  Tempy, 
high  perched,  looking  down  upon  her 
own  short  life,  as  it  were,  goes  back  to 
that  day  which  will  never  be  over  any 


Mrs.  Dymond. 


more,  when  she,  too,  rowed  in  the  boat — 
with  Charlie — that  happy  wondrous 
day,  to  be  so  soon  clouded  and  followed 
by  parting.  But  she  had  seen  him  once 
more,  with  his  pale,  changed  looks  and 
faithful  tender  vows  and  protests. 
"  She  would  wait  a  life-time,"  thought 
Tempy  ;  "in  time  her  father,  surely, 
surely,  would  relent." 

Meanwhile  the  boat  has  crossed 
the  lake  among  the  last,  lingering 
swallows  flying  in  sudden  curves, 
the  sculls  dip  the  placid  surface  of 
the  water,  the  boat's  head  thuds 
against  the  end  of  a  long  wharf. 
Jo  first  hooks  the  rusty  chain  to  a 
convenient  block  of  wood,  then  he 
gallantly  hands  out  his  pink  dimity 
stepmother,  who  has  been  sitting  in 
the  bow,  dreadfully  frightened,  but 
prepared  to  enjoy  herself  nevertheless. 
Susy  still  practised  that  sensible, 
youthful  privilege  of  enjoying  the 
present  whenever  the  sun  shone  upon 
it,  and  leaving  the  shadowy  ghosts 
and  omens  of  apprehension  to  take 
care  of  themselves.  Jo  led  the  way 
across  the  flat  and  by  the  little  village 
built  upon  the  stream,  looking  about 
him  for  his  sister.  The  place  seemed 
deserted  ;  the  men  were  at  work  in 
the  fields  and  in  the  mines,  the  women 
were  busy  indoors.  They  met  no  one 
but  Tim  and  Tom  Barrow,  who  both 
stared  and  curtsied,  as  they  had  been 
taught  to  do  by  their  mother. 

"  Have  you  seen  Miss  Tempy,  Tim  I " 
says  Josselin. 

"  I  -  sa  -  err  -  a  -  gwoan  -  oop-t'  -  Auld  - 
Mann,"  says  little  Tim,  all  in  one 
word,  "  aaf ter-  Mr.-Charles-gotten-into- 
t'-Barrow- train." 

"  Can  you  understand  him  I  "  Susy 
asked,  laughing. 

"  Yes,"  says  Jo.  "  He  says  she  is 
gone  on." 

Susy  trustfully  followed  her  new 
stepson,  holding  up  her  pink  dress. 
Their  way  lay  through  a  farm-yard  at 
the  end  of  the  village,  where  cocks  and 
hens  were  pecking,  and  some  lazy, 
comfortable  cows  were  bending  their 
meek  horns  over  a  trough  supplied 


by  the  running  stream.  Beyond  the 
farm  was  a  little  climbing  wood  of 
ferns  and  ling — a  wonder  of  delicate 
woodland — all  in  motion,  all  in  life. 

"  What  a  lovely  green  place  !  "  cries 
breathless  Susy.  "  Jo,  please,  don't 
go  quite  so  quickly.  Is  this  the  foot 
of  the  mountain  1" 

"  Why,  you  are  no  good  at  all," 
says  Jo,  looking  round.  "  Tempy  can 
go  twice  as  quick." 

"I  am  very  sorry,"  says  Mrs. 
Dymond,  laughing,  and  coming  out  of 
the  shadow  of  the  wood,  and  finding 
herself  in  the  dazzling  brightness  of 
the  mountain  side. 

The  crest  of  the  Tarndale  "  Old  Man  " 
towered  overhead,  the  shadows  of  the 
clouds  were  crawling  along  its  rocks 
and  heathery  flanks,  the  foreground 
opened  out  shining,  beautiful  boulders 
of  purple  rock  were  lying  on  the 
smooth  turf,  the  stream  hurried  by, 
the  air  became  keener  and  more  keen, 
the  country  changed  as  they  climbed, 
the  nearer  hills  seemed  to  shift  their 
place,  to  melt  into  new  shapes ;  under 
their  feet  sparkled  ling,  flowers,  specks 
— delicate  points  of  colour.  Susanna's 
cheeks  glowed.  There  was  something 
exhilarating  in  the  sense  of  the  quiet 
moor  all  round  about,  of  the  wide 
fresh  air,  and  the  racing  clouds  over- 
head. 

"  There  she  is,"  said  Jo,  suddenly. 
"  I  thought  we  should  come  upon  her." 
And  so  it  happened,  that  Tempy, 
looking  down  from  a  rock  above,  sees 
the  heads  of  two  figures  against  the 
sky  coming  straight  upon  her  from 
the  valley.  She  cannot  escape. 

Why  will  not  they  leave  her  alone  1 
All  she  wants  is  to  be  alone,  to  live 
over  poor  Charlie's  parting  looks  and 
words  an  hour  ago.  How  can  they 
ask  her  to  be  smiling  and  complaisant 
and  indifferent,  they  who  are  all  happy 
and  contented  and  together,  while  she 
is  lonely  and  forlorn  ?  and  then  as 
Tempy  looks  up  defiantly  she  sees  them 
close  both  beside  her.  There  is  Jo 
with  his  friendly,  home-like  looks,  and 
Susy,  silent,  shy,  with  those  appealing 


6 


Mrs.  Dymond. 


glances,  which  Tempy  scarcely  knows 
how  to  escape. 

The  girl  flushed  up,  and  turned  away ; 
she  would  not  meet  Susy's  eyes. 

"Here  you  are!"  says  Jo,  cheer- 
fully. "  I  thought  we  should  find  you 
here." 

"  What  have  you  come  after  me 
for?"  says  the  girl,  at  bay.  "Why 
won't  you  leave  me  ?  I  came  here  to 
be  alone,  Jo.  I  am  too  unhappy  to  be 
able  to  pretend,  that  is  why  I  keep 
away,"  says  Tempy,  trembling  exces- 
sively. "  Why  do  you  bring  Susanna  ? 
If  it  had  not  been  for  her,  my  father 
would  never  have  interfered — never, 
never.  Oh,  it  is  cruel — cruel !  "  Then 
she  turned  desperately  upon  Susy  her- 
self :  "  Tell  papa  he  can  prevent  our 
marriage,  but  what  I  am,  what  I  feel, 
belongs  to  me  and  to  Charlie — not 
to  you  or  to  him,"  cries  the  girl,  some- 
thing in  her  old  natural  voice  and 
manner. 

After  all,  it  was  a  comfort  to  her 
to  speak — to  complain,  to  upbraid,  to 
be  angry. 

As  for  Susy,  she  flushed  up  and 
sighed,  she  did  not  know  how  to 
answer  her  stepdaughter's  passionate 
appeal.  Poor  little  Tempy  ! 

"  O  Susy,"  Tempy  continued,  relent- 
ing, "  I  thought  you  would  have  helped 
us — I  thought " — she  burst  into  tears. 
"  You  are  all  wrong,  you  know,"  said 
Jo.  "  Mrs.  Dymond  did  her  very  best 
to  help  you.  Don't  cry,  Tempy." 

How  different  words  are  out  of 
doors  on  a  mountain  side  to  words 
shaped  by  walls  and  spoken  behind 
doors  !  Jo's  matter-of-fact,  Susanna's 
simple  eloquence  of  looks,  of  pitiful 
feeling,  touched  Tempy  more  than  any 
elaborate  words,  to  which  indeed  she 
could  scarcely  have  listened  at  first. 

"  Your  father  would  consent  if 
only  he  thought  it  right,"  Su- 
sanna was  saying  at  last.  "  He  knows 
— he  must  know  better  than  you  or  I 
what  is  best.  Ah,  you  don't  know," 
she  said,  speaking  not  without  that 
personal  feeling  which  gives  so  much 
meaning  to  the  most  common-place 


expressions,  "you  must  never,  never 
know,  Tempy,  what  it  is  to  be  linked 
with  a  man  for  whom  you  are  ashamed, 
whose  life  is  one  humiliation.  I  have 
lived  this  life,"  said  Susy,  turning  very 
pale.  "  J  know  what  your  father  dreads 
for  you,  and  that  even  his  dread  is  not 
so  terrible  as  the  reality.  I  bore  it  a 
year ;  my  mother  has  lived  it  ever  since 
I  can  remember,"  her  voice  faltered. 
Tempy  looked  hard  at  Susy,  and  now 
it  was  Susy  who  began  to  cry. 

"  You  don't  understand,  any  of 
you — nobody  can  understand  anything 
for  anybody  else,"  Tempy  repeated 
doggedly;  "but  I  should  like  to  be 
with  papa  again,  and  with  you,  Susy ; 
only  promise  me  to  say  nothing  hard 
of  Charlie — not  a  word — I  cannot 
bear  it,  I  will  not  bear  it,  I  never 
will." 

"  0  Tempy,  that  you  may  be  sure 
of,"  said  Susy,  eagerly,  "only  come!  " 
and  she  took  the  girl's  not  unwilling 
hand. 

The  three  walked  back  in  silence, 
Jo  jogging  a-head  with  his  hands  in 
his  pockets,  not  absolutely  satisfied 
with  this  compromise,  and  sorely 
tempted  to  whistle.  Susanna  and  her 
stepdaughter,  hand  in  hand,  following 
silent,  but  reconciled  in  that  odd  in- 
tangible way  in  which  people  some- 
times meet  in  spirit  after  a  parting 
perhaps  as  silent  and  unexplained  as 
the  meeting. 

Some  great  events  had  been  going 
on  meanwhile  overhead,  the  clouds 
were  astir  beyond  the  crests  of  the 
hills.  Vapours  were  rising  from 
behind  vapours,  strange  shrouded 
figures  were  drifting  and  flying  across 
the  heavens,  steeds  and  warriors  fol- 
lowed by  long  processions  of  streaming 
fantastic  forms ;  while  the  southern 
hills  were  lying  in  a  golden  still- 
ness, the  head  of  the  valley  was 
purple,  black — angry.  The  summit 
of  the  mountain  was  half  hidden  in 
mysterious  rolling  clouds.  Some- 
times from  one  break  and  another 
break  in  the  rolling  clouds,  yellow 
streams  of  gold  seemed  battling  with. 


Mrs.  Dymond. 


the  vapours ;  you  might  almost  imagine 
the  wonderful,  radiant  figure  of  the 
lawgiver  coming  down  out  of  the 
glorious  haze. 

"We  had  better  make  haste,"  said 
Jo  ;  "it  looks  like  a  storm,"  and  he 
trudged  faster  and  faster.  The  cows 
were  whisking  their  tails  and  crowding 
together  in  the  meadow  as  they  crossed 
by  a  stile  and  a  short  cut  back  to  the 
farm  again.  The  opposite  side  of  the 
lake  above  Crowbeck  was  calm  and 
bright,  with  the  sky  showing  through 
soft  mists,  midday  shining  through 
silver.  They  come  round  by  the  village 
with  its  straggling  lodging-houses, 
built  of  country  stone,  with  slated 
roofs  from  the  quarries.  Mrs.  Tyson 
looks  out  from  one  of  the  cottages  and 
drops  a  smiling  curtsey  ;  it  is  civilised 
life  .again  after  the  solemn  mountain 
side. 

Doctor  Jeffries  dashes  by  in  his  gig. 
"  You  must  make  haste,"  he  cries, 
flourishing  his  whip ;  "  the  storm  is 
coming." 

Then  they  meet  George  Tyson  from 
the  Place,  -coming  with  bread  and 
provisions  in  a  basket. 

"  Come  down  and  help  to  shove  off 
the  boat,  George,"  says  Tempy,  who, 
as  usual,  gives  her  orders  with  great 
authority,  and  so  they  come  again  to 
the  sandy  shore. 

"Ye'll  ha'e  nobbut  time  to  get 
hoam  before  the  storm,"  says  George, 
pushing  them  off  with  a  mighty  heave. 

It  took  all  Jo's  strength  to  get  the 
boat  across,  for  the  breeze  was  freshen- 
ing every  moment. 

The  colonel  was  waiting  anxiously 
at  the  other  end.  He  helped  out  his 
wife  with  anxious  care.  "Jo,  you 
should  have  come  home  by  the  road," 
he  said  severely.  He  held  Tempy's  hand 
for  a  minute  as  he  helped  her  out.  "  I 
wanted  you  home,  my  dear,"  he  said. 

"  Papa,  I  am  glad  to  come  home, 
but  I  shall  never  change  to  Charlie," 
said  Tempy,  looking  hard  at  her 
father. 

The  colonel's  face  grew  set  and  black 
— -"  I  am  sorry  to  hear  it,"  he  answered, 


and  he  dropped  her  hand,  and  turned 
abruptly  away  and  walked  a-head  with 
Susy.  The  storm  broke  before  they 
reached  the  house. 

After  her  first  warm  greeting  the 
girl  seemed  to  draw  back.  She  did  not 
sulk,  she  did  not  refuse  to  join  them, 
but  every  day  seemed  to  divide  her  more 
and  more  from  her  father  and  step- 
mother. She  used  to  go  for  long  walks 
across  the  moors  and  come  back  tired 
and  pale  and  silent.  She  took  to  sew- 
ing, a  thing  she  had  never  cared  for  in 
her  life,  and  she  would  sit  stitching  all 
the  evening  silent,  gloomy :  no  longer 
monopolising  the  talk  with  cheerful 
vehemence,  scarcely  hearing  what  was 
said.  Miss  Bolsover  used  to  come  con- 
stantly then,  and  Tempy  would  brighten 
up  a  little.  One  day  Susy  came  in  and 
found  them  sitting  hand  in  hand  by  the 
fire.  Tempy  seemed  to  be  in  tears, 
Miss  Bolsover  was  wiping  them  with 
her  lace  pocket-handkerchief.  Aunt 
Fanny  looked  up  with  her  usual  flutter 
as  Susy  came  in. 

"  You  mus'n't  mind  her  liking  to 
tell  me  her  little  troubles,"  she  said. 

"  Tempy  knows  well  enough  I  don't," 
said  Susy,  with  a  sigh. 

"  She  must  come  and  stay  at  the 
Hall ;  we  know  how  to  cheer  her  up," 
Aunt  Fanny  continued. 

Susy  looked  at  her.  Miss  Bolsover 
turned  away  with  a  faint  giggle. 
Generous  eyes  have  looks  at  times 
which  malicious  orbs  cannot  always 
meet. 

CHAPTER   XI. 
DAY    BY   DAY. 

THERE  are  bits  of  life  which  seem 
like  a  macadamised  road.  The  wheels 
of  fortune  roll  on,  carrying  you  pas- 
sively away  from  all  that  you  have 
done,  felt,  said,  perhaps  for  years 
past ;  fate  bears  you  on  without  any 
effort  of  your  own,  you  need  no  longer 
struggle,  the  road  travels  into  new 
regions,  time  passes  and  the  hours 
strike  on,  and;  new  feelings  and 


8 


Mrs.  Dymond. 


new  unconceived  phases  while  you  rest 
passively  with  your  companions.  Per- 
haps meanwhile  some  of  us  have  left 
the  romantic  passes  and  horizons  of 
youth  behind,  we  may  have  reached 
the  wider,  more  fertile  plains  of  middle 
life. 

Susy,  who  was  young  still,  em- 
braced the  calm  of  middle  age  with 
something  like  passion.  By  degrees 
she  took  the  present  in,  and  realised 
little  by  little  where  she  was,  who 
she  was,  how  things  were,  in  what 
relations  the  people  among  whom 
her  lot  was  cast  all  stood  to  one 
another.  She  realised  her  husband's 
tender  pride  and  affection  for  herself, 
and  his  anxious  love  for  his  children  ; 
realised  the  deep  pain  and  bewilder- 
ment which  any  estrangement  between 
Crowbeck  Place  and  Bolsover  Hall 
would  be  to  him.  Susy  no  longer 
wondered,  as  she  used  to  do  in  Paris, 
that  the  kind  old  colonel  had  not 
become  more  intimate  with  his  son 
and  daughter ;  he  loved  them  and 
they  loved  him,  but  too  many  rules 
and  trivial  punctualities  seemed  to 
stand  in  the  way  of  their  ease.  It 
is  as  little  possible  to  be  quite  natural 
with  a  person  who  is  nervously 
glancing  at  the  clock  to  see  if  it  is 
time  to  do  something  else  as  it  is 
to  write  unreservedly  to  a  friend  who 
dockets  and  dates  your  letters  for 
future  publication,  or  to  talk  openly 
to  a  superior  whom  you  must  not  con- 
tradict. For  Susy  there  was  rest  in 
these  minor  details,  after  her  chaotic 
experience,  the  order,  the  tranquillity 
of  all  this  suited  her,  and  she  tried 
more  and  more  to  suit  herself  to  her 
husband's  ways  and  habits,  to  show 
by  her  life  the  warm  and  loving  grati- 
tude she  felt  in  her  heart.  When 
Susanna  Dymond  first  came  to  Tarn- 
dale  as  a  bride  she  was  not  less  hand- 
some than  Mr.  Bolsover  had  remem- 
bered her  at  Vivian  Castle  ;  she  was 
tall  and  harmonious  in  her  movements, 
specially  when  she  was  at  her  ease, 
her  face  was  of  changing  colour,  her 
eyes  were  clear  like  two  mountain 


pools,  her  brown  hair  was  thick  and 
soft,  the  tint  of  the  bracken  in  au- 
tumn, as  the  squire  once  gallantly 
said,  with  all  the  lights  in  it.  There 
were  two  Susannas  some  people  used 
to  think,  one  young  and  girlish,  with 
a  sweet  voice  and  smile,  with  a  glad 
and  ready  response  for  those  who  loved 
her ;  the  other  Susanna  was  Mrs. 
Dymond,  stately,  reserved,  unexcep- 
tionable, but  scarcely  charming  any 
more. 

As  the  days  passed  on  the  neigh- 
bours began  to  drive  up  by  basket- 
fuls  and  carriagefuls  to  make  the 
acquaintance  of  the  new  lady  of  Crow- 
beck.  Some  came  in  boats,  some  on 
foot,  some  on  horseback  to  pay  their 
respects  to  the  bride.  They  would  be 
ushered  into  the  drawing-room,  with 
the  glimpse  of  the  lake  without,  with 
the  stuffed  birds  and  gorgeous  chintzes 
within  — those  remaining  tokens  of 
Aunt  Fanny's  Oriental  fancy.  Not 
unfrequently  the  colonel  would  come 
in  from  his  study,  looking  pleased  and 
ready  to  receive  his  friends'  congratu- 
lations, "  brushed  up "  was  the  ver- 
dict passed  upon  the  colonel.  Miss 
Bolsover  also  was  not  unfrequently 
present,  ready  to  meet  the  guests 
with  a  sad  deprecatory  smile,  as  if 
their  visits  were  intended  for  a  con- 
dolence to  herself.  Tempy,  who  kept 
out  of  the  way,  was  pronounced 
"  dreadfully  changed,"  and  finally  the 
bride  herself  was  to  be  commented  on 
as  she  sat  there,  placid,  reserved,  in 
smartest  Paris  fashions. 

Susy  puzzled  other  people  besides 
her  neighbours,  who  hardly  knew 
as  yet  what  to  think  of  her.  To 
please  her  husband,  who  liked  his  wife 
to  hold  «her  own,  to  be  respected  as 
well  as  admired,  she  tried  to  cultivate 
a  stiff  and  measured  manner,  something 
in  the  style  of  her  own  newly-bought 
silks  and  laces  ;  she  had  lost  her  girl- 
ish look  of  wondering  confidence  and 
simplicity,  nobody  to  see  her  would 
imagine  that  she  had  ever  lived  in 
anything  but  county  society  of  the 
most  orthodox  description.  Alone 


Mrs.  Dymond. 


with  Jo  and  Tempy,  or  walking  in 
sunshine  by  the  green  shore  of  the  lake, 
she  would  forget  this  lay  figure  made 
up  of  manners  and  fashions,  but  at  the 
first  sound  of  wheels  in  the  distance 
all  our  Cinderella's  grace  of  youth  and 
gaiety  vanished,  all  her  bright  gala 
looks  were  gone ;  there  she  stood  in 
milliner's  rags  and  elaborate  tatters, 
and  fashionable  bones,  prim  and  scared 
and  blurred  by  the  decorum  which 
oppressed  her. 

At  Paris  Colonel  Dymond  had  laid 
his  old  habits  and  associations  aside, 
but  here,  in  his  old  surroundings,  with 
Miss  Fanny's  pink  eye  to  mark  any- 
thing new  or  amiss,  his  idiosyncrasies 
returned  with  a  renewed  force.  Mean- 
while, however  wanting  Susanna  might 
seem  to  Miss  Bolsover's  ideas,  to  Miss 
Trindle's  the  vicar's  daughter,  or  to 
Mrs.  Jeffries  the  doctor's  wife,  Mrs. 
Dymond  appeared  the  very  personfica- 
tion  of  calm  and  successful  prosperity. 
She  was  handsome  without  expression, 
well-dressed  without  much  taste.  She 
had  been  used  to  consult  tbe  colonel 
latterly  about  her  dress,  finding  her 
own  fancies  for  the  picturesque  not 
approved.  Her  clothes  were  expen- 
sive, her  shoes  were  French,  her  gloves 
were  always  buttoned,  her  manners 
were  well-made  county  manners,  com- 
posed and  somewhat  starched.  This 
was  the  Susanna  of  the  neighbours, 
and  many  a  girl  envied  her ;  but  this 
was  not  the  home  Susanna,  who,  little 
by  little,  day  by  day,and  hour  after  hour 
melted  and  warmed  and  thawed  the 
hearts  of  the  two  young  people  who 
had  met  her  with  such  scrutinising 
looks  and  divided  minds.  How  often 
Susy  in  her  early  married  days  had 
suffered  from  those  glances.  Jo  had 
relented  from  the  first  moment  he  saw 
her  standing  shyly  in  the  drawing- 
room,  but  Tempy  used  to  have  strange 
returns  of  suspicion.  And  whenever 
Susy  by  chance  met  one  of  Tempy's 
doubtful  scrutinising  looks  she  would 
shrink  up  suddenly  into  herself.  Or 
if  Mrs.  Bolsover  came  in  severe  and  in- 
coherent, or,  worse  still,  if  it  was  Miss 


Bolsover  sneering  and  civil,  then  the 
new  married  wife  would  turn  into  a  sort 
of  statue.  Susanna  used  to  feel  the  cold 
strike  upon  her  heart,  her  blood  seemed 
to  creep  more  and  more  slowly  in  her 
veins,  and  her  voice  died  away. 

She  rarely  said  much  in  company, 
for  she  had  lived  among  talkative 
people  all  her  life,  but  with  these  two 
women  present  she  became  utterly 
silent.  Her  nature  was  not  an  out- 
coming  one,  but  very  deep  in  its 
secret  fidelity  and  conviction.  She 
was  not  timid  exactly,  and  yet  she  was 
apt  to  be  too  easily  impressed  and 
frightened  by  the  minor  details  of 
life.  She  did  not  hold  her  own,  when 
other  more  self-important  people  were 
ready  to  thrust  themselves  into  her 
rightful  place.  She  could  not  ignore 
the  opposition  which  from  the  very 
first  had  met  her,  but  she  never  spoke 
of  it.  She  had  a  curious,  instinctive 
sense  of  the  rights  of  those  she  lived 
with.  She  dreaded  to  jar  upon  them, 
to  be  the  cause  of  trouble  or  discus- 
sion. And  little  by  little  she  got  into 
a  habit  of  always  looking  to  her 
husband  for  a  signal.  He  led  the  way, 
he  started  the  conversation,  he  invited 
the  people  who  came  to  the  house — 
Dowagers  from  neighbouring  dower- 
houses,  well  to  do  magnates,  re- 
spectable rectors  and  rectoresses, 
colonels  and  generals  of  his  own 
standing.  With  the  colonel's  old  com- 
panions Susy  felt  more  at  her  ease 
than  with  any  one  else.  These  com- 
rades in  arms  were  invariably  charmed 
with  Mrs.  Dymond's  grace  and  gentle 
temper ;  no  wonder  they  lost  their 
hearts  to  the  beautiful  young  creature, 
so  sweet  to  look  upon,  so  modest  and 
ready  to  listen  to  their  martial  prose. 

"  Just  listen  to  her  talking  about 
the  Punjaub,"  says  Tempy,  in  amaze- 
ment to  her  brother. 

Tempy  used  to  wonder  more  and 
more  about  Susy.  She  seemed  no 
longer  able  to  understand  her.  But 
perhaps  the  truth  was  that  Miss 
Tempy  had  never  much  troubled 
herself  to  understand  her  at  all 


10 


Mrs.  Dymond. 


hitherto.  She  used  to  speculate  about 
Susy  now  with  an  odd  mixture  of  affec- 
tion, of  pride,  and  jealous  irritation. 
"  Was  she  really  happy  ?  did  Susy 
really  care  for  her  father  ?  Was  it  for 
his  money,  Jo — as  Aunt  Fanny  de- 
clares— or  was  it  from  affection  of  us 
all  that  she  married  him  ?  " 

"  What  does  it  matter,"  Jo  answers, 
impatiently.  "  You  and  Aunt  Fanny 
are  always  for  skinning  a  person  alive, 
and  I  hate  talking  about  people  I'm 
fond  of." 

As  for  the  colonel,  he  did  not  under- 
stand much,  but  he  was  delighted 
with  everything  Susy  did,  whether 
she  spoke  to  others  or  held  her  peace. 
Because  he  loved  her  so  well,  because 
he  spent  his  money  so  freely  upon  her, 
because  she  was  so  good  a  wife,  he 
took  it  for  granted  she  was  a  happy 
one.  Susy  never  seemed  otherwise  to 
any  one  else,  she  appeared  free  to  do 
as  she  liked  in  most  things,  or  to  sub- 
mit with  good-will  to  her  husband  and 
her  sisters-in-law.  When  these  ladies 
contradicted  or  utterly  ignored  her,  she 
would  smile  good-humouredly  ;  and  yet 
in  her  heart  she  now  and  then  had  ex- 
perienced a  strange  feeling  that  she 
scarcely  realised,  something  tired, 
d  esperate,  sudden,  unreasonable,  almost 
wicked — the  feeling  she  thought  must 
go,  and  she  would  forget  it  for  a  time, 
and  then  suddenly  there  it  was  again. 

"  What  is  it,  my  dear,  is  the  room 
too  hot1?"  said  the  colonel  one  day, 
seeing  her  start  up.  Miss  Bolsover 
was  explaining  some  details  she  wished 
changed  in  the  arrangements  at  the 
Place  ;  his  back  had  been  turned,  and 
he  had  not  noticed  Susy's  growing 
pallor. 

"Nothing,  nothing,"  says  Susy,  and 
she  got  up,  but  as  she  passed  him  took 
his  hand  in  hers  and  kissed  it,  and 
went  out  of  the  room. 

She  hurried  up  stairs  into  her  own 
room,  she  sank  into  the  big  chair,  she 
burst  into  incoherent  tears.  Then 
when  she  had  gulped  them  down  she 
went  to  the  basin  and  poured  water  to 
wash  her  troubles  away — her  troubles 


— her  ingratitude  !  John  who  has 
been  so  kind,  John  so  generous  and 
good,  was  this  how  she,  his  wife,  should 
requite  him  for  his  endless  kindness 
and  benefits  ?  By  secret  rebellion,  un- 
kindness,  opposition  I  Ah,  no,  never, 
never,  thought  the  girl.  And  the 
young  wife,  whose  only  wish  was  to 
spare  her  faithful,  chivalrous  old 
colonel,  did  that  which  perhaps  must 
have  hurt  and  wounded  him  most  of 
all  had  he  known  it.  She  was  not 
insincere,  but  she  was  not  outspoken, 
she  did  not  say  all  she  felt,  she  put  a 
force  and  a  constraint  upon  herself, 
crushed  her  own  natural  instincts, 
lived  as  she  thought  he  expected  her 
to  live,  was  silent  where  she  could  not 
agree,  obliged  herself  to  think  as  he 
did,  and  suffered  under  this  mental 
suicide. 

There  is  something  to  me  almost 
disloyal  in  some  of  the  sacrifices  which 
are  daily  made  by  some  persons  for 
others  who  would  not  willingly  inflict 
one  moment's  pang  upon  any  human 
creature,  how  much  less  doom  those 
dearest  to  them  to  the  heavy  load  of 
enforced  submission,  to  a  long  life's 
deadening  repression. 

"  I  for  one  don't  pretend  to  know 
what  Susanna  means  or  wishes,"  says 
Aunt  Fanny. 

But  although  Miss  Bolsover  did 
not  understand,  my  heroine  in  the 
course  of  her  life  changed  not,  and 
therefore  often  changed  ;  she  was  loyal 
and  therefore  she  was  faithless  ;  loyal 
in  her  affection,  faithless  in  her  adher- 
ence to  the  creeds  of  those  she  loved. 
When  she  was  young  she  believed 
and  she  doubted,  when  she  was  older 
she  doubted  less,  but  then  she  also 
believed  less  fervently ;  but  in  one 
thing  at  least  she  was  constant,  and 
that  was  in  her  loving  fidelity  and 
devotion  to  those  whose  interests  were 
in  her  keeping. 

People  did  not  always  do  her  justice. 
Max  du  Pare  was  one  of  these.  During 
the  following  spring,  to  please  Mrs. 
Marney,  his  wife's  mother,  who  had 
written  over  on  the  subject,  Colonel 


Mrs.  Dymond. 


11 


Dymond  (not  over  graciously  it  must 
be  confessed)  invited  du  Pare  to 
spend  a  night  at  Crowbeck.  The 
colonel's  invitation  reached  the  young 
man  at  the  Tarndale  Inn,  where  he 
was  staying.  He  had  come  there  to 
make  an  etching  of  a  Turner  in  the 
collection  at  Friar's  Tarndale,  one 
of  those  pictures  which  M.  Hase  had 
been  anxious  to  include  in  his  pub- 
lication. Max,  who  had  been  hard  at  . 
work  for  Caron  all  the  winter,  and 
obliged  to  give  up  the  volumes  con- 
taining the  London  galleries,  had  still 
found  time  to  superintend  a  smaller 
collection  of  drawings  from  country 
houses,  and  had  come  North  for  a  few 
days.  He  felt  some  curiosity  as  to 
Susy's  English  home,  and  did  not  like 
to  pain  her  good  mother  by  refusing 
the  Dymond  s'  somewhat  stinted  hospi- 
tality ;  so  he  wrote  a  note  of  dry  ac- 
ceptance and  walked  over  to  Crowbeck 
after  his  day's  work,  carrying  his  bag 
for  the  night.  The  party  from  the 
Hall  had  driven  over  for  the  occasion, 
and  passed  him  on  the  way. 

Susy  had  looked  forward  with  some 
pleasure  to  entertaining  her  French 
guest,  to  showing  him  his  own  etchings 
hanging  up  in  her  room,  to  talking 
over  all  the  events  at  the  villa,  and 
Madame  du  Pare,  and  Mdlle.  Faillard, 
and  all  the  rest ;  but  the  guest,  though 
brought  to  Crowbeck,  would  not  talk, 
he  would  not  be  entertained,  he  came 
silent,  observant,  constrained,  and 
alarming;  he  answered,  indeed,  when 
spoken  to,  but  he  never  looked  inter- 
ested, nor  would  he  relax  enough  to 
smile,  except,  indeed,  for  a  short  time 
when  Miss  Bolsover  graciously  and 
volubly  conversed  in  French  with  him 
after  dinner.  Du  Pare  left  early  next 
morning ;  Susanna  was  vaguely  dis- 
appointed, and  a  little  hurt ;  his  shy- 
ness had  made  her  shy;  she  had 
scarcely  asked  any  questions  she  had 
meant  to  ask,  she  had  not  shown  him 
the  drawings  she  had  wanted  to  show 
him,  she  had  felt  some  curious  reserve 
and  disapprobation  in  his  manner 
which  had  perplexed  her. 


"  It  is  no  use  trying  to  entertain 
these  foreign  artists  and  fellows,"  said 
the  colonel,  a  few  days  after  Max's 
departure.  "They  want  their  tobacco, 
and  their  pipes,  and  their  liberty ; 
they  are  quite  out  of  place  in  a  lady's 
drawing-room  over  here." 

"  M.  du  Pare  certainly  did  not  seem 
to  like  being  here,"  said  Susy,  smiling. 

"  For  my  part,  I  like  artists,"  says 
Miss  Bolsover;  "and  we  got  on  de- 
lightfully. I  asked  him  to  teach  me 
argot ;  he  looked  so  amused." 

"  Well,  Max !  "  Mrs.  Marney  was 
saying,  as  she  sat  under  the  acacia 
tree  in  the  little  front  garden  at 
Neuilly  (where  the  sun  was  shining  so 
brightly,  though  its  rays  were  still 
shrouded  in  mist  by  the  waters  of 
Tarndale),  "  tell  me  all  about  it  1 
Have  you  seen  my  Susy  ?  Is  the 
colonel  very  proud  of  her1?  How  did 
she  look  ?  Is  she  very  grand  1  Is  she 
changed  ?  Wasn't  she  glad  to  see  an 
old  friend?" 

"  Yes,"  said  du  Pare,  doubtfully, 
and  lighting  a  cigar  as  he  spoke. 
"  She  was  very  polite  and  hospitable 
(puff),  she  is  looking  forward  to  your 
visit  (puff,  puff),  she  told  me  to  say  so  ; 
she  sent  amities  to  my  mother  (puff)  ; 
she  is  changed — she  is  handsomer  than 
ever ;  she  is  richly  dressed.  Her  life 
seems  to  be  everything  that  is  most 
respectable  and  tiresome ;  she  gave  me 
a  shake  hands ;  that  young  miss,  her 
daughter,  stared  at  me  as  if  I  was  a 
stuffed  animal.  The  son  was  away 
preparing  for  his  college.  There  was 
an  aunt,  a  beguine  lady,  who  frightened 
me  horribly ;  an  uncle  in  top-boots, 
a  little  man  to  make  you  burst  with 
laughing.  There  was  a  second  aunt,  a 
red,  old  lady,  who  was  kind  enough  to 
interest  herself  in  me,  to  talk  art  to 
me,  to  take  me  for  a  walk  in  the  park. 
She  was  even  amiable  enough  to  make 
some  sentimental  conversation.  They 
are  extraordinary,  those  English.  Ah  ! 
it  is  not  life  among  those  respectables  ! 
it  is  ;  funeral  ceremony  always  going 
on.  I  give  you  my  word,"  says  Max. 


Mrs.  Dymond. 


taking  his  cigar  out  of  his  mouth  and 
staring  thoughtfully  at  Mrs.  Marney's 
knitting,  "  it  seemed  to  me  as  if  I  was 
a  corpse  laid  out  in  that  drawing-room, 
as  if  all  the  rest  were  mourners  who 
came  and  stood  round  about.  Madame 
Dymond,  too — she  seemed  to  me  only 
half  alive — laid  out  in  elegant  cere- 
clothes." 

"  Oh,  Max,  you  are  too  bad  !  "  cries 
his  mother,  in  English.  "  How  can 
you  talk  in  that  hogly  way,  making 
peine  to  Mrs.  Marney  ?  " 

"  No,  I  don't  think  it  at  all  nice  of 
you,  M.  Max  !  "  says  Mrs.  Marney,  re- 
proachfully. 

"  You  are  quite  right,  and  I  am  not 
nice,  and  I  don't  deserve  half  your 
kindness,"  cried  the  young  man,  peni- 
tently, taking  his  old  friend's  hand, 
and  gallantly  kissing  it. 

"Ah,  Max  would  have  liked  to  be 
before'and,"  said  Madame  du  Pare, 
laughing.  "  Susanna  is  a  sweet  crea- 
ture. We  must  find  such  another  one 
day  for  my  son." 

Max  looked  black,  and  walked  away 
into  his  studio. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

A    WELCOME. 

BEFORE  Susy  had  been  a  year  at 
Tarndale  she  had  the  happiness  of  wel- 
coming her  mother  to  her  new  home. 
The  colonel  kept  his  promise,  and,  not 
only  the  little  boys,  but  Mrs.  Marney 
came  over  for  the  summer  holidays. 
Needless  to  say  that  it  was  all  the 
colonel's  doing,  and  that  it  was  not 
without  some  previous  correspondence 
with  Mr.  Marney,  who,  in  return 
for  a  cheque,  duly  received,  sent  off  a 
model  and  irreproachable  "letter  to 
announce  his  family's  departure  (vid 
Havre,  not  by  Boulogne,  as  the  liberal 
colonel  had  arranged  for),  and  to  consult 
with  the  colonel  about  the  little  boys' 
future  education. 

Mr.  Marney  wrote  that  Dermy  had 
a  fancy,  so  his  mother  declared  at  least, 
for  being  a  doctor.  "  Charterhouse  had 


been  suggested,"  says  the  correspondent, 
in  his  free,  dashing  handwriting.  "  I  do 
not  know  if  you  have  heard  of  my  late 
appointment  to  the  Daily  Velocipede, 
and  are  aware  that  although  I  am  not 
immediately  able,  my  dear  colonel,  to 
repay  you  in  coin  of  the  realm  for  that 
part  of  your  infinite  kindness  to  me  and 
mine  which  can  be  repaid  by  money, 
yet  my  prospects  are  so  good  and  so 
immediate  (the  proprietor  of  my  news- 
paper has  written  to  me  lately  in  very 
encouraging  terms)  that  I  feel  I  am  now 
justified  in  giving  my  boys  a  gentle- 
man's education,  and  in  asking  you  to 
spare  no  expense  (in  accordance  with 
my  means)  for  any  arrangements  you 
may  think  fit  to  make  for  their  comfort 
and  welfare.  It  is  everything  for  them 
both  to  get  a  good  start  in  life.  I 
trust  entirely  to  your  judgment  and 
experience.  I  have  been  too  long  a 
vagabond  and  absentee  myself  to  be 
aufait  with  the  present  requirements. 
I  know  it  is  the  fashion  to  rail  against 
the  old-fashioned  standard  of  education, 
which  is  certainly  not  without  objec- 
tions, and  yet  to  speak  frankly  I  must 
confess  to  you  that,  much  abused  as 
the  time-honoured  classics  have  been, 
I  have  found  my  own  smattering  of 
school  lore  stand  me  in  good  stead  in 
my  somewhat  adventurous  career.  I 
am  daily  expecting  a  liberal  remit- 
tance from  my  proprietors,  and  when  it 
arrives  I  will  immediately  post  you  a 
cheque  for  any  extra  expense  you  may 
have  incurred.  As  for  the  better  part 
of  your  help,  its  chivalrous  kindness, 
and  generous  friendship,  that  can  never 
be  repaid,  not  even  by  the  grateful 
and  life-long  affection  of  mine  and  me. 
"  Do  not  hesitate  to  keep  Polly  as 
long  as  your  wife  may  require  her 
mother's  presence.  I  am  used  to  shift 
for  myself,  and  though  the  place  looks 
lonely  without  the  old  hen  and  her 
chicks,  it  is  perhaps  all  the  better 
for  my  work  and  for  me  to  be  thrown 
on  my  own  resources.  A  family  life, 
as  you  yourself  must  have  often  found 
when  engaged  on"  (here  Mr.  Marney 
rather  at  a  loss  for  a  word  had  erased 


Mrs.  Dymond. 


13 


"  military  "  and  written  "  serious  ") 
"  matters  is  a  precious  but  a  most  dis- 
tracting privilege.  May  your  own  and 
Susanna's  present  and  future  pros- 
pects be  continued,  and  afford  you  all 
that  even  your  kind  heart  should 
require  for  its  complete  satisfaction. 
And  above  all  remember  that  you 
are  to  keep  my  wife  as  long  as  you 
need  her.  I  shall  not  run  over  with 
them.  With  all  my  regard  and  ad- 
miration for  your  country  and  its  in- 
stitutions I  do  not  wish  for  the  pre- 
sent to  set  foot  on  English  soil.  The 
wrongs  of  my  own  down-trodden 
Ireland  would  cause  the  very  stones 
to  rise  up  in  my  pathway.  I  can  also 
understand  my  poor  wife's  dislike  to 
her  native  land  after  all  that  we 
endured  while  we  still  lived  in  London. 
When  I  compare  this  cheerful  place, 
the  brightness  of  the  atmosphere,  and 
the  cheapness  of  provisions,  with  the 
many  difficulties  we  have  had  to 
struggle  through  before  we  came,  I 
feel  how  wisely  for  ourselves  we  acted 
in  turning  our  back  upon  the  '  ould 
counthree.'  The  one  doubt  we  have 
ever  felt  was  on  the  boys'  account,  and 
this  doubt  your  most  wise  and  oppor- 
tune help  has  now  happily  solved. 
Believe  me,  my  dear  colonel,  with  deep 
and  lasting  obligation, 

"  Yours  most  faithfully, 

"  MICHAEL  MARNEY." 

Mr.  Marney's  letters  need  not  be 
quoted  at  length.  The  colonel  used  to 
read  them  with  some  interest  and  a 
good  deal  of  perplexity,  date  them 
gravely  and  put  them  away  in  a 
packet.  Susy  shook  her  head  when 
her  husband  once  offered  to  show  them 
to  her.  One  day,  not  very  long  after- 
wards, with  a  burst  of  tears,  she  found 
them  in  a  drawer,  and  she  threw  the 
whole  heap  into  the  fire. 

Towards  the  end  of  June,  therefore, 
Mrs.  Marney,  smiling  and  excited,  in 
her  French  bonnet  and  French  cut 
clothes,  and  the  little  boys,  with  their 
close  cropped  heads,  arrived  and  settled 
down  into  the  spare  rooms  at  Crow- 


beck.  Jo  took  the  little  boys  under  a 
friendly  wing,  and  treated  them  to 
smiling  earth,  to  fresh  air  and  pure 
water,  and  fire  too,  for  a  little  rabbit 
shooting  diversified  their  fishing  ex- 
peditions, so  did  long  walks  across  the 
moors.  The  two  little  fellows  trudged 
after  their  guide  prouder  and  happier 
than  they  had  ever  been  in  all  their 
life  before.  Susy  was  very  grateful 
to  Josselin  for  his  kindness.  Tempy 
was  absorbed,  the  Marneys  coming 
made  no  difference  to  her  one  way  or 
the  other.  If  the  colonel  had  not 
been  so  preoccupied  about  his  wife  he 
must  have  noticed  how  ill  the  girl 
was  looking.  But  almost  directly  after 
Mrs.  Marney's  arrival  another  per- 
sonage of  even  greater  importance  ap- 
peared upon  the  scene,  and  a  little  girl 
lay  in  Susy's  happy  arms. 

This  little  daughter's  birth  brought 
much  quiet  happiness  to  the  Place. 
The  colonel  used  to  come  up  and  stand 
by  the  pink  satin  cradle  with  some- 
thing dim  in  his  steel-grey  eyes. 
"Dear  little  thing,"  says  Mrs.  Bol- 
sover  one  day,  following  close  upon 
her  brother  and  speaking  in  her 
deepest  voice,  "  what  a  lovely  child, 
John.  What  shall  you  call  her  ?  " 

"I — I  don't  know,"  says  the 
colonel ;  "  Frances,  Caroline,  are 
pleasing  names." 

"I  should  call  her  little  bright 
eyes,"  says  Mrs.  Bolsover  severely 
"  Look  here,  Fanny  "  (to  Miss  Bol?# 
over,  who  had  also  come  up);  "ju/fc 
look  at  this  dear  infant,  is  it  not  a. 
lovely  child  1"  j 

"  Excuse  me,  my  dear  Car,  you  kijow 
I'm  an  old  maid  and  no  judge  of 
babies,"  says  Miss  Bolsover  airily. 
"  It  seems  a  nice  little  creature.  Here, 
here,  hi,  hi,"  and  she  began  rattling 
her  chatelaine  in  the  child's  eyes, 
woke  it  up  and  made  it  cry,  to  the  no 
small  indignation  of  the  nurse.  "A 
pretty  little  thing,  but  not  good- 
tempered,  and  dreadfully  delicate," 
was  Miss  Bolsover's  description  of  her 
infant  niece.  The  report  came  round 
to  poor  Susy  after  a  time,  and  might 


14 


Mrs.  Dymond. 


have  frightened  her  if  her  mother  had 
not  been  there  to  re-assure  her.  Mrs. 
Bolsover's  speech  also  came  round  in 
that  mysterious  way  in  which  so  many 
insignificant  things  drift  by  degrees. 
Susy  and  her  mother  between  them 
determined  that  the  baby  should  be 
called  bright  eyes.  Euphrasia  was  to 
be  the  little  creature's  name. 

How  happy  Susy  was  all  this  time  ; 
the  day  seemed  too  short  to*  love  her 
baby,  she  grudged  going  to  sleep  for 
fear  she  should  dream  of  other  things. 
It  was  no  less  a  joy  to  her  mother  to 
see  Susy  so  happy,  though  poor  Mrs. 
Marney  herself  was  far  from  happy  ; 
she  was  unsettled,  she  was  "anxious, 
she  was  longing  to  be  at  home  once 
more.  Susy  felt  it  somehow,  and 
dreaded  each  day  to  hear  her  mother 
say  she  was  going,  and  anxiously 
avoided  the  subject  lest  her  fears 
should  be  confirmed.  Madame  used 
to  write  from  time  to  time,  and  her 
letters  seemed  to  excite  and  disturb 
her  friend.  "  I  am  not  easy  about 
Mick,  colonel,"  Mrs.  Marney  would 
say  in  confidence  to  her  son-in-law  ; 
"he  is  not  himself  when  I  am  a  way." 

Susanna  suffered  for  her  mother  si- 
lently, guessing  at  her  anxiety,  but  not 
liking  to  ask  many  questions.  She  was 
also  vexed  by  Miss  Bolsover's  treatment 
of  Mrs.  Marney,  which  was  patronising 
and  irritating  to  an  unbearable  degree, 
Susy  thought,  on  the  few  occasions 
hen  she  happened  to  see  them  to- 
gether. Mrs.  Marney,  in  her  single- 
h»arted  preoccupation,  seemed  abso- 
lutely unconscious.  Already  in  those 
days  rumours  of  war  and  trouble  were 
arising  ;  they  had  reached  Tarndale, 
and  filled  Mrs.  Marney  with  alarm. 
But  what  did  emperors,  county  families, 
plenipotentiaries,  Bismarck,  Moltke, 
generals,  marshals,  matter  —  what  were 
they  all  to  her  compared  to  one  curl 
of  her  Mick's  auburn  hair  ?  "  It  is 
not  so  much  his  profession  that  terri- 
fies me,  it's  his  Irish  blood,  Susy, 
which  leads  him  into  trouble  !  You 
English  people  don't  understand  what 
it  is  to  have  hot  blood  boiling  in  your 


tS 
w 


veins.  Your  colonel  is  not  like  my 
husband.  I  must  get  home,  Susy  dear, 
now  that  I  have  seen  you  with  your 
darling  babe  in  your  arms." 

Was  it  possible  that  Mrs.  Marney 
was  more  aware  of  Miss  Bolsover's 
rudeness  than  she  chose  to  acknow- 
ledge ?  One  day,  before  Susanna  was 
down,  when  several  of  the  neighbours 
were  present,  calling  on  the  colonel, 
Susanna's  mother,  in  her  black  dress, 
had  come  by  chance  into  the  room, 
followed  by  the  two  noisy  little  boys, 
and  carrying  that  little  sleepy  bundle 
of  a  Phraisie  in  her  arms ;  Miss  Bols- 
over,  irritated  by  her  presence  and 
the  baby's  flannels  and  the  comfort- 
able untidiness  of  the  whole  proceeding, 
began  making  conversation,  politely 
inquiring  after  Susy,  asking  Mrs.  Mar- 
ney whether  she  and  her  children  were 
contemplating  spending  the  whole 
summer  at  Crowbeck.  "  But  it  must 
be  a  great  pleasure  to  my  brother 
having  your  boys  for  so  long,  and,  of 
course,  it  is  much  more  convenient  for 
Susy,  and  less  expensive  too,  than 
anything  else." 

"  It  has  been  a  joy  to  me  to  be 
here,  and  to  welcome  my  sweet  little 
grandchild,"  said  Mrs.  Marney,  hug- 
ging the  baby  quite  naturally  ;  "  and 
if  it  had  not  been  for  Susy  wanting 
me,  and  for  all  the  kindness  I've  met 
here  from  the  colonel,  I  should  never 
have  kept  away  from  Paris  so  long. 
A  woman  with  a  home  and  a  husband 
should  be  at  home,  Miss  Bolsover ;  it 
it  is  only  single  ladies,  like  you,  that 
can  settle  down  in  other  people's 
houses.  I  am  thankful  to  see  my  child 
happily  established  in  such  a  warm 
nest  of  her  own,  but,  dearly  as  I  love 
her,  I  want  to  get  back.  Somehow  I 
seem  to  know  by  myself  how  sorely 
my  poor  Mick  is  wanting  me,"  she 
said,  with  a  tender  ring  in  her  voice. 
The  whole  sympathy  of  the  room  was 
with  the  warm-hearted  woman.  Miss 
Bolsover  was  nowhere.  The  little 
boys,  with  their  French-cropped  heads, 
suddenly  flung  their  arms  round  their 
mother's  neck,  calling  out  that  she 


Mrs.  Dymond. 


15 


must  not  go — that  papa  must  come 
and  live  here  too.  The  colonel  might 
have  preferred  less  noise  and  demon- 
stration in  the  presence  of  callers. 
"Now  then,  Michael  and  Dermott, 
run  away,  there's  good  boys,"  said 
he ;  "  and,  my  dear  Mrs.  Marney,  I 
think  we  will  ring  for  the  nurse  and 
send  baby  up  stairs  to  her  mamma. 
The  help  and  comfort  it  has  been  to  us 
having  you  all  this  time  I  leave  to 
your  own  kind  nature  to  divine." 

As  soon  as  Susy  was  strong  and 
well  again,  and  the  boys  had  been 
received  at  their  school,  Mrs.  Marney 
departed ;  nothing  would  keep  her, 
and  the  good  colonel  went  up  to 
London  to  see  her  safely  off,  with 
her  French  box  in  the  guard's  van, 
and  her  friendly,  handsome  face  at  the 
carriage  window,  smiling  and  tearful. 
Poor  Mary  Marney,  what  a  good  soul 
it  is  !  he  thought  as  he  stood  on  the 
platform.  What  an  extraordinary 
and  most  touching  infatuation  for 
that  husband  of  hers  ! 

"  Have  you  got  your  shawl  and  your 
bag  ?  You  know  you  can  depend  upon 
us  to  look  after  the  boys." 


"  Good-bye ;  God  bless  you,  colonel. 
Write  and  tell  me  all  about  the  dear 
babe,"  says  Mrs.  Marney,  leaning 
eagerly  forward  from  the  carriage. 

The  colonel  was  already  looking  at 
his  watch ;  he  was  longing  to  get 
home.  He  had  only  come  up  from  a 
sense  of  duty,  and  because  he  had 
some  reason  to  fear  that  Mrs.  Marney 
had  received  some  slights  from  other 
quarters  for  which  he  was  anxious 
to  make  amends.  He  looked  at  his 
watch  as  the  train  puffed  off  with 
his  wife's  mother ;  at  his  Brad- 
shaw  as  soon  as  her  white  handker- 
chief had  waved  away  out  of  the 
station.  He  found  that  by  taking  the 
express  he  might  get  home  that  night 
by  midnight  (driving  across  from 
Kendal)  instead  of  waiting  till  the 
morning.  He  was  too  old  to  wait 
away  from  those  he  loved,  he  told 
himself  ;  he  longed  to  see  Susy  again 
with  little  Phrasie  in  her  arms.  The 
colonel  called  a  hansom  then  and 
there,  dined  hurriedly  at  the  hotel, 
picked  up  his  bag,  and  drove  off  to 
Euston  Square  station. 


To  be  continued. 


16 


FRENCH  VIEWS  ON  ENGLISH  WRITERS. 


"THE  French  mind,"  says  a  modern 
observer,  "  with  all  its  facilities,  is  not 
really  hospitable.  It  cannot  repro- 
duce the  accent  of  English,  German, 
or  Scandinavian  thought  without  alter- 
ation and  disturbance." 

This  is  one  of  those  judgments  which 
make  one  think.  On  the  whole  there 
is  at  the  bottom  of  our  English  con- 
sciousness something  which  yields  as- 
sent to  it.  We  who  are  so  ready  to 
believe  in  the  width  and  the  catho- 
licity of  our  own  sympathies,  who 
would  smile  at  the  idea  that  there  is 
anything  in  French  ideas  or  French 
literature  that  we  cannot,  if  we  will, 
understand — we  have  most  of  us,  at 
bottom,  a  rooted  belief  that  the  French 
are  by  nature  incapable  of  really  pene- 
trating the  English  mind,  of  under- 
standing our  poetry,  of  appreciating 
our  art,  or  of  estimating  the  true  pro- 
portions and  relations  of  qualities  in 
our  national  genius.  We  have  scarcely 
brought  ourselves  to  believe  even  now 
in  the  reality  of  the  French  admira- 
tion of  Shakespeare.  Voltaire's  second 
period  of  petulance  towards  him,  which 
had  practically  no  effect  in  France,  has 
made  a  much  deeper  impression  upon  us 
than  his  first  period  of  appreciation, 
which  had  great  and  lasting  conse- 
quences. Or  even,  if  the  sincerity  of  the 
French  professions  has  been  admitted,  if 
innumerable  translations,  the  homage 
of  the  whole  army  of  the  romantics, 
and  the  testimony  of  every  French 
writer  of  eminence  since  the  Revolu- 
tion, of  whatever  shade  of  thought, 
have  convinced  our  incredulity  as  to 
the  reality  of  our  neighbours'  enjoy- 
ment, we  are  still  inclined  to  protest 
that  the  incapacities  of  the  French 
language  remain,  and  that  when,  in 
these  latter  days,  M.  Richepin,  a  poet 
and  an  English  scholar,  translates 


"  How  now,  you  secret,  black  and  midnight 

hags, 
What  is't  you  do  ?  " 

by 

"  Eh  bien,  mysterieuses  et  noires  sorci&res  de 

minuit, 
Qu'est  ce  que  vous  faites  ?  " 

he  is  but  furnishing  one  more  proof  of 
that  inevitable  alienation  between  the 
French  mind  and  the  English  poetic 
genius  which  the  critic  we  have 
quoted  attributes  to  a  special  quality 
of  the  French  mind  —  its  "  inhos- 
pitality,"  its  proneness  to  misplace 
and  misunderstand  the  "accents"  of 
other  literatures. 

Then  again  we,  to  whom  the  real 
Byron  is  known,  and  amongst  whom 
his  vogue  has  diminished  to  an  almost 
unreasonable  extent,  we  cannot  get 
it  out  of  our  heads  that  he  is  still  the 
only  English  poet  for  whom  the  French 
have  ever  had  a  real  passion.  We 
cannot  forget,  we  find  it  even  hard 
to  forgive,  the  naivete  with  which  the 
French  took  Byron  and  his  despairs 
entirely  at  his  own  valuation,  and  we 
smile  over  the  passion  with  which  De 
Musset  reproaches  Goethe  and  Byron 
for  their  influence  on  the  century  and 
on  him.  "  Forgive  me,  great  poets, — 
you  are  demi-gods,  and  I  am  but  a 
child  in  pain.  But  as  I  write,  I  needs 
must  curse  you  !  Why  could  you  not 
have  sung  the  perfume  of  the  flowers, 
the  voices  of  nature,  hope  and  love, 
the  sunshine  and  the  vine,  beauty 
and  the  blue  heaven  ?  I  have  perhaps 
felt  the  weight  of  griefs  to  which  you 
were  strangers,  and  still  I  believe  in 
hope,  still  I  bless  God  ! "  Such  a  pas- 
sage as  this  sets  one  meditating  on  the 
weakness  of  the  Byronic  influence  over 
our  own  later  poets,  on  the  fugitive  and 
short-lived  traces  of  it,  for  instance, 
in  the  work  of  the  young  Tennyson, 


French  Views  on  English   Writers. 


17 


who  published  his  first  volume  of 
poems  only  three  years  after  Byron's 
death,  and  on  the  rapidity  of  its  decay 
in  the  presence  of  other  and  greater 
forces;  and  as  we  recall  the  French 
ignorance  of  Wordsworth,  of  Keats 
and  Shelley,  we  feel  ourselves  again 
in  the  presence  of  a  sort  of  national 
blunder,  of  a  kind  of  obtuseness  to 
the  characteristic  notes  of  the  English 
genius,  which  we  are  inclined  to 
regard  as  inborn  and  therefore  irre- 
mediable. 

Is  it  so  ?  Is  there  really  anything 
in  the  literary  sphere  into  which  the 
French  mind,  that  sharp  and  subtle 
instrument  of  which  the  world  has  so 
often  felt  the  edge,  whether  for  good 
or  evil,  cannot  penetrate  if  it  will? 
The  shallow  disproportionate  French 
criticism  of  the  past  from  which  Ger- 
many has  suffered  no  less  than  our- 
selves, was  it  not  simply  the  result,  not 
of  inherent  lack  of  faculty,  but  of  lack 
of  knowledge  ?  The  Frenchman  of  the 
eighteenth  century,  dazzled  with  his 
own  brilliant  tradition,  and  witness  of 
its  effect  in  other  countries  than  his 
own,  could  not  easily  persuade  himself 
that  those  other  countries  had  any- 
thing worth  his  serious  study  in  re- 
turn. The  Romantic  movement,  with 
all  its  forcible  irregular  ways  of 
awakening  sympathy  and  enlarging 
taste,  was  needed  before  the  barriers 
separating  France  from  the  rest  of  the 
world  could  be  effectually  broken 
through.  The  rage  for  Byron,  for 
Walter  Scott,  for  Shakespeare,  for 
Teutonic  fancy  and  Teutonic  reverie, 
which  it  evoked,  might  be  often  un- 
reasoning and  ignorant,  might  be  capa- 
ble at  any  moment  of  disturbing  or 
displacing  the  true  "  accent  "  of  what 
it  loved  and  praised,  but  still  it  was 
an  expansive  educating  force,  a  force 
of  progress.  The  imaginative  tumult 
of  the  time  was  in  reality  but  one  as- 
pect of  the  central  scientific  impulse, 
which  has  in  so  many  ways  transformed 
European  thought  and  life  during  the 
century,  and  those  who  were  born  in 
its  midst  have  passed  naturally  and 
No.  307. — VOL.  ni. 


inevitably  onward  from  a  first  period  of 
stress  and  struggle,  of  rich  and  tangled 
enthusiasms,  into  a  second  period  of 
reflection,  assimilation,  and  research. 

Nowadays  the  French  are  producing 
no  great  poetry  and  no  great  art.  But 
in  all  directions  they  are  learning,  re- 
searching, examining.  Their  historical 
work  has  caught  the  spirit  of  German 
thoroughness ;  their  art  is  becoming 
technical  and  complicated  to  an  al- 
most intolerable  degree  ;  while,  in  the 
domain  of  the  novel,  the  positivist 
passion  of  the  moment  shows  itself 
under  the  strange  and  bastard  forms 
of  the  roman  experimental  et  scien- 
tifique.  It  is  especially  in  their  criti- 
cism that  the  modern  spirit,  with  its 
determination  to  see  things  as  they 
are,  independently  of  convention  and 
formula,  and  to  see  them  not  only  from 
outside,  but  in  all  their  processes  of 
growth  and  development,  has  borne 
most  excellent  fruit.  One  has  but  to 
compare  Chateaubriand's  fantastic  and 
ignorant  Essai  sur  la  Litterature  Ang- 
laise,  with  Sainte  Beuve's  criticisms  of 
Cowper,  or  Thomson,  or  Wordsworth, 
with  the  work  of  Mont^gut  or  M. 
Scherer,  to  realise  the  modern  progress 
in  exactness  of  knowledge,  in  con- 
scientiousness of  spirit,  in  pliancy  and 
elasticity  of  method. 

Among  living  critics  M.  Scherer 
is  the  best  successor  of  Sainte 
Beuve.  He  has  the  same  solidity 
and  width  of  range,  the  same  love 
for  directness  and  simplicity  of  style, 
the  same  command  of  striking  and 
felicitous  phrases  and  an  element 
of  grace  besides,  which  is  not  often 
present  in  Sainte  Beuve's  more  rapid 
and  continuous  critical  work.  And, 
to  the  profit  of  both  countries,  his  at- 
tention has  been  specially  drawn  to 
England  and  to  English  subjects.  He 
is,  indeed,  no  stranger  among  us.  We 
have  admitted  his  claim  to  be  heard 
among  the  authorities  long  ago.  "  A 
French  critic  on  Milton,"  thanks  first 
to  Mr.  Arnold  and  then  to  the  in- 
trinsic interest  of  M.  Scherer 's  work 
is  an  old  acquaintance  to  most  of  thoee 


18 


French   Views  on  English   Writers. 


of  us  who  care  for  literary  matters. 
Still,  books  are  many  and  life  is  short, 
and  French  criticism  on  English  sub- 
jects, however  good,  is  apt  to  be  more 
overlooked  than  it  should  be  in  a 
society  which  teems  with  critics,  stu- 
dents, and  editions  of  English  subjects 
and  English  books.  Nor  has  M. 
Scherer  yet  collected  in  book  form 
all  or  nearly  all  of  those  articles  on 
English  writers  which  he  has  been  con- 
tributing for  years  past  to  the  columns 
of  the  Temps,  winding  up  with  the 
long  and  elaborate  analysis  of  George 
Eliot's  life  and  work  which  has  just 
appeared.  In  his  last  published 
volume,  however,  which  is  now  three 
years  old,  among  studies  on  Zola  and 
Doudan  and  Eenan  in  his  very  best 
vein,  there  is  an  article  on  Words- 
worth and  another  on  Carlyie,  which 
are  quite  enough  to  keep  our  special 
English  interest  in  his  critical  work 
alive  until  that  new  and  fuller  series  ap- 
pears for  which  one  would  think  there 
was  already  ample  material.  If  we 
take  these  articles,  and  join  to  them  a 
recent  book  by  M.  James  Darmestetter 
(Essais  de  Litterature  Anglaise),  and 
another  by  M.  Gabriel  Sarrazin  (Poetes 
Modemes  de  I' Angleterre),  we  shall  find 
ourselves  very  well  provided  with 
materials  for  a  short  analysis  and  de- 
scription of  the  various  kinds  of  criti- 
cism now  being  bestowed  on  English 
subjects  in  France. 

For  these  three  writers,  M.  Scherer, 
M.  Darmestetter  and  M.  Sarrazin, 
represent  three  typical  modes  of 
modern  work.  M.  Scherer,  as  we 
have  said,  is  the  successor  of  Sainte 
Beuve.  His  criticism  represents  that 
union  of  adequate  knowledge  with 
long  training  and  native  literary  in- 
stinct or  flair,  which  belongs  only  to 
the  first-rate  man  of  letters.  It  is  not 
only  information  we  get  from  him ;  we 
get  a  delicate  individuality  of  style  and 
judgment ;  something  both  bien  pense 
and  bien  dit.  His  work  is  essentially 
literary  ;  it  belongs  to  the  great  lite- 
rary tradition  of  France ;  it  is  stimu- 
lated by,  and  it  ministers  to  that  joy 


in  the  things  of  the  mind  which  is 
self-sufficient  and  independent  of 
any  scientific  or  utilitarian  object. 
M.  Darmestetter,  on  the  other  hand, 
belongs  to  that  numerous  class  of 
workers  who  represent  the  scientific 
side  in  literature.  He  is  a  man  of 
first-rate  information,  painstaking  in 
all  his  ways,  and  gifted  quite  suffi- 
ciently with  the  higher  critical  sense 
to  enable  him  to  place  his  subject  in 
its  true  relations,  and  to  grasp  in  it  all 
that  is  most  vital  and  essential.  But 
he  is  not  a  great  writer ;  there  is  no- 
thing strongly  individual  either  in  his 
judgments  or  in  his  way  of  delivering 
them  ;  he  gives  agreeable  and  adequate 
expression  to  the  best  research  or  to 
the  general  cultivated  opinion  of  the 
moment  on  such  topics  as  the  stages  of 
Shakespeare's  development,  or  the 
poetical  relations  of  Wordsworth  and 
Shelley.  He  says  what  most  cultivated 
people  have  come  to  think,  and  he  says 
it  fluently  and  with  abundant  power  of 
illustration.  But  he  has  very  little 
distinction,  and  very  few  of  those 
strokes  of  insight,  those  anticipations 
of  the  common  judgment  which  lift  a 
writer  well  above  the  average.  Occa- 
sionally, indeed,  especially  in  the  article 
on  Shelley,  he  attains  in  separate 
passages  a  high  level  of  literary  excel- 
lence. Still,  generally  speaking,  the 
book  contains  a  great  deal  of  admir- 
able statement ;  it  is  clear,  sensible 
and  well-written  ;  but  it  is  not  in  the 
author's  power,  as  it  is  in  M.  Scherer's, 
to  send  us  away  with  those  fresh  indi- 
vidual impressions  which  are  the  pro- 
duct only  of  the  best  kind  of  literary 
work. 

M.  Sarrazin's  is  a  very  different 
sort  of  book.  He  has  certainly  no 
command  over  the  higher  criticism, 
nor  has  he  the  wide  and  exhaustive 
knowledge  of  M.  Darmestetter.  He 
is  an  amateur,  well  meaning  and  some- 
times ingenious  ;  but  still  an  amateur, 
that  is  to  say,  improperly  equipped  for 
the  work  he  has  undertaken,  and  set- 
ting out  with  a  light  heart  to  perform 
tasks  of  which  the  true  range  and 


French   Views  on  English   Writers. 


19 


proportions  are  unknown  to  him.  His 
faults  are  not  so  much  faults  of  com- 
mission as  faults  of  omission.  What 
he  tells  us  is,  generally  speaking,  fairly 
well  told.  The  misfortune  is,  that  he 
has  so  little  idea  of  the  relative  value 
of  what  he  says  to  all  that  might  be 
said  on  a  given  subject.  He  chooses 
Landor,  Shelley,  Mrs.  Browning  and 
Swinburne  as  four  typical  modern 
specimens  of  the  "  Anglo-Saxon  race," 
and  with  them  he  contrasts  Keats  and 
Rossetti  as  "  deviations  from  the 
Anglo-Saxon  line."  How  French,  one 
is  inclined  to  say,  and  how  false ! 
There  is  probably  not  a  single  compe- 
tent English  person  who,  if  he  were 
asked  to  name  four  typical  English 
poets  of  the  century  would  dream  of 
including  Landor  and  Swinburne  and 
excluding  Wordsworth  and  Tennyson  ; 
nor  would  it  enter  into  any  English 
head  to  make  Landor  the  typical 
representative  of  English  classicism, 
while  reckoning  Keats,  in  whom  the 
spirit  of  the  English  renaissance  found 
renewed  and  exquisite  expression,  as  a 
"  deviation  "  from  the  English  line. 
The  whole  plan  of  the  book  therefore 
is  arbitrary  and  voulu.  It  is  an  in- 
stance of  literary  caprice,  and,  in 
literature,  to  make  a  freak  acceptable, 
one  must  have  either  the  delicate 
irony  of  a  Renan  or  the  sheer  force  of 
a  Carlyle.  Above  all,  one  must  be 
sensible  that  it  is  a  freak,  an  eccentri- 
city, that  one  is  upholding.  One  must 
show  a  certain  bright,  defiant  con- 
sciousness of  having  left  the  beaten 
path,  whereas,  M.  Sarrazrn,  all  the 
time  that  he  is  floundering  in  mislead- 
ing cross-roads,  so  naively  believes 
himself  in  the  broad  accepted  way, 
that  the  reader  is  necessarily  either 
provoked  or  amused.  The  book  is  an 
example  of  a  kind  of  work  which 
though  still  common  enough,  is 
every  year  becoming  less  common, 
both  in  France  and  England,  as  the 
standard  of  technical  performance  in 
the  different  branches  of  intellectual 
activity  is  being  slowly  and  labori- 
ously raised.  The  ingenious  amateur, 


whether  in  literature  or  in  science,  has 
less  and  less  chance  of  success.  In 
one  way  or  another,  the  public  to 
which  he  appeals  admonishes  him  as 
the  haughty  Hungarian  youth  ad- 
monished the  English  Dean,  who,  in 
a  spirit  of  kindly  patronage,  was 
airing  his  college  Latin  upon  the 
stranger  :  Discamus,  et  tune  loquamur! 

To  return,  however,  to  M.  Scherer. 
The  study  of  Wordsworth  with  which 
his  last  volume  opens  is  a  review  of 
Mr.  Matthew  Arnold's  Selections,  and 
it  opens  with  certain  general  reflec- 
tions suggested  by  sayings  or  judg- 
ments of  Mr.  Arnold's.  In  the  first 
place,  we  have  his  view  of  the  dictum 
that  "poetry  is  a  criticism  of  life, 
under  the  eternal  conditions  of  poetic 
truth  and  poetic  beauty."  M.  Scherer 
is  not  quite  satisfied  with  it.  He 
thinks  it  vague ;  he  wants  to  know 
what  are  the  eternal  conditions  of 
poetic  truth  and  poetic  beauty,  and  he 
casts  about  for  a  new  and  more  exact 
definition  of  "  poetry "  by  which  to 
test  Wordsworth's  artistic  claims. 

Finally,  he  decides  that  "the  poetical 
element  in  things  is  the  property  they 
have   of   setting   the   imagination   in 
movement,  of  stimulating  it,  and  sug- 
gesting   to    it    much    more    than    is 
perceived  or  expressed.     The  poet  is 
a  man  who  sees  by  the  imagination, 
and  it  is  the  characteristic  of  imagi- 
nation to  amplify  all  that  it  sees  and 
touches  ;  to  push  back  or  to  efface  the 
limits  of   things,   and  so  to   idealise. 
It  will  not  do,  however,  to  say  that 
imagination  beautifies,  nor  in  general 
to  confound  the  notions  of  poetry  and 
beauty.     A  cathedral,  for  instance,  is 
more   poetical   than   beautiful,    while 
the  Parthenon  is  more  beautiful  than 
poetical.     Imagination  may  intensify 
the  horror  of  a  thing  as  well  as  its 
charm. — Poetry,  then,  is  the  view  of 
things  by  the  eyes  of  the  imagination, 
and  poetical  expression  is  their  repro- 
duction under  the  form  most  capable 
of  awakening  the  imaginative  power 
of   the  reader.     So  that    the  natural 
language   of  poetry  is  a  language  of 

C  2 


20 


French   Views  on  English   Writers. 


images.  Let  the  reader  try  to  recall 
to  himself  the  finest  passages  in  his 
favourite  poets,  and  he  will  see  that 
it  is  the  choice  and  the  charm  of  the 
metaphors  and  comparisons  used  which 
enchant  him.  .  .  .  And  if  to  the  imagi- 
native conception  of  things  you  add 
the  expression  best  fitted  to  evoke 
this  conception  in  others,  and  if  you 
submit  this  expression  to  the  laws  of 
rhythm,  and  bestow  upon  it  the 
cadence  which  by  a  secret  force  of 
association  brings  the  nervous  sensa- 
tion of  the  hearer  into  harmony  with 
the  movement  of  the  poet's  thought, 
you  will  have  poetry  in  the  full  and 
concrete  sense  of  the  word." 

There,  then,  is  M.  Scherer's  defini- 
tion, that  inevitable  definition  which 
every  critic  must  attempt  for  himself 
sooner  or  later.  Mr.  Arnold's,  beside 
it,  has  the  merit  of  being  terse  and 
easily  remembered,  and  he  would 
perhaps  maintain  that,  as  such  a 
complex  idea  as  "poetry"  is  incap- 
able of  exhaustive  and  satisfactory 
definition,  the  best  that  can  be  done  is 
to  "  throw  out "  something  approxi- 
mate, something  suggestive.  "  Poetry 
is  a  criticism  of  life."  It  was,  in  the 
main,  the  view  of  Wordsworth ;  it  is 
certainly  the  view  of  Browning ;  and 
whatever  may  have  been  the  theory  of 
a  poet's  youth,  this  tends  commonly  to 
become  the  theory  of  his  maturity. 
Looking  back  over  our  poetical  history 
we  see  that  it  expresses  one  of  the 
two  great  strains  of  English  poetical 
thought,  the  strain  of  moved  philo- 
sophical consciousness,  so  characteristic 
of  the  national  genius,  which  dictated 
Chaucer's  "  Me  fro  the  presse  and  let 
thy  ghost  thee  lead,"  or  Shakespeare's 
"Love's  not  time's  fool,  though  rosy 
lips  and  cheeks  within  'his  bending 
sickle's  compass  come,"  or  Sidney's 
"  Leave  me,  0  Love,  which  reachest 
but  to  dust,  and  thou,  my  soul,  aspire 
to  higher  things  " — and  still  breathes 
through  three-fourths  of  our  poetry  of 
the  present. 

But  there  is  another  strain,  and 
for  it  s  definition  M.  Scherer's  phrases 


will  serve  us  best,  "  Poetry  is  the  view 
of  things  by  the  eyes  of  t/ie  imagina- 
tion. ' '  "  The  poetic  element  in  tilings  is 
the  property  tJiey  have  of  setting  the 
imagination  in  movement"  Here  you 
have  something  which  at  once  brings 
before  us  the  whole  lovely  dreamland 
of  English  poetry  since  the  days  when 
Chaucer  clothed  his  "  Mighty  God  of 
Love  " 

"  In  silke  embroidered  ful  of  grene  greves, 
In-with  a  fret  of  rede  rose  leaves, 
The    freshest    syn    the    world    was    first 
begonne," 

to  those  when  Keats  in  all  the 
plenitude  of  his  young  imagination, 
sought  in  the  illumined  world  which 
it  revealed  to  him,  a  refuge  from  the 
ills  of  sickness  and  poverty  : 

"  Yes,  in  spite  of  all, 

Some  shape  of  beauty  moves  away  the  pall 
From  our  dark  spirits.      Such  the  sun,    the 

moon, 

Trees  old  and  young,  sprouting  a  shady  boon 
For  simple  sheep  ;  and  such  are  daffodils 
"With  the  green  world  they  live  in  ;  and  clear 

rills 

That  for  themselves  a  cooling  covert  make 
'Gainst  the  hot  season  ;  the  mid  forest  brake, 
Rich  with  a    sprinkling    of   fair    musk-rose 

blooms  : 

And  such  too  is  the  grandeur  of  the  dooms 
We  have  imagined  for  the  mighty  dead  ; 
All  lovely  tales  that  we  have  heard  or  read. ' ' 

From  first  principles  M.  Scherer 
passes  on  to  describe  our  English 
poetical  development  since  Byron. 
He  is  especially  struck  by  the  fluctua- 
tions of  English  taste.  "  There  is 
no  country  of  the  present  day  in  which 
the  succession  of  dominant  poets,  and 
with  the  succession  of  poets  the  suc- 
cession of  influences,  tastes,  schools, 
and  methods  has  been  as  rapid  as  in 
England.  And  the  reason  is,  that  in 
spite  of  the  ideas  which  our  conti- 
nental ignorance  holds  on  the  subject, 
the  English  nation  is  the  most  poetical 
nation  in  Europe,  and  that,  moreover, 
the  English  being  much  greater  readers 
than  we,  are  seized  much  more  fre- 
quently with  a  desire  for  change  and 
novelty.  We  are  still  at  Byron  in 
France.  But  the  English  have  passed 


French   Views  on  English   Writers. 


21 


through  Byronism  long  ago."  Byron 
was  dethroned  by  Wordsworth,  and 
Wordsworth  by  Shelley  and  Keats, 
and  if  Tennyson  has  not  effaced  any 
of  his  predecessors  he  has  at  least 
"  climbed  on  to  their  shoulders,  and  in 
certain  directions  reached  a  higher  level 
than  they." 

In  the  course  of  his  sketch  of  the 
country  M.  Scherer  expresses  several 
judgments  which  will  hardly  pass 
without  remonstrance  here.  His  gene- 
ral tribute  to  Shelley  is  warm  and 
eloquent,  but  still  he  makes  grave 
reservations.  "  The  half  of  Shelley's 
work,"  he  says,  "  at  least,  is  spoilt  by 
unbearable  humanitarianism. — Poetry 
pure  only  obtained  ascendency  in  his 
mind  by  moments,  when  he  was 
governed  by  the  sentiment  of  nature, 
or  when,  here  and  there,  some  earthly 
love  mingled  with  his  platonic 
dreams." 

Compare  with  this  Mr.  Myers'  ex- 
pression that  we  have  in-  Shelley  "an 
extreme,  almost  an  extravagant  speci- 
men of  the  poetic  character  "  ;  or  Mr. 
Swinburne's  outburst — "  He  was  alone 
the  perfect  singing-god  ;  his  thoughts, 
words,  deeds,  all  sang  together."  Per- 
haps the  best  answer  we  have  to 
M.  Scherer's  various  objections  is  to 
be  found  in  the  thoughtful  study  by 
Mr.  Myers  from  which  we  have  just 
quoted.  Certainly  Mr.  Swinburne's 
dithyrambs  will  not  be  enough  to  con- 
vince a  foreigner,  especially  a  foreigner 
with  ideas  of  sobriety  in  style.  Mr. 
Swinburne  says  in  effect,  "  Take  it  on 
my  word,  the  word  of  a  poet,  that 
Shelley  is  the  greatest  of  poets,"  and 
we  who  feel  the  full  roll  and  splendour 
of  Mr.  Swinburne's  marvellous  sen- 
tences are  inclined  to  accept  his  ver- 
dict entirely  at  his  own  valuation. 
But  a  foreign  critic,  not  so  sensitive 
as  we  to  those  influences  of  sound 
over  which  Mr.  Swinburne  has  such 
extraordinary  mastery,  will  probably 
maintain  that  a  poet's  place  in  his 
generation  is  not  settled  so  easily  or 
so  high-handedly. 

Such    work    as    Shelley's,    indeed, 


before  it  can  be  finally  classed 
passes  necessarily  and  inevitably 
through  a  long  period  of  debate. 
Generally  speaking,  a  nation  ap- 
proaches its  great  poets  first  on  the 
intellectual  side,  and  the  majority  of 
readers  are  affected  by  the  presence 
or  absence  of  an  intellectual  frame- 
work they  can  understand  in  a  poet's 
work,  by  the  intellectual  coherence  or 
incoherence  of  his  general  attitude, 
before  they  form  any  judgment  at  all 
on  his  purely  poetical  qualities.  The 
strength  of  this  tendency  varies,  of 
course,  in  different  nations  in  propor- 
tion to  the  strength  of  their  artistic 
gift.  In  modern  Spain,  where  the 
commoner  artistic  gifts  are  very  widely 
spread,  and  where  the  language  places 
a  certain  facile  brilliancy  and  music 
within  the  reach  of  almost  every 
poetical  aspirant,  the  enormous  popu- 
larity of  a  poet  like  Zorrilla  has 
nothing  to  do  with  any  intellectual 
consideration  whatever.  From  a  Euro- 
pean standpoint  Zorrilla's  matter  is 
beneath  consideration.  He  has  no 
ideas,  no  donnees,  or  almost  none,  that 
are  not  imitated  or  borrowed.  And 
yet  he  is  so  facile,  so  musical,  he  plays 
so  adroitly  with  all  the  common  popu- 
lar sentiments  of  his  country  and 
time,  that  his  countrymen,  even  when 
they  are  most  conscious  that  he  has 
nothing  to  say,  are  still  enthusiastic, 
still  carried  away  by  a  sort  of  passion 
of  delight  in  him  which  does  not  admit 
of  reasoning. 

In  France,  it  is  not  enough  to  be  a 
master  of  facile  and  musical  common- 
place. A  poet's  general  position  and 
leading  ideas  may  be  incoherent  or 
shallow,  but  if  he  is  to  succeed  he  must 
at  least  be  a  master  of  detail,  he  must 
be  original  by  lines  and  phrases,  he 
must  catch  the  subtle  French  ear,  and 
satisfy  the  French  rhetorical  taste 
by  a  continual  struggle  with  and  a 
continual  triumph  over  the  diffi- 
culties of  expression.  Our  English 
demand  is  rather  different.  Wo  are 
more  serious,  more  prejudiced,  less 
artistic — sometimes  for  good,  some- 


22 


French  Views  on  English   Writers. 


times  for  evil.  If  the  matter  of  a 
poet  touches  us  we  can  pardon  a  great 
deal  of  inferiority  of  manner.  There 
are  one  or  two  disastrous  modern  in- 
stances of  the  fact  which  will  occur  to 
everybody.  On  the  other  hand  if  the 
matter  of  the  poet  is  in  opposition  to 
the  dominant  conceptions  of  the  day, 
or  if  intellectually  it  offends  our 
critical  and  logical  instincts,  we  are 
not  very  ready  to  shift  our  point  of 
view,  and  to  give  a  writer,  who  seems 
to  us,  whether  justly  or  unjustly,  to 
have  failed  on  the  side  of  general 
conceptions,  that  is  to  say  on  the  in- 
tellectual side,  the  triumph  which  may 
really  belong  to  him  on  the  artistic 
side. 

Something  of  this  kind  has  befallen 
Shelley.  The  ordinary  English  mind 
for  one  set  of  reasons,  and  a  good 
many  men  of  ability  for  another  set  of 
reasons,  regard  him  as  incoherent  and 
rhapsodical,  the  preacher  of  a  childish 
and  contradictory  philosophy.  It  is 
a  purely  intellectual  judgment,  and  it 
is  answered  by  'the  scorn  of  his  de- 
votees, who  ask  what  logic  and  philo- 
sophy have  got  to  do  with  poetry? 
And  indeed,  as  Shelley  was  a  great 
poet,  one  who  saw  the  world  "  with 
the  eyes  of  the  imagination,"  and 
whose  visions  are  immortal,  this  ex- 
clusive sort  of  judgment  of  him,  which 
prevailed  for  so  long,  has  had  to  give 
way,  and  is  giving  way  more  and 
more.  But  it  is  of  no  use  to  pretend 
that  there  is  no  question  in  debate, 
or  that  the  instinct  which  has  found 
so  many  spokesmen  among  ourselves, 
and  has  lately  inspired  the  sentences 
we  have  quoted  from  M.  Scherer,  is 
an  absurd  and  unsound  one.  Shelley's 
opinions  were  crude  and  fanciful,  and 
among  his  many  masteries'  he  was  not 
a  master  of  large  and  clear  philoso- 
phical expression.  But  he  challenged 
the  world  as  much  by  his  opinions  and 
his  philosophy  as  by  his  purely  poeti- 
cal qualities,  and  his  slowly-widening 
audience  has  had  to  get  behind  the 
opinions  and  the  philosophy,  and  to 
learn  to  approach  him  as  the  seer 


and  the  singer.  The  final  result  may 
be  certain,  but  a  large  amount  of 
doubt  and  debate  on  the  road  thither 
was  and  is  still  inevitable. 

Before  we  part  with  M.  Scherer,  we 
may  quote  from  him  the  three  follow- 
ing passages,  also  taken  from  the 
Wordsworth  essay.  (The  articles  on 
Carlyle  and  on  Lord  Beaconsfield's 
Endymion  are  short,  and  hardly  lend 
themselves  to  extracts.)  The  first  of 
the  passages  contains  an  estimate  of 
Tennyson,  and  whether  we  agree  with 
it  or  no,  is  certainly  what  criticism 
ought  to  be — the  record  of  a  real 
impression  finely  and  delicately  put. 

"  Keats  and  Shelley  have  certainly 
not  been  thrown  into  the  shade  by 
Tennyson,  but  still  Tennyson  has 
climbed  upon  their  shoulders,  and 
perhaps  in  certain  respects  has  touched 
a  higher  level  than  they.  If  he  is  not 
stronger  and  greater  than  Shelley,  the 
metal  of  his  poetry  is  purer,  the  work- 
manship of  it  is  more  ingenious,  more 
exquisite,  and  the  work,  as  a  whole,  of 
a  more  astonishing  variety.  Tennyson 
has  a  consummate  mastery  of  rhythm  ; 
he  has  an  extraordinary  wealth  of 
vocabulary ;  he  has  taste,  grace,  dis- 
tinction, every  kind  of  talent  and  re- 
finement ;  he  is  the  author  of  lyrical 
pieces  unrivalled  in  any  language, 
some  breathing  the  subtlest  melan- 
choly, others  the  most  penetrating 
pathos,  and  some  vibrating  like  a 
knight's  bugle-horn  :  and  he  lacks  only 
one  thing,  the  supreme  gift,  the  last 
flight,  which  carries  Ganymede  into  the 
empyrean,  and  throws  him  breathless 
at  the  feet  of  Jove.  He  sins  by  ex- 
cess of  elegance ;  he  is  too  civilised, 
too  accomplished.  There  is  no  genre 
that  he  has  not  attempted,  whether 
grave,  or  gay,  or  tragic ;  whether  idyl, 
ode,  elegy,  epic,  or  drama ;  there  is 
not  one  in  which  he  has  not  brilliantly 
succeeded,  and  yet  we  may  almost  say 
of  him  that  in  no  one  direction  has  he 
sounded  the  deepest  depths  of  thought. 
In  passion  there  are  ardours,  in  the 
mind  there  are  troubles,  in  life  there 
are  bankruptcies  of  the  ideal,  which 


French   Views  on  English  Writers. 


the  note  of  Tennyson  is  incapable  of 
expressing." 

The  following  piece  describes  the 
artist's  attitude  towards  nature  : 

"  The  young  man  sees  in  nature  an 
empire  to  take  possession  of ;  the  man 
of  mature  age  seeks  in  her  repose  from 
anxiety  and  agitation,  the  old  man 
finds  in  her  a  host  of  melancholy 
consolations — but  the  artist?  Does 
not  he,  at  least,  love  her  for  herself  ? 
Does  he  not  live  by  her  alone  1  is  it 
not  her  beauty,  and  nothing  else,  that 
he  is  in  love  with  ?  Is  it  not  the  whole 
of  his  ambition  to  understand  and  to 
render  her,  to  feel  and  translate  her, 
to  enter  into  all  her  moods,  to  grasp 
all  her  aspects,  to  penetrate  all  her 
secrets  ?  Who  then,  if  not  the  artist, 
may  flatter  himself  that  he  is  initiated 
into  the  mysteries  of  the  great 
goddess  ?  And  yet,  no !  What  the 
artist  pursues  is  not  so  much  nature 
as  the  effect  to  which  she  lends  herself 
— the  picturesque — art.  He  is  only  at 
her  feet  that  he  may  hurry  off  to 
boast  of  the  favours  which  she  has 
bestowed  upon  him.  The  artist  is  the 
man  who  has  the  rare  and  fatal  gift  of 
a  double  existence,  who  feels  with  the 
half  of  his  soul  and  employs  the  other 
to  repeat  what  he  feels — a  man  who 
has  experienced  emotion,  but  who  has 
then  slain  it  within  him,  that  he  may 
contemplate  it  at  his  ease  and  draw  it 
at  his  leisure  in  strokes  which  ennoble 
and  transfigure  it." 

The  third  and  last  describes  the 
element  of  mannerism  in  Wordsworth. 

"  If  ever  a  writer  might  have  been 
thought  sincere  it  is  this  genius  at 
once  so  austere  and  so  simple-hearted. 
And  yet,  there  is  no  denying  that  all 
his  work  is  not  true  metal.  Words- 
worth has  pretensions,  and  a  manner 
he  has  consciously  made  for  himself. 
He  exaggerates  his  feeling,  he  pushes 
to  an  excess  his  own  special  methods 
of  conception  and  of  speech,  he  assumes 
an  air  and  look  which  are  certainly 
his  own,  but  of  which  the  features  and 
expression  are  none  the  less  studied 
and  composed.  .  .  .  All  Wordsworth's 


defects  spring  from  the  same  source 
and  are  of  the  same  kind.  He  has  an 
ideal  of  life,  to  which  he  involuntarily 
adapts  his  moral  attitude ;  he  has  an 
ideal  of  art  and  he  overdoes  what  he 
admires." 


M.  Darmestetter's  book  is  partly  a 
collection  of  prefaces  (to  an  edition  of 
Macbeth,  an  edition  of  Childe  Harold, 
and  so  on),  and  partly  a  reproduction 
of  certain  long  and  elaborate  reviews 
which  originally  appeared  in  the  Par- 
lement,  the  Revue  Critique,  and  else- 
where. The  whole  is  introduced  by  a 
letter  to  M.  Guillaume  Guizot,  Pro- 
fessor of  English  Literature  at  the 
College  de  France,  in  which  M.  Darmes- 
tetter  pleads  for  the  study  of  English  in 
France  as  against  the  now  triumphant 
and  wide-spread  study  of  German.  He 
agrees  that  for  the  soldier  and  the 
savant  German  is  indispensable,  but 
he  argues  that  for  the  French  man  of 
letters  and  man  of  business,  English  is 
incomparably  better  worth  having 
than  German.  As  for  literature, 
"where  can  our  French  public  find 
more  enjoyment  or  more  inspiration 
than  in  England?  I  do  not  wish  to 
disparage  German  literature.  A  lite- 
rature that  has  produced  Goethe  and 
Heine  has  a  future  before  it.  But  it 
is  none  the  less  true  that  German 
literature  has  behind  it  but  one  single 
century.  Its  mediaeval  period  may 
furnish  the  savant  with  interesting 
and  curious  things,  but  we  are  not 
talking  here  of  the  men  of  research; 
we  are  talking  of  the  men  of  letteic 
living  within  the  range  of  modern 
thought.  The  French  man  of  letters 
who  reads  English  has  three  centuries 
of  masterpieces  in  his  hands,  from 
Spenser  to  Shakespeare,  from  Milton 
to  Pope,  from  Burns  to  Byron  and 
Shelley ;  the]  French  man  of  letters 
who  reads  German  has  but  two  books. 
...  To  sum  up,  I  should  say  that 
our  savants  have  much^to  learn  from 
Germany,  but  that  France  in  general 
has  infinitely  more  to  learn  from 


French   Views  on  English   Writers. 


England.  I  am  not  protesting  against 
the  study  of  German,  but  only  against 
the  inferior  position  assigned  to  Eng- 
lish. German  interests  specialists ; 
English  interests  all  the  intelligent 
classes.  We  lived  for  a  long  time  in 
the  belief  that  there  was  only  France 
in  the  world ;  now  we  seem  to  believe 
that  there  are  only  France  and  Ger- 
many. Germany  is  but  a  very  small 
part  of  the  world,  and  if  by  force  of 
accident  we  find  ourselves  obliged  for 
some  fifty  years  to  taken  a  special 
and  anxious  interest  in  the  movements 
of  that  part,  that  is  no  reason  why  it 
should  hide  from  us  the  rest  of  the 
universe." 

Certainly  M.  Darmestetter's  own 
book  is  an  excellent  example  of  the 
sympathy  and  intelligence  towards 
England  which  he  desires  to  see  in- 
creased. His  studies  of  Shakespeare's 
development  are  based  upon  the  most 
recent  Shakespearian  research,  and 
state  the  conclusions  of  Mr.  Furnivall 
and  the  New  Shakespeare  Society  with 
an  ease  and  lightness  of  touch  which 
give  them  more  general  attractive- 
ness than  they  have  commonly  pos- 
sessed in  English  eyes ;  while  the 
careful  study  of  Macbeth,  and  the 
articles  on  Byron  and  Shelley,  are 
in  every  way  up  to  the  level  of 
modern  knowledge,  and  are  lit  up  by 
a  good  deal  of  very  fair  critical  re- 
flection. The  article  on  Shelley  con- 
tains the  following  happy  description 
of  the  most  characteristic  quality  of 
Shelley's  genius : — 

"  There  was  one  thing  in  Shelley 
which  was  lacking  in  Wordsworth, 
and  which  enabled  him  to  understand 
the  Lake  poet,  while  Wordsworth  could 
not  understand  him.  This  was  that 
strange  wealth  and  'mobility  of 
impressions  and  perceptions,  which 
transformed  his  whole  being  into  a 
flexible,  ethereal  mould,  where  all  the 
changing  forms  of  visible  and  living 
nature  took  shape  and  outline  for  an 
instant,  awakening  the  sister  images 
which  slept  within  it,  so  that  nature 
itself  came  to  seem  but  a  mirror  of 


the  inward  vision,  an  echo  of  all  that 
wept  in  his  own  heart,  the  tissue 
which  clothed  the  phantoms  of  his  own 
brain.  Add  to  this  a  strength  of 
feeling  and  of  love,  of  indignation 
against  oppression,  and  of  devotion  to 
the  cause  of  the  feeble,  which  no  poet's 
life  perhaps  has  ever  embodied  so 
sincerely  and  so  nobly  —  a  ceaseless 
aspiration  towards  knowledge  and  the 
unknown, — a  love  of  mystery  which 
led  him  from  alchemy  to  Spinoza,  from 
Spinoza  to  Faust, — and  finally  that 
anguish  born  of  knowledge,  without 
which  no  poetry  is  complete,  and 
which  is  itself  only  one  of  the  highest 
forms  of  the  poetical  instinct  of 
humanity.  Thus  there  arose  a  poetry 
of  an  intensity  and  an  infinity  un- 
known before.  Wordsworth  indeed 
had  been  the  high-priest  of  Nature, 
but  together  with  the  grandeur  and  the 
dignity  of  priesthood  he  had  displayed 
all  its  narrownesses  and  all  its  weak- 
ness." Shelley's  life  and  Shelley's 
poetry  were  one,  to  an  extraordinary, 
to  an  unparalleled  degree.  "All  his 
dreams  were  lived,  as  all  his  life  was 
dreamed." 

The  essay  on  Wordsworth,  which 
appeared  in  the  Revue  Critiqtte  as  a 
review  of  Mr.  Myers'  biography,  is 
good  and  sufficient,  though,  as  we  have 
said,  there  is  not  the  same  high  liter- 
ary pleasure  to  be  got  out  of  it  as  out 
of  M.  Scherer's.  It  ends  with  a  strong 
expression  of  Wordsworth's  limita- 
tions. "  Stuart  Mill,"  says  M.  Darme- 
stetter,  "  in  trial  and  depression  found 
peace  and  calm  in  the  study  of 
Wordsworth's  poetry;  but  poetry 
which  is  made  up  of  only  light  and 
peace  does  not  render  the  whole  of 
nature,  or  exhaust  the  human  heart. 
And  as  nature  has  more  shade  than 
light,  and  the  heart  more  of  tempest 
than  of  peace,  Wordsworth  will  never 
be  the  poet  of  the  crowd,  and  even  with 
natures  akin  to  his  own  he  will  not  be 
the  poet  of  all  hours. 

"  The  gods  approve 
The  depth  and  not  the  tumult  of  the  soul." 


French   Views  on  English   Writers. 


25 


There  is  his  characteristic  note.  But 
it  was  easy  for  the  gods  to  say  so  ; 
they  were  gods." 

M.  Sarrazin's  essays  are  well-mean- 
ing and  often  picturesque ;  but  there 
is  very  little  in  them  which  need 
detain  an  English  reader.  There  is  no 
perspective  in  them,  no  sense  of  the 
whole.  The  article  on  Shelley,  for  in- 
stance, is  taken  up  almost  entirely 
with  an  analysis  of  the  Cenci,  just  as 
that  on  Keats  dwells  entirely  upon 
Endymion,  which  M.  Sarrazin  pro- 
nounces Keats's  masterpiece,  having 
never  apparently  heard  of  Hyperion,  of 
Lamia,  or  of  any  of  the  mediaeval  pieces. 
And  yet  this  half-knowledge  of  his  is 
handled  with  so  much  energy,  so  much 
honest  belief  in  itself,  that  it  cannot 
but  awaken  misgivings  in  any  one 
who  has  ever  tried  to  concern  himself 
with  a  foreign  literature.  One  is  so 
apt  to  take  it  for  granted  that  one's 
own  appreciation  of  foreign  books  is 


as  intelligent  as  M.  Scherer's,  as  well- 
informed  as  M.  Darmstetter's  !  Yet 
all  the  while  it  may  be  only  an  appre- 
ciation of  M.  Sarrazin's  kind,  as  one- 
sided, as  full  of  misplaced  enthusiasms 
and  false  emphasis.  There  is  nothing 
so  easy  as  this  false  emphasis,  nothing 
so  difficult  as  a  true  hospitality  of 
thought.  What  we  are  all  really 
aiming  at  in  the  study  of  foreign 
writers  is  a  community  of  intellectual 
co\mtry  with  the  great  of  all  nations ; 
a  mood  of  mind  in  which  national  diffe- 
rences shall  exist  no  longer  for  purposes 
of  separation,  but  only  to  quicken  our 
curiosity  and  widen  our  sympathy.  It 
is  one  of  the  worthiest  of  goals,  but  on 
the  way  thither  let  us  not  forget  how 
easy  it  is  to  murder  the  accent,  and  to 
misunderstand  the  nuances  of  those 
new  intellectual  or  spiritual  dialects 
which  we  are  trying  to  master  ! 

M.  A.  W. 


26 


CANADIAN  LOYALTY. 


THE  future  political  relationship  of 
those  various  countries  and  peoples 
which  form  the  widely-spread  British 
Empire  of  to  day,  is  undoubtedly  at 
the  present  moment  attracting  in- 
creased attention  on  the  part  both  "of 
practical  and  theoretical  politicians. 
An  analysis  therefore  by  an  unofficial 
Canadian  of  those  interests  and  senti- 
ments which,  together,  make  up  what 
is  known  as  Canadian  loyalty,  may 
not  prove  an  ill-timed  or  uninteresting 
contribution  to  the  general  question. 

If  Canada  were,  like  Australia, 
an  isolated  country  with  a  people 
almost  wholly  drawn  from  Great 
Britain,  the  character  and  value  of 
Canadian  loyalty  would  be  a  com- 
paratively simple  question.  But 
Canada  so  far  from  being  isolated  is 
absolutely  entangled  with  the  largest 
and  most  populous  English-speaking 
nation,  the  United  States ;  and  at  the 
same  time  almost  a  third  of  her  people 
is  a  branch  of  the  great  French  race ; 
consequently  both  the  situation  of  the 
country  and  the  origin  and  circum- 
stances of  the  people  make  the 
character  and  value  of  Canadian 
loyalty  a  somewhat  complex  problem. 
This  will  appear  more  clearly  if  the 
situation  and  the  people  are  examined 
more  closely. 

Owing  partly  to  political  blundering 
on  the  part  of  British  politicians  in 
the  past,  and  partly  to  natural  cir- 
cumstances, the  boundary  between 
Canada  and  the  United  States  is  such 
that  the  Canadians  are  settled  in  four 
distinct,  but  unequal  groups,  so  placed 
in  regard  to  each  other  and  to  the 
United  States  that,  if  it  were  not  for 
political  obstacles,  the  natural  inter- 
course of  each  group  would  be  greater 
with  the  adjoining  States  of  the 
Union  than  with  its  more  distant  and 
inaccessible  fellow  provinces. 

The  population  of  Nova  Scotia  and 
New  Brunswick  would  thus  be  more 


intimately  connected  with  eastern  New 
England  than  with  their  fellow 
Canadians,  from  whom  they  are  com- 
pletely cut  off  by  the  great  wedge  of 
the  State  of  Maine,  penetrating 
Canada  almost  to  the  St.  Lawrence, 
and  by  the  compact  mass  of  the 
French  Canadians  of  Quebec.  Ontario 
and  Quebec  would  in  turn  be  more 
intimately  connected  with  New  York, 
Ohio  and  Michigan  than  with  the 
maritime  provinces  on  the  one  hand, 
or  with  Manitoba  and  the  other 
prairie  provinces,  from  which  they  are 
separated  by  the  wilderness  north  and 
west  of  Lake  Superior,  on  the  other 
hand  ;  while  the  latter  provinces  are 
the  natural  neighbours  of  the  north- 
western states  rather  than  of  Ontario, 
or  of  the  handful  of  whites  in  the 
south-west  corner  of  British  Columbia 
whose  interests  would  naturally  ally 
them  to  the  states  of  the  Pacific  slope. 
With  this  unfortunate,  and  it  may 
almost  be  said,  fatal  boundary  and  the 
consequent  distribution  of  the  popula- 
tion, the  political  union  of  the 
Canadian  provinces  is  a  continual 
struggle  against  the  forces  of  nature, 
and  therefore  in  spite  of  political 
separateness,  they  are  profoundly  in- 
fluenced by  the  United  States,  and 
this  the  more  as  the  nearest  counter- 
balancing influence,  that  of  Great 
Britain,  is  three  thousand  miles  away. 
I  shall  now  turn  from  the  peculiar 
position  of  the  country  to  the  origin 
and  circumstances  of  the  people,  so 
far  as  they  affect  the  question  of  their 
loyalty  to  Great  Britain.  At  the  last 
census,  1881,  the  population  of  the 
Dominion  was  in  round  numbers 
4,300,000,  who  may  be  roughly  divided 
into  30  per  cent.  French  and  70  per 
cent.  English-speaking  Canadians, 
though,  as  a  fact,  an  appreciable  and 
growing  proportion  of  the  latter  are 
of  German,  Scandinavian  and  other 
foreign  origins,  and  are  only  learning 


Canadian  Loyalty. 


to  speak  English.     The  interests  and 
sentiments  of  these  two  great  divisions 
of  the  Canadian  people  are  so  distinct, 
not  to  say  hostile,  that  for  the  pur- 
poses   of  our   inquiry   they    must    be 
taken    separately    and     the     French 
Canadians,  as  representing  the  original 
European  colonists,  claim  first  attention. 
The  position  and  expansion  of  the 
French  race  in  Canada,  so  curious  and 
seemingly  so  anomalous,  is  one  of  the 
most   interesting  social   and    political 
problems   of   the   day.     It    is   just   a 
century  and  a  quarter  since  the  150 
years'   contest    between    France    and 
England    for    supremacy     in    North 
America  was  brought  to  a  close  by  the 
issue  of  the   battle  on  the  plains   of 
Abraham,  between  the  forces  of  Wolfe 
and  Montcalm.     Since  then  the  hand- 
ful of  French  colonists  who  remained 
in  Canada,  and  their  descendants,  have 
lived  under  the  same  government  with, 
and  alongside  of,  the  growing  colony 
of    British    settlers ;    and     it     might 
naturally   be    supposed    that    by    this 
time  the  French  would  be  absorbed, 
or  at  least  be  in  process  of  absorption, 
into     the     British     race.      However 
natural,     no     assumption     could     be 
further   from   the   fact.     The  French 
Canadians    of  to-day   are    as    distinct 
and  as  French  as  were  their  ancestors 
in  the  days  of  Louis  XIY.  and  Louis 
XV. ;    or   rather   they   are    the   true 
representatives    of     pre-revolutionary 
Frenchmen,  and  as  such  present,  not 
only  in  their  circumstances,  but  also 
in    some    of    their    characteristics    a 
curious     contrast     to    their     French 
cousins.     Unstirred  by  the  century  of 
revolutions    and     wars     which     have 
alternately  stimulated  and  exhausted 
the  latter,  the  former  still  to  an  almost 
incredible    degree     live     the     hardy, 
simple,    unquestioning    lives     of    the 
early   colonists.     For   the    most   part 
lumbermen,    farmers    and    fishermen, 
drawing    almost    all    their   poor    but 
wholesome   subsistence    directly    from 
the   forest,   the  farm  and  the  water, 
they  are  nearly  altogether  self-sustain- 
ing and  contribute  little  to  the  general 
revenue  of  the  country,  but  largely  to 


that  of  their  Church.  The  mass  of  the 
French  Canadians  are  either  absolutely 
untouched  by  all  those  ideas  and 
sentiments  born  of  the  Revolution,  or 
under  the  rule  of  their  priests  they 
hate  the  Revolution  and  all  its  works 
with  the  zeal  of  the  most  reactionary 
French  Legitimist.  They  are  so 
Catholic  that  the  French  Canadian 
who  forsakes  the  Church  of  his  fathers 
is  regarded  as  an  outcast ;  and  yet  they 
are  so  French  that  upon  every  possible 
occasion  they  unfurl  to  Canadian 
breezes  the  tricolor,  the  ensign  of  the 
hated  Revolution.  France,  even  the 
France  of  to-day,  largely  infidel  and 
Republican  though  she  be,  is  the 
country  of  their  love,  and  a  few  years 
ago,  when  it  seemed  to  them  that 
Imperial  France  was  about  to  under- 
take a  Catholic  and  French  crusade 
against  the  German  heretic,  the 
French  Canadians  exulted  loudly  in 
the  anticipation  of  victory,  and  were 
correspondingly  cast  down  at  the 
ensuing  defeat.  Their  sympathy  with 
their  beaten  kinsmen  even  went  so  far 
at  that  time,  that  a  number  volun- 
teered to  the  Consul  of  France  at 
Quebec  to  go  and  help  their  beaten 
cousins  to  expel  the  Germans  from  the 
sacred  soil  of  France — an  incident 
which  a  French-Canadian  poet  has 
commemorated  in  some  spirited  verses, 
the  concluding  stanza  of  which  it  may 
be  worth  while  to  quote  as  an  apt 
illustration  of  the  feeling  of  his 
countrymen : — 

The  spokesmen  of  the  volunteers,  a 
stalwart  smith,  says  : — 

"  Oui,  Monsieur  le  Consul,  reprit  il,  nous  ne 

somnes 
Que  cinq  cents  aujourd'hui  ;  mais  tonnerre 

des  hommes 
Nous  en  aurons,  allez  :  prenez  tonjours  cinq 

cents 
Et    dix    mille    deniain    nous    repondront, 

Presents ! 

La  France  nous  voulons  epouser  sa  querelle  ; 
Et  fier  d'aller  combattre  et  de  mourir  pour 

elle, 

J'en  jure  pas  le  Dieu  que  j 'adore  a  genoux, 
L'on  ne  trouvera  pas  de  traitres  parrni  nous — 
Le   reste   se   perdit   .   .    .    car   la   foule    en 

demence 
Trois   fois   au  quartre   vents  cria  :   Vive  la 

France !  " 


28 


Canadian  Loyalty. 


At  the  close  of  the  war  efforts  were 
made  to  attract  French  immigration, 
moi>e  especially  from  the  conquered 
portions  of  Alsace-Loraine,  but  no 
great  numbers  came,  and  those  that 
did  come  proved  altogether  too  liberal 
to  suit  the  French  Canadians,  who 
found  that  their  love  for  the  ideal 
France  did  not  always  translate  itself 
into  love  for  the  modern  Frenchman — 
at  least  unless  of  the  purely  ultra- 
montane type.  During  the  last  few 
years,  and  at  the  present  moment, 
considerable  efforts  have  been,  and 
are  being  made,  rather  by  politicians 
and  speculative  financiers  than  by  the 
clergy,  to  interest  the  French  in  finan- 
cial schemes  in  Quebec,  and  in  other 
ways  to  cultivate  closer  connections 
between  the  mother  country  and  her 
alienated  off-shoot. 

In  view  of  these  facts  it  may  well 
be  asked  how  this  intensely  French 
and  Catholic  people  can  be  truly  loyal 
subjects  of  the  British  crown  ;  and  the 
answer  will  appear  the  more  important 
when  it  is  remembered  that  the  French 
Canadians,  in  another  point  unlike  the 
French  of  to-day,  are  one  of  the  most 
prolific  races  in  the  world.  How  pro- 
lific the  following  figures  will  show. 
At  the  conquest,  125  years  ago,  the 
French  population  left  in  Canada 
numbered  about  70,000.  At  the  last 
census  they  had  grown,  without  ap- 
preciable immigration  from  Europe,  to 
1,300,000  in  the  Dominion,  and  had 
swarmed  over  the  borders  of  the 
United  States  to  the  number  of 
250,000  more.  And  still  they  are 
growing  so  fast,  that  not  only  are  they 
rapidly  filling  up  their  old  limits  in 
the  province  of  Quebec,  but  are  edging 
the  British  Canadians  out  of  those 
parts  of  the  province  -which  have 
hitherto  been  almost  exclusively 
British,  and  are  even  pushing  over 
the  borders  of  New  Brunswick  on  the 
east,  and  Ontario  on  the  west.  What 
are  the  aspirations  of  the  French 
Canadians,  and  what  is  the  value  of 
their  loyalty  to  Great  Britain  ?  For- 
tunately it  is  not  necessary  to  depend 
for  the  answer  to  these  questions  ex- 


clusively on  the  opinion  of  an  English 
Canadian,  for  only  last  June,  on  the 
fiftieth  anniversary  of  the  foundation 
of  the  society  of  St.  Jean  Baptiste,  the 
national  society,  there  was  held  at 
Montreal  a  great  conference  of  repre 
sentative  French  Canadians  from  all 
parts  of  Canada  and  the  United  States. 
At  this  conference  almost  endless 
speeches  were  made  by  their  clerical 
and  lay  leaders ;  and  their  aspirations, 
and  the  means  of  attaining  them,  were 
proclaimed  in  no  timid  manner.  The 
twofold  object  of  the  French  Canadian 
nation,  it  was  insisted,  was  to  be  in 
the  future,  as  it  had  been  in  the  past, 
the  aggrandisement  of  the  Catholic 
faith  and  the  French  nationality  in 
North  America.  To  stimulate  this 
ambition  the  past  history  of  the  French 
Canadians  was  proudly  dwelt  upon  by 
priest  and  politician.  The  assembled 
representatives  were  reminded  with 
what  heroism  their  earlier  ancestors, 
under  the  kings  of  France,  had  waged 
an  incessant  contest  for  God  and  king, 
not  only  against  the  severities  of  na- 
ture, but  also  against  the  heathen 
Indian  and  the  heretic  Briton ;  they 
were  reminded  how,  when  at  last  de- 
serted by  their  king,  and  overwhelmed 
by,  and  subjected  to,  the  power  of 
Great  Britain,  their  later  ancestors 
had,  with  hardly  less  heroism,  strug- 
gled to  the  point  of  open  rebellion 
against  all  attempts  on  the  part  of  the 
conquering  power  or  her  colonists  to 
break  down  their  religious  or  national 
privileges.  As  one  of  their  speakers 
proudly  said  :  "  All  the  political  genius 
of  England,  all  the  astuteness  and 
all  the  perseverance  of  her  statesmen, 
eager  to  amalgamate  the  races,  was 
shattered  against  the  resistance  of 
three-quarters  of  a  century  on  the 
part  of  a  handful  of  citizens,  who  are 
to-day  a  great  nation."  The  result  of 
this  determined  struggle  is,  as  another 
speaker  boasted,  that  "  Providence  has 
not  only  preserved  our  rights  of  wor- 
ship, our  rights  of  language,  our  rights 
to  the  soil,  but  he  has  doubled  them — 
I  would  say  that  on  certain  sides  has 
even  multipled  them — in  such  a  man- 


Canadian  Loyalty. 


29 


ner,  that  the  largeness  of  the  privileges 
which  we  enjoy  to-day  is  such  as  our 
ancestors  never  dared  aspire  to."  Their 
priestly  leaders  exhorted  them  never 
to  forget  that  they  were  above  all  and 
before  all  French  and  Catholic,  and 
that  it  was  their  great  and  noble  mis- 
sion still  to  spread  throughout  North 
America  the  true  faith  and  the  French 
character.  They  were  warned  not  to 
speak  English  too  well.  Said  a  vener- 
able prelate,  "  There  is  nothing  I  love 
like  a  French  Canadian  who  speaks 
English  badly.  Never  let  us  allow  a 
foreign  tongue  to  seat  itself  at  our 
hearths."  Another  speaker  illustrates 
their  powers  of  aggressive  expansion, 
which  I  have  before  remarked,  in  the 
following  terms  : — "  Who  does  not  re- 
member the  English  preponderance 
which  existed  there  (in  the  eastern 
townships  of  Quebec)  only  some  fifteen 
or  twenty  years  ago  1  Yet  twenty 
years  have  sufficed  to  render  our  com- 
patriots masters  of  a  region  where, 
twenty  years  ago,  they  did  not  exer- 
cise even  a  little  municipal  influence." 
My  last  quotation  shall  be  from  the 
speech  of  the  leading  French-Canadian 
poet,  in  the  course  of  which  he  ob- 
served :  "  Some  one  said  we  were 
English-speaking  French  ;  well,  for  me, 
I  say  we  are  Frenchmen  who  speak 
English  when  it  suits  us.  This  does 
not  hinder  us  from  being  loyal  subjects 
of  Her  Majesty,  or  prevent  our  admir- 
ing England,  the  mother  of  progress, 
and  thanking  her  cordially  for  the 
political,  civil,  and  religious  liberty 
which  she  has  granted  us.  Neverthe- 
less, gentlemen,  our  love  and  our  affec- 
tion is  for  France,  our  glorious  mother 
country."  These  quotations,  which  are 
not  wrenched  from,  but  form  the  key- 
note of  the  contexts  of  the  leading 
speeches,  sufficiently  show  the  nature 
of  the  French-Canadian  ambition. 
Several  other  speakers  rendered  their 
tribute  of  thanks,  and  affirmed  their 
loyalty  to  Great  Britain,  who  had,  bon 
yre,  mal  gre,  rendered  them  all  the 
liberty  they  could  desire.  What  is  the 
ultimate  object  of  thus  perpetuating  an 
exclusively  French  Catholic  nationality 


in  North  America,  it  is  hard  to  say ; 
for  even  if  the  boastful  prophecy  of 
one  of  their  leaders  proves  true,  that 
in  another  century  the  French  Cana- 
dians will  number  from  fifteen  to 
twenty  millions,  and  dominate  the 
north-east  of  the  continent,  they  will 
still  be  a  small  and  isolated  people 
in  comparison  with  the  hundred  or 
hundred  and  fifty  million  English- 
speaking  Americans  to  their  west  and 
south.  However,  trusting  probably 
to  Providence  and  the  chapter  of  acci- 
dents, their  great  present  object  is  to 
resist  absorption,  and  to  advance  their 
exclusive  interests  as  rapidly  and  as 
widely  as  possible.  How  very  exclu- 
sive are  their  interests  and  sympathies 
may  be  inferred  from  the  fact  that  in 
no  one  of  the  speeches  delivered  at 
their  great  conference  have  I  dis- 
covered one  single  expression  of  sym- 
pathy with  their  fellow  English- 
speaking  Canadians,  or  one^  patriotic 
aspiration  for  Canada,  as  a  whole,  in 
contradistinction  to  French  Canada. 
In  the  eyes  of  the  French  Canadians, 
indeed,  they  are  the  only  true  Cana- 
dians, the  sons  of  the  soil ;  the  rest  of 
the  population  are  only  English,  Scotch, 
Irish,  or  other  foreigners  living  in 
Canada,  who  are,  if  possible,  to  be 
pushed  out  of  the  province  of  Quebec 
at  least ;  or  at  any  rate  to  be  kept 
separate  from  the  chosen  people.  In 
their  connection  with  the  British 
crown,  the  French  Canadian  leaders 
believe,  lies  the  greatest  safeguard  of 
their  national  existence  and  growth. 
They  fear  with  reason  that,  either  if 
left  face  to  face  in  an  independent 
Canada  with  their  Saxon  and  Irish 
fellow-Canadians,  probably  reinforced 
by  a  large  Teutonic  and  Scandinavian 
immigration,  or  if  absorbed  in  the 
great  Republic,  it  would  be  much  more 
difficult  to  preserve  their  national 
privileges  and  exclusiveness.  What 
is  the  value  to  Great  Britain  of  a 
loyalty  which  serves  as  a  cover  to 
protect  and  foster  the  growth  of  those 
interests  and  sentiments  which  are 
always  hostile,  and,  where  they  largely 
prevail,  are  absolutely  fatal  to  British 


30 


Canadian  Loyalty. 


interests  and  sentiments,  your  readers 
may  judge  for  themselves. 

Turning  now  from  the  French  to  the 
English-speaking    Canadians,  we    are 
met  by  a  totally  different  set  of  cir- 
cumstances and  aspirations,  of  interests 
and    sentiments.      Here   there    is   no 
homogeneous   and  compact  race   pos- 
sessing   one    absorbing    interest   and 
sentiment,  but  a  mixed  population  of 
varying     interests     and     sympathies. 
With  these,  loyalty  to  Great  Britain 
is  by  no  means  a  matter  of  self-preser- 
vation, but  is  an  attachment  springing 
from  various  roots,  and  displaying  a 
corresponding  variety  of  strength  and 
character.    The  children  of  the  United 
Empire     Loyalist,    of     the     English, 
Scotch,  Irish,  and  German  peasant  or 
mechanic,  and  of  the  American  trader, 
draw     their     loyalty    from    different 
sources,  and  hold  it,  if  at  all,  in  dif- 
ferent degrees.     With  the  descendants 
of  the  United  Empire  Loyalists,  who  it 
may  be  well  to  remind  English  readers, 
were  those   loyal  subjects  of  George 
III.   who  preferred  poverty  and  exile 
in  the  wilds   of  Canada  to  wealth  and 
honour   in   the   United   States;   with 
those  Britons,  largely  retired  military 
and  civil  officers  of  the  crown  and  their 
children,  who  settled  in  Canada  because 
it  was  a  British  colony,  and  with  the 
Irish  Orangemen,  loyalty  to  the  British 
crown  has  hitherto  been,  and  is  even 
now,  to  a  great  extent  a  species  of  reli- 
gion.      Family    tradition,     education, 
and  external   circumstances   have   all 
fed  the  sentiment,  till  it  may  be  truly 
said  of  many  of  these  Canadians  that, 
as  the  French    Canadians    are    more 
Catholic  than  the  Pope,  they  are  more 
English  than  the  English.       A  very 
considerable  number  of  Canadian  public 
men  and  leaders  of  society-are  drawn 
from  these   classes,  and  as  in  bygone 
days  the  officers  of  the  garrisons,  and 
to-day  travellers  of  political  and  social 
position,   usually    meet   and  associate 
with  public  men  and  leaders  of  society, 
it  is  not  wonderful  that  certain  sections 
of  English   society  should  believe  and 
represent  the  Canadians  to  be   extra- 
vagantly loyal  to  Great  Britain.     The 


loyalty,  however,  of  the  larger  part  of 
the     British     and     foreign     English- 
speaking     Canadians,     who     did    not 
emigrate  to  Canada  so  much   because 
it  was    a    British    colony  as   because 
accidental  or    personal   considerations 
took  them  there,  is    a    much  weaker, 
if  often  not    less    genuine   sentiment 
than  that  of  the  classes  just  described, 
and  does  not  continue  to  flourish  so 
much   from   its  inherent  strength   as 
from  the  influence  of  external  circum- 
stances.     This  sentiment,  largely  due 
to  birth  or  descent,  is  stimulated  by 
the  enthusiasm  of  the  ultra-loyalists, 
by  the  fact  that  so  far  at  least  loyalty 
to  the  British  crown  has  been  the  only 
sentiment  common   to    all   Canadians 
from  Halifax  to  Winnipeg,  and  per- 
haps chiefly  by  the  steady  coldness  and 
frequent  hostility  of  the  government 
of  the  United  States.      Owing  to  all 
these  circumstances,  it  may  be  safely 
asserted    that   hitherto    the   English- 
speaking  Canadians  generally,  though 
by  no  means  so  universally  as  is  sup- 
posed, have  felt  and  still  feel  a  genuine 
sentiment  of  attachment  to  and  affec- 
tion  for   Great   Britain.       With    the 
majority,  however,  this  is  a  pleasant 
emotion  which  is  chiefly  exhibited  in 
holidays,  and  is  not  calculated  to  bear 
any   great,  strain    in    the   workaday 
world.       This    was    curiously    shown 
when  some  six  years  ago  the  Canadian 
Conservative  party  were   returned  to 
power    to    establish     a    protectionist 
tariff,  or,  as    it  was   generally  called 
in  Canada,  a  national  policy.     Among 
other  arguments  used  by  the  free-trade 
or  revenue  tariff  party  was  the  plea 
that  the   establishment  of   a   protec- 
tionist   tariff     might     endanger    the 
British  connection,  whereupon  one  of 
the  leading  organs  of  the  Conservative 
and  ultra-loyal  party  retorted  that,  if 
the  creation  of  a  Canadian  national 
policy  threatened  the  British  connec- 
tion, so  much  the  worse  for  the  con- 
nection, or  words  to  that  effect. 

Without  attaching  too  much  import- 
ance to  such  a  statement  made  in  a 
time  of  political  excitement,  and  allow- 
ing that  the  great  majority  of  Cana- 


Canadian  Loyalty. 


31 


dians,  whether  French  or  English,  are 
either  from  motives  of  self-interest  or 
from  affection,  in  different  degrees 
loyal  to  Great  Britain ;  and  that  even 
the  Irish  Catholics — a  very  important 
political  element  in  Canada,  as  else- 
where— are  as  little  actively  hostile  as 
may  be ;  the  question  at  once  arises  as 
to  whether  the  tendencies  are  in  favour 
of  strengthening  and  perpetuating,  or 
of  more  or  less  quickly  extinguishing 
this  loyalty. 

The  loyalty  of  the  Australians,  in 
the  absence  of  any  great  injustice  on 
the  part  of  the  mother  country  is  likely 
to  yield  only  to  the  natural  growth  of 
a  national  individuality,  and  the  con- 
sequent desire  for  a  national  autonomy. 
The  loyalty  of  the  Canadians  is  not 
only  more  nearly  threatened  by  the 
growth  of  a  similar  ambition,  but  is 
even  more  greatly  imperilled  by  other 
and  less  fortunate  circumstances.  Be- 
fore referring  to  these  tendencies, 
which  threaten  to  extinguish  the 
political  attachment  of  Canada  to 
Great  Britain,  it  will  be  well  to 
shortly  state  those  actual  factors  in 
Canadian  progress  which  have  a  ten- 
dency to  perpetuate  the  present  slight 
connection. 

These   are  first    and  foremost  the 
continued  freedom  from   an    enforced 
liability  on  the  part  of  the  Canadians 
to  tax  themselves  either  in  men   or 
money  for  the  purpose  of  aiding  Great 
Britain  in  any  foreign  complications  ; 
the  continued  rule  of  the  priesthood 
over  the  French   Canadians,    and  the 
continued  conviction  on  the    part   of 
these  rulers  that  the  best  chance  for 
the  preservation  of  their  sway  lies  in 
the    British    connection ;  an  immense 
immigration    of    British     capital   and 
population  into   the  Canadian   north- 
west, purely  on    the    ground    of    the 
British    connection,    and    lastly,    the 
continued  coldness  of  the  government 
of  the  United  States  towards  Canada. 
The  tendencies  which  are  making, 
and  are  likely  to  make,   against  the 
perpetuation  of  Canadian  loyalty  are 
much  more  numerous  and  complicated. 
Already  there  are  signs  of  disintegra- 
tion in  the  serried  ranks  of  the  French 


Canadians  ;  growing  numbers  of  young 
French  peasants  are  seeking  the  factory 
and  the    workshops,  not  only  in   the 
manufacturing  towns  of   Quebec   and 
Ontario,  but  also  in  the  New  England 
states.     These  operatives  are  more  ac- 
cessible   to    modern    ideas    than   the 
habitant  or  peasant,  and  it  is  found  im- 
possible, more  especially  in  the  United 
States,  to  keep  them  from  contact  with, 
and  from  the  influence  of  the  immense 
forces  of  modern  life,  which  are  inimi- 
cal to  the  power  of  the  priesthood.    In 
addition  to  this  movement,  the  ranks 
of  the  old  French  Liberal  or  rouge  party 
in  Canada  are  being  recruited  by  young 
men  who  are,  either  from  residence  in 
France   or    from    literary   sympathy, 
more  or  less    open  to  the  revolution- 
ary, not  the  anarchic,  ideas  prevalent 
in  their  mother  country,   and    conse- 
quently the  tendency  even  among  the 
French   Canadians  is  to  divide,  as  in 
France,  the  people  into  Clericals  and 
Liberals.    Now,  if  the  Clericals  are  par- 
ticularly loyal,  it  follows,  as  a  matter 
of  course,   that  the  tendency  of   the 
Liberals    is    in    the    other   direction. 
The    growth   of    the  French-Canadian 
Liberal    party  inevitably    means    the 
growth  of  a  desire  for  an  independent 
Canada,  or  even  probably  for  annexa- 
tion to  the  United  States  as  the  best, 
or,  at  least,  quickest  means  of  getting 
rid  of  priestly  domination. 

In  the  case  of  the  English-speaking 
Canadians,  the  desire  for  an  early  in- 
dependence is  more  marked.  Already 
for  several  years  past,  from  time  to 
time,  Canadian  writers  and  even  some 
well-known  public  men  have  declared 
with  no  uncertain  note  that  it  was 
almost  time  for  Canada  to  assume  the 
responsibilities  of  complete  self-govern- 
ment, or  at  least  that  it  was  high  time 
the  people  should  look  forward  to  and 
prepare  for  such  responsibilities.  The 
colonial  condition  is  becoming  irksome, 
sometimes  to  the  politicians,  always  to 
the  more  ambitious  and  independent 
native  Canadians.  The  latter,  even 
many  of  the  descendants  of  the  United 
Empire  Loyalists,  are  learning  that  the 
loyalty  of  the  Canadian  does  not  give 
him  the  status  of  the  Briton  even  in 


32 


Canadian  Loyalty. 


Great  Britain  ;  much  less  in  the  United 
States  and  in  Europe ;  and  proud  of 
the  size  of  his  country  and  the  energies 
of  his  countrymen,  he  resents  the  un- 
sympathetic indifference  of  the  English 
and  the  ignorant  indifference  of  the 
rest  of  the  world,  and  longs  to  establish 
a  national  individuality.  It  is  said  by 
the  Imperial  Federationists  that  this 
source  of  disloyalty  will  cease  on  the 
formation  of  a  British  Federal  Empire, 
for  then  all  subjects  of  the  empire 
will  have  the  same  status.  This  I 
believe  to  be  a  mistaken  pretension. 
The  Briton's  opinion  of  himself  and 
the  opinion  of  the  foreign  world  of  the 
Briton  are  not  and  cannot  be  shared  by 
such  remote  communities  as  Australia 
and  Canada,  at  least  until  these  are 
so  populous  and  powerful  that  they  will 
not  want  to  be  confounded  in  that 
opinion.  But  although  the  desire  for 
independence  is  certain  to  grow  with 
the  growth  of  the  country,  most  Cana- 
dians are  well  aware  that  Canada  for 
some  time  to  come  cannot,  from  inter- 
nal weakness  stand  alone,  and  conse- 
quently this  danger  to  Canadian  loyalty 
might  be  long  postponed  if  it  were  not 
for  the  proximity  of  the  United  States. 
This  may  seem  to  contradict  the  state- 
ment that  one  of  the  roots  ef  Canadian 
loyalty  lies  in  hostility  to  the  big 
Republic.  But  Canadian  hostility  to 
the  United  States  has  been  in  the  past, 
to  a  great  extent,  the  reflection  of  the 
mutual  ill-will  between  the  latter 
power  and  Great  Britain,  stimulated 
by  the  frequent  direct  unfriendliness  of 
the  American  government  towards 
Canada.  Now,  however,  Great  Britain 
and  the  United  States  are,  day  by  day, 
becoming  better  friends,  and  the  people 
of  Canada  and  of  the  United  States 
are  becoming  all  the  time  more  inti- 
mately connected,  commercially  and 
socially.  The  economic  and  social 
circumstances  of  the  United  States 
and  Canada  are  so  much  more  alike 
than  are  those  of  either  to  Great 
Britain,  that  the  average  Canadian,  in 
spite  of  political  separateness,  feels 
more  at  home  in  the  United  States 
and  with  Americans  than  in  England 
or  with  the  English.  With  almost 


three-quarters  of  a  million  born  Cana- 
dians in  the  United  States,  very  many 
of  whom  visit  and  are  frequently 
visited  by  their  relatives,  the  social 
intercourse  of  the  two  peoples,  with 
the  consequent  increase  of  intermar- 
riage and  interchange  of  domicile,  has 
a  constant  tendency  to  become  more 
intimate.  The  great  Canadian  and 
neighbouring  American  lines  of  rail 
and  steamers  are  in  continual  combi- 
nation or  conflict  with  one  another, 
and  commercially  as  well  as  socially 
the  Canadians  and  Americans  are 
daily,  sometimes  in  alliance,  sometimes 
in  rivalry,  growing  closer.  For  one 
Canadian  that  travels  in  Great  Britain 
there  are  ten  that  travel  in  the  United 
States,  for  one  British  there  are  many 
American  journals  read  in  Canada, 
and  in  short,  for  one  point  at  which 
the  Canadians  touch  Great  Britain 
they  touch  the  United  States  at  ten 
points.  Under  these  circumstances, 
whether  voluntarily  or  involuntarily, 
the  Canadians  are  more  and  more 
influenced  by  their  great  English 
speaking  neighbour  ;  and  as  American 
influence  grows,  so  must  that  of  Great 
Britain  relatively  decline,  not  from 
lack  of  will  or  affection,  but  from  mere 
remoteness.  If  this  is  the  case  now, 
when  the  government  of  the  United 
States  still  plays  towards  Canada  the 
part  of  the  wind  in  the  fable  of  the 
man  and  his  cloak,  what  is  this  in- 
fluence likely  to  become  when  the 
Americans,  learning  that  the  chilling 
wind  of  their  disfavour  only  makes 
Canada  wrap  herself  the  more  closely 
in  the  cloak  of  her  loyalty,  shall  de- 
cide to  play  the  part  of  the  sun  and 
woo  her  with  the  warming  rays  of 
proffered  reciprocity  treaties,  even, 
perhaps,  with  tempting  offers  of  a 
complete  customs  union  on  favoura- 
ble terms  1  How  long  is  it  likely  that 
Canadian  loyalty  to  Great  Britain 
could  withstand  such  wooing  in 
addition  to  all  the  other  American  in- 
fluences, which  are,  as  we  have  seen, 
continually  playing  upon  her  sympa- 
thies and  interests  ?  But  if  these  con- 
siderations were  not  enough,  there  is 
yet  another  direction  from  which 


Canadian  Loyalty. 


33 


Canadian  loyalty  is  threatened  by  the 
proximity  of  the  United  States.  From 
the  outbreak  of  the  American  Civil 
War,  up  to  a  late  period,  Canada's 
loyalty  has  not  only  been  strengthened 
by  her  dislike  to  the  American  govern- 
ment, but  also  by  the  fact  that  the 
United  States  were  suffering  severely 
both  in  political  embarrassments  and  in 
the  creation  of  an  enormous  war  debt, 
from  both  of  which  troubles,  as  well 
as  from  the  war  itself,  Canada  was 
saved  by  her  connection  with  Great 
Britain.  To-day  the  political  embarrass- 
ments of  the  Union  born  of  the  war 
are  in  a  fair  way  of  settlement,  while 
the  debt  of  the  United  States  is  being 
reduced  only  too  fast.  At  the  same 
time,  the  political  troubles  of  Canada 
are  at  least  as  great  as  those  of  her 
neighbour  and  her  debt,  owing  to  the 
magnificent  extravagance  of  her  people 
and  politicians,  has  grown  to  be  con- 
siderably greater  per  capita  than  that 
of  the  United  States.  Now  in  order 
to  carry  this  growing  debt  it  is  abso- 
lutely necessary  for  Canada  to  draw 
a  very  large  British  and  foreign  immi- 
gration to  her  immense  territory,  for 
which  she  has  to  compete  with  her 
big  neighbour.  In  the  past  the 
colonial  condition  has  largely  pre- 
vented the  Germans,  Scandinavians, 
and  Irish  from  emigrating  to  Canada. 
They  preferred  to  be  citizens  of  the 
United  States  rather  than  subjects  of 
Great  Britain,  even  when  Canada  was 
in  a  much  more  favourable  political  and 
financial  condition  than  the  Republic. 
Is  it  likely  so  long,  at  least,  as  there  is 
any  good  land  within  the  boundaries 
of  the  latter,  that  the  current  of 
foreign  as  well  as  of  British  emigra- 
tion will  be  largely  turned  in  the 
direction  of  the  poorer  and  more 
heavily  -  burdened  country  1  Yet 
Canada  must  in  the  near  future 
divert  to  her  side  a  much  larger  part 
of  the  current  of  emigration  than  she 
has  ever  yet  done,  or,  failing  so  to  do, 
will  at  no  distant  day  be  inevitably 
absorbed,  debt  and  all,  into  the 
United  States.  At  least  unless  the 
people  of  Great  Britain  will  at  that 
No.  307. — VOL.  LIT. 


crisis  be  so  liberal  as  to  assume  at 
any  rate  that  part  of  the  Canadian 
burdens  which  has  been  incurred  in 
building  political  railways. 

Supposing,  however,  that  Canadian 
loyalty  escapes  the  Scylla  of  American 
attraction  and  the  Charybdis  of  her 
own  financial  extravagance,  it  is  still 
threatened  by  another  danger  in  the 
shape  of  the  aggressive  expansion  of 
French  Canadians.  Owing  to  their 
unity,  up  to  the  present  time,  this  third 
of  the  population  possesses  an  influence 
in  Canadian  politics  out  of  proportion 
to  its  numbers,  and  several  times 
greater  than  the  proportion  it  con- 
tributes to  the  national  exchequer.  As 
this  influence  is  always  used  for  purely 
French-Canadian  aims  and  purposes 
it  naturally  excites  the  jealousy  of  all 
the  English-speaking  Canadians,  more 
especially  of  those  who  live  in  Quebec, 
where  the  French  hold  in  no  generous 
fashion  the  complete  mastery.  If  the 
consolidation  and  expansion  of  the 
French- Canadian  power  in  the  valley 
of  the  St.  Lawrence  grows  much 
greater,  the  English  who  are  left  in 
the  province  of  Quebec,  as  well  as 
those  in  the  adjoining  parts  of  Ontario 
and  New  Brunswick  who  feel  more 
heavily  the  French  pressure  will,  as 
not  a  few  now  do,  favour  annexation 
to  the  United  States  as  the  only  pos- 
sible check  to  the  French.  When  the 
people  of  Ontario  and  the  prairie  pro- 
vinces realise  that  there  is  great 
danger  of  the  whole  valley  of  the  St. 
Lawrence,  from  Lake  Ontario  to 
the  sea,  falling  into  the  hands  of  the 
French,  they  too  will  be  likely  to  seek 
the  same  escape  from  danger.  For  if, 
as  at  present  seems  probable,  the 
French  Canadians  do  secure  the  ex- 
clusive mastery  of  the  St.  Lawrence 
valley,  that  river  will  cease  to  form 
one  of  the  great  highways  from  the 
interior  to  the  ocean,  and  will  be 
almost  as  dead  to  commerce  in  the 
height  of  summer  as  it  now  is  in  the 
depth  of  winter.  In  such  a  contin- 
gency, by  no  means  impossible,  the 
prophecy  of  a  French-Canadian  poli- 
tician, that  the  last  shot  in  support  of 


Canadian  Loyalty. 


the  British  connection  would  be  fired 
by  a  French  Canadian,  is  likely  to 
become  true.  In  other  words  the 
presence  of  the  French  Canadians, 
which  at  the  time  of  the  American 
revolt  saved  Canada  to  Great  Britain, 
is  likely  to  be  at  least  an  important 
factor  in  losing  Canada  to  Great 
Britain  at  no  distant  date. 

Unless  the  foregoing  picture  of  the 
situation  of  the  Dominion  and  her  peo- 
ple, of  the  character  of  their  loyalty, 
and  of  the  great  preponderance  of  those 
tendencies  which  are  adverse  to  the 
perpetuation  of  that  loyalty,  can  be 
shown  to  be  largely  untrue,  it  is 
obvious  that  sooner  or  later  the  slight 
connection  between  the  big  colony  and 
the  mother  country  is  almost  certain 
to  be  broken.  If  the  political  con- 
nection between  the  old  and  the  new 
countries  is  naturally  closed  in  the 
fulness  of  time  with  the  free  will  of 
both  parties,  then,  whether  Canada 
becomes  an  independent  nation,  pro- 
bably in  close  commercial  alliance 
with  the  United  States,  or  whether 
she  throws  in  her  lot  altogether  with 
the  big  Republic,  the  people  of  Canada 
will  continued  to  love  Great  Britain 
and  be  ready  to  admire  and  esteem 
their  British  relatives.  If,  however, 
the  connection  is  retained  until  some 
strain  causes  a  rupture,  then  in  a 
probably  less  violent  manner  and  to  a 
less  lasting  degree,  the  old  story  of  the 
American  colonies  and  their  hate  for 
Great  Britain  will  be  repeated.  It 
will  doubtless  be  urged  by  the  Imperial 
Federationists  that  the  decay  of  Cana- 
dian loyalty  and  the  rapid  growth 
of  American  influence  is  likely  to  take 
place  so  long  as  the  present  anomalous 
connection  is  kept  up,  but  that  if 
Canada,  as  well  as  Australia  and 
South  Africa,  is  really  made  an 
integral  part  of  the  British  Empire, 
the  process  of  disintegration  will  not 
only  be  arrested  but  will  be  repaired. 
No  project  could  be  so  dangerous  to 
the  welfare  of  Great  Britain  as  this 
well-meant  proposal  to  consolidate  her 
union  with  the  self-governing  colonies. 


If  the  foregoing  facts  and  considera- 
tions have  any  truth  or  force  at  all 
they  must  show  that  it  is  hopeless  to 
expect  Canada  to  become,  or  at  any 
rate  to  remain,  a  party  to  any  such 
political  combination  of  the  various 
and  widely  separated  parts  of  the 
present  British  Empire,  as  would 
render  her  liable  to  any  great  tax  for 
the  maintenance  of  such  a  combina- 
tion. Let  us  suppose,  however,  that 
owing  to  temporary  enthusiasm  some 
kind  of  Federation  was  established, 
and  that  at  an  early  stage  in  the 
history  of  the  British  Federated  or 
Federal  Empire,  the  French  Cana- 
dians were  called  upon  to  tax  them- 
selves in  purse  and  person  to  help 
Great  Britain  to  combat  France,  the 
country  of  their  love,  in  North  Africa 
or  the  East ;  or  that  the  German 
colonists  whom  Canada  hopes  to 
attract  were  called  upon  to  aid  Great 
Britain  to  contest  the  supremacy  of  the 
Pacific,  or  South  Africa  with  Germany, 
their  fatherland  ;  or  that  the  very  loyal 
British  and  Irish  Canadians  were 
required  to  add  to  their  already  over- 
grown burdens  in  order  to  assist  Great 
Britain,  three  thousand  miles  away,  to 
defend  this,  that,  or  the  other  threat- 
ened interest,  an  indefinite  number  of 
miles,  and  an  infinite  number  of 
degrees  removed  from  any  interest  of 
Canada  ;  the  while  the  Canadians  of 
all  origins,  French,  German,  Irish, 
American,  and  British  being  the  next- 
door  neighbours  and  daily  associates 
of  a  mighty,  a  free  and  an  unburdened 
people,  minding  their  own  business, 
and  untroubled  by  foreign  complica- 
tions. No  Imperial  Federation  could 
long  avoid  —  no  Imperial  Federation 
could  for  a  day  survive  any  such 
strain.  To  attempt,  therefore,  the 
close  political  union  of  countries  which 
nature  has  placed  so  far  apart  is 
rash.  To  succeed  in  the  attempt 
would  be,  at  no  distant  date,  to  shatter 
the  harmony  which  now  exists  be- 
tween those  wide-spread  but  friendly 
members  of  the  British  family. 

ROSWELL  FISHER. 


35 


SCOTCH  AND  ENGLISH  EDUCATIONAL  ENDOWMENTS. 


BY    PEOFESSOR    G.    G.    RAMSAY. 


No  apology  need  be  made  for  drawing 
attention  to  the  subject  of  Educational 
Endowments,  whether  in  England  or  in 
Scotland.  The  true  principles  on  which 
such  endowments  should  be  adminis- 
tered— in  view  especially  of  the  great 
extension  of  State  action  in  regard  to 
education — are  by  no  means  finally 
settled  for  either  country  ;  and  though 
English  statesmen,  and  the  English 
public,  find  it  difficult  to  interest 
themselves  in  purely  Scottish  ques- 
tions, here  at  least  is  one  which 
interests  both  countries  equally,  and 
which  should  be  solved  on  the  same 
principles  in  both  alike.  Scotland  has 
a  right  to  demand  that  where  the  same 
wants  and  the  same  abuses  have  been 
proved  to  exist  in  Scotland  as  have 
called  for  legislation  in  England,  they 
shall  be  dealt  with  in  the  same  drastic 
manner,  and  for  the  good  not  of  one 
class  only,  but  of  the  whole  community. 
The  evils  which  led  in  England  to 
the  passing  of  Mr.  Forster's  Endowed 
Schools  Act  of  1869  are  well-known. 
The  public  conscience  had  been  roused 
by  the  disclosures  made  by  the  Schools' 
Inquiry  Commission,  and  enlightened 
by  the  powerful  treatment  of  the  whole 
subject  of  middle-class  education  by 
the  distinguished  educationists  of 
whom  that  commission  was  com- 
posed. Their  report  established  two 
great  facts :  first,  that  England  was 
wofully  deficient  in  the  means  of 
supplying  higher  education  for  all 
classes  except  the  wealthy ;  secondly, 
that  while  the  whole  country  was 
covered  with  rich  educational  founda- 
tions, these  had  been  almost  every- 
where rendered  useless  for  any  high 
educational  purpose  by  unintelligent 
administration,  by  the  close  manage- 
ment of  close  corporations,  by  the 
tendency  to  degrade  educational  into 


eleemosynary  benefits,  by  narrow  local 
or  class  restrictions,  and  by  all  the 
evils  that  follow  in  the  train  of  job- 
bery, apathy,  and  ignorance.  Having 
exposed  these  evils,  the  Commission 
sketched  out  a  comprehensive  scheme 
of  reform ;  laid  down  the  true  prin- 
ciples on  which  schools  should  be 
organised  and  conducted ;  and  showed 
how  endowments  should  be  opened  up 
and  utilised  so  as  at  once  to  confer  a 
special  educational  benefit  on  the 
class  or  area  embraced  in  a  founder's 
intentions,  and  at  the  same  time  to 
raise  the  standard  of  education 
throughout  the  whole  country.  They 
insisted  above  all  things,  upon  the 
necessity  of  grading  schools ;  they 
held  that  Lower,  Middle,  and  Higher 
education  were  distinct  things,  and 
should  be  organised  throughout  upon 
distinct  principles,  and  in  separate 
schools '}  and  that,  as  a  matter  of 
course,  the  cost  in  each  grade  must 
vary  according  to  the  character  of 
the  article  supplied. 

The  Endowed  Schools  Commission — 
now  part  of  the  Charity  Commission 
— was  called  into  existence  by  Mr. 
Forster's  Act  to  carry  out  these  re- 
commendations ;  and  their  schemes 
have  been  throughout  constructed 
on  uniform  and  scientific  principles. 
They  consider  first  whether  a  school 
of  the  First,  Second,  or  Third  grade 
is  most  suitable  for  the  endowment  and 
for  the  locality  with  which  they  have 
to  deal ;  whether  it  should  be  mainly 
a  classical,  a  commercial,  or  a  scien- 
tific school ;  and  then  construct  their 
scheme  accordingly.  Certain  general 
principles  of  management  are  common 
to  all  schemes  alike  :  but  as  soon  as 
details  are  reached,  every  school  is 
strictly  differentiated  according  to  the 
character  of  work  it  will  have  to  do. 

D  2 


36 


Scotch  and  English  Educational  Endowments. 


This  differentiation  is  effected  in  four 
ways: — (1)  By  a  specification  of  the 
subjects  to  be  taught.  (2)  By  laying 
down  the  limits  of  age  for  the  pupils. 

(3)  By  fixing,  within   certain   limits, 
the  salary  of  the  head  master ;  and 

(4)  by  fixing  approximately  the   scale 
of   fees.      The    last    two   points  are 
essential ;  for  the  quality  of  education, 
as    of     other     articles,   hinges    upon 
finance.      It  is  possible,  no  doubt,  to 
have  an  education  which  is  dear  and 
bad  also ;  but  it  is  impossible  to  secure 
a  high  standard  of  education  except 
at  its  proper  price. 

If  the  school  be  one  of  the  Third 
grade,  the  limits  of  age  are  placed  at 
from  8  to  14  or  15  ;  the  fees  at  from 
31.  to  61.  per  annum.  In  a  Second 
grade  school,  the  age  is  fixed  at  from 
8  or  9  up  to  16  or  even  17,  and  the 
fees  range  from  51.  or  6£.  to  101.  and 
1 21.  In  schools  of  the  First  grade,  the 
education  is  carried  on  up  to  the  age 
of  19  ;  the  fees  run  from  151.  to  20£., 
or  301.  over  the  whole  school,  and  the 
head  master's  salary  will  be  calculated 
to  yield  him  from  8001.  to  1,5001.,  or 
even  more,  according  to  the  import- 
ance of  the  school. 

To  all  schools  alike,  a  definite  num- 
ber of  foundationerships,  scholarships, 
and  exhibitions  are  attached.  These 
vary  in  amount,  according  to  the  scale 
of  fees  charged  ;  and  wherever  just  and 
practicable,  the  system  of  open  compe- 
tition is  established.  Where  the  case 
demands  it,  restrictions  are  retained, 
but  only  within  due  limits,  and  subject 
to  competition  amongst  those  qualified  ; 
whilst  in  all  cases  alike  the  regula- 
tions are  so  drawn  as  to  secure  the 
double  object  of  attracting  good 
scholars  to  the  school,  as  well  as  as- 
sisting beneficiaries  and  .  applying  a 
stimulus  to  the  feeding  schools  below. 
In  this  way  England  is  being  covered 
all  over  with  a  system  of  carefully 
organised  schools,  each  having  a  dis- 
tinct work  to  do,  and  each  furnished 
with  the  means  of  doing  that  work 
well. 

Meantime,  how  stands  Scotland  in  the 
matter  of  Secondary  Education?  Our 


newspapers,  indeed,  and  public  speakers 
are  never  weary  of  repeating  that 
we  alone  have  a  "  truly  national  system 
of  education  ;  "  that  we  are  far  ahead 
of  England  in  education  of  every 
grade ;  so  far  ahead,  that  Scotland 
must  henceforth  have  her  education 
separated  from  that  of  England,  to  be 
conducted  upon  superior  principles,  and 
by  a  superior  minister,  of  her  own. 
But  those  who  know  the  facts  tell  a 
very  different  story.  It  is  quite  true 
that  Scotch  Elementary  education  was 
formerly  very  superior  to  that  of  Eng- 
land ;  and  that  our  parish  or  element- 
ary schools  frequently  taught,  and 
taught  successfully,  the  higher  sub- 
jects— a  thing  quite  unknown  in  Eng- 
land. It  is  also  true  that  the  Specific 
Subjects  under  the  code  are  still 
taught  more  generally  in  Scotland,  and 
that  in  consequence  a  large  proportion 
of  students  join  the  universities,  and 
even  distinguish  themselves  there,  on 
the  basis  of  instruction  received  in 
public  elementary  schools.  But  such 
a  system  is  at  best  a  makeshift ;  it  can 
only  be  praised  or  tolerated  because 
systematic  secondary  schools  do  not 
exist  in  sufficient  quantity.  In  other 
respects,  English  education  is  rapidly 
gaining  upon  Scottish  education  ;  in 
some  points — notably  as  to  infant 
schools,  and  as  to  the  arrangements 
made  for  the  teaching  of  science — 
it  is  distinctly  ahead  already ;  and 
Scotland  is  in  danger,  even  in  the 
matter  of  elementary  education,  of 
having  her  vaunted  supremacy  wrested 
from  her. 

In  the  matter  of  higher  education, 
the  danger  is  far  more  pressing.  The 
deficiencies  of  Scotland  in  this  re- 
spect are  universally  acknowledged. 
There  is  no  grading  of  schools. 
Some  elementary  schools,  under  great 
difficulties,  and  with  imperfect  re- 
sults, teach  the  higher  subjects  ; 
almost  all  secondary  schools  support, 
or  rather  are  supported  by,  element- 
ary departments.  Such  secondary 
schools  as  exist  are  few  and  far  be- 
tween ;  if  we  except  the  High  Schools 
and  Academies  of  our  principal  cities, 


Scotch  and  English  Educational  Endowments. 


37 


there  are  hardly  any  public  schools 
that  deserve  the  name.  Such  as 
exist  are  imperfectly  organised,  or 
organised  on  a  wrong  system  ;  they 
are  crippled  for  want  of  funds ;  and 
in  none  but  the  very  best  are  the 
fees  high  enough  to  supply  a  high- 
class  education.  Higher  salaries  to 
attract  first-rate  masters;  improved 
management  and  organisation  ;  better 
buildings  and  apparatus  ;  proper  play- 
grounds and  means  of  recreation ; 
above  all,  entrance  scholarships  and 
leaving  exhibitions  open  to  free  com- 
petition so  as  to  attract  intellectual 
ability,  and  give  a  stimulus  to  the 
whole  course — these  are  everywhere 
the  needs  of  our  schools,  and  the 
country  looked  to  the  long-demanded 
Endowment  Commission  to  supply 
them. 

And  there  were  funds  in  abundance 
for  the  purpose.  The  history  of  en- 
dowments in  Scotland  has  been  similar 
to  that  in  England.  Repeated  Com- 
missions had  brought  out  the  fact 
that,  exclusive  of  the  universities, 
there  were  endowments,  mostly  in- 
tended for  higher  education,  to  the 
amount  of  171,000?.  a  year;  and  that 
this  great  sum  had  been  so  parochial- 
ised  and  misapplied,  so  jobbed  and 
frittered  away,  so  diverted  from  educa- 
tional to  eleemosynary  purposes,  that 
it  was  doubtful  whether  it  was  not 
doing  more  harm  than  good,  lowering 
the  standard  of  education,  and  ac- 
tually demoralising  whole  commu- 
nities. Founders'  wills  had  every- 
where been  departed  from.  Free 
competition  was  unknown.  In  the 
great  Hospitals  alone,  no  less  than 
77,745?.  a  year  was  being  spent  in 
giving  an  elementary  education,  under 
cramped  unhealthy  conditions,  to  1,232 
children,  most  of  them  orphans,  and 
mainly  chosen  for  their  poverty.  In 
no  single  instance  had  these  founda- 
tions been  widened  into  fine  open 
institutions  like  the  great  schools  of 
England.  The  managers  were  mostly 
the  town-councils.  In  Glasgow,  rich 
in  endowments  for  school  purposes, 
only  one  endowed  school  could  be 


pointed  to  that  even  attempted  to  do 
higher  work ;  and  it  was  reported  by 
the  late  Commission  that  "of  thir- 
teen endowed  schools  in  operation  in 
Glasgow  only  four  are  efficient,  two 
are  inefficient,  while  seven  are  ineffi- 
cient to  the  extent  of  being  a  gross 
waste  of  money."  Added  to  all  this, 
the  whole  condition  of  things  had 
been  altered  by  the  Education  Act  of 
1872,  which  had  brought  good  element- 
ary education  within  the  reach  of  every 
child  in  the  country.  Everyhere  it 
was  the  same  story,  and  the  demand 
for  an  Executive  Commission  to  deal 
strenuously  with  these  endowments  for 
the  advancement  of  higher  education 
generally  could  no  longer  be  resisted. 

At  length,  after  many  delays,  after 
opportunities  had  been  in  vain  offered 
to  the  governing  bodies  to  reform  them- 
selves, an  act  was  passed  on  August  19, 
1882,  "To  reorganise  the  Educational 
Endowments  of  Scotland." 

The   Scottish    Act    was    originally 
framed  on   the    lines  of    the  English 
Act,  but  unfortunately   it    was    seri- 
ously maimed  in  its  passage  through 
Parliament.       Scotch     legislation     is 
invariably     huddled    into     the     odd 
corners  of  an  expiring  session,  when 
any  opposition,   however  frivolous,   is 
formidable ;   and  as  governments  are 
always   more    anxious   to    pass   their 
measures  than  to  see  that  they  deserve 
to   pass,    they   will    yield   even   vital 
points    to    noisy   malcontents   rather 
than  find  the  time  for  a  full  and  fair 
discussion    of    them.      In    this    case 
an  ignorant   and   interested   cry  was 
raised,   to   the   effect    that   to   assist 
higher  education,  and  to  place  endow- 
ments under  independent  management, 
was  to  "  rob  the  poor  of  their  heritage." 
Before  this  unmeaning  cry  Mr.  Mun- 
della,  robust  educationalist   as  he  is, 
struck   his   colours,  and   emasculated 
his   Bill  by   securing   a  predominant 
place   in    the  future   management  of 
endowments  to  the   very  bodies  who 
had  been  thrice  convicted,  by-  three 
separate    commissions,    of    neglecting 
and  abusing  their  powers  in  the  past, 
and  whose  removal  from  power  in  the 


38 


Scotch  and   English  Educational  Endowments. 


future  was  one  of  the  main  objects 
for  which  it  was  worth  while  passing 
an  Endowments  Bill  at  all. 

Other  restrictive  provisions  were 
introduced  into  the  Bill,  which  the 
Commissioners  have  unfortunately 
construed  in  a  still  more  narrow 
sense  than  was  intended.  Thus, 
money  actually  left  for  free  ele- 
mentary education,  and  still  so  ex- 
pended, was  to  continue  to  be  so 
expended,  "  if  required ;"  and  funds 
left  for  the  education  of  the  poorer 
classes,  either  "  generally  or  within 
a  particular  area,"  were  to  continue 
to  be  applied  for  the  benefit  of  such 
children,  "  so  far  as  requisite."  But 
the  words  italicised,  in  reality,  left 
all  to  the  discretion  of  the  Com- 
missioners ;  and  section  7  expressly 
provided  that — 

"Nothing  in  this  Act  contained 
shall  be  taken  to  compel  the  Com- 
missioners to  restrict  any  bursary  or 
scholarship  or  other  educational  bene- 
fit" attached  to  or  tenable  at  any 
educational  institution,  to  the  children 
of  persons  resident  in  the  locality 
where  that  institution  exists." 

This  clause,  the  wisest  and  most 
liberal  in  the  Act,  the  Commissioners 
are  everywhere  disregarding  :  instead 
of  opening  up  educational  benefits  to 
all  comers,  they  are,  in  many  cases, 
fastening  on  the  yoke  of  local  restric- 
tions more  firmly  than  before. 

In  one  important  respect  the  Scottish 
Commission  was  to  differ  from  that  ap- 
pointed under  the  English  Endowed 
Schools  Act.  It  was  to  be  unpaid ; 
it  could  not  therefore  be  expected  to 
give  the  sanre  time  to  the  work,  or  to 
do  it  in  the  sa^  careful,  discriminat- 
ing manner  as  a  Commission  composed 
of  men  bound  to  make  it  the  business 
of  their  lives. 

The  composition  of  the  Commission, 
when  made  known,  was  not  reassuring. 
For  the  chairmanship  no  better  man 
could  have  been  found  than  Lord 
Balfouv  of  Burleigh,  and  some  of  his 
colleagues  are  excellent  men  for  the 
work.  But  the  Commission  contains 
no  representative  of  either  science  or 


learning — except  the  learning  of  the 
law ;  and,  what  is  probably  unique  in 
the  history  of  such  commissions,  it  com- 
prises no  single  member  who  has  had 
practical  knowledge  of  the  work  of 
teaching,  and  who  is  therefore  quali- 
fied to  form  an  opinion  at  first  hand, 
from  his  own  experience  as  a  teacher, 
on  the  various  educational  problems 
brought  before  him.  Some  of  its 
members  are  not  known  to  have  given 
previously  any  attention  to  the  sub- 
ject of  education  at  all. 

Such  as  it  was,  however,  the  Bill 
became  law  in  August,  1882  ;  and  the 
Commission,  thus  constituted,  and  with 
these  powers,  was  expected  to  render 
the  same  services  to  the  higher  educa- 
tion of  Scotland  that  have  been  ren- 
dered to  that  of  England  by  the 
English  Commission.  The  Commis- 
sioners have  now  published  their 
schemes  for  some  of  the  most  im- 
portant endowments  with  which  they 
will  have  to  deal,  so  that  a  judgment 
can  be  formed  as  to  how  far  these 
expectations  are  likely  to  be  realised. 

We  will  take  first  their  three  main 
schemes  for  Glasgow.1  In  Glasgow 
alone  there  exist  endowments,  left  ex- 
pressly to  found  schools,  amounting  to 
no  less  than  431,1712.  Here,  if  any- 
where.it  might  have  been  expected  that 
the  establishment  of  new  schools  to  be 
conducted  on  sound  principles,  or  the 
strengthening  of  existing  schools, 
would  have  taken  precedence  of  every 
other  object.  This  certainly  was  the 
view  of  the  representatives  of  exist- 
ing trusts,  who,  after  repeated  con- 
sultations, had  urged  (ithat  there 
should  be  established  in  suitable  parts 
of  the  city  not  less  than  three  schools 
for  boys  and  two  for  girls,  in  which 
a  complete  and  organised  course  of 
secondary  instruction  should  be  carried 
out ;  "  and  that  "  two  schools  should  be 


1  I  take  no  notice  at  present  of  the  re- 
cently-issued scheme  for  combining  a  fresh 
group  of  endowments  for  purposes  of  technical 
education,  which,  good  as  it  is  in  some  respects, 
shows  the  same  tendency  on  the  part  of  the 
Commissioners  to  lower,  rather  than  to  raise, 
the  standard  of  education. 


Scotch  and  English  Educational  Endowments. 


39 


regularly   organised   with   a  view   to 
science  teaching." 

Such  being  the  facts,  it  is  astonish- 
ing to  find  that  the  Commissioners' 
published  schemes  propose  to  do  little 
or  nothing  to  increase  the  supply,  or 
improve  the  quality,  of  secondary 
schools.  They  are  establishing  no  new 
schools :  on  the  contrary,  they  are 
snuffing  out  a  number  of  existing 
schools,  and  diverting  to  other  uses 
funds  specially  left  to  build  and  main- 
tain schools.  Their  proposals  will  add 
nothing  to  the  teaching  resources  of 
the  city  or  country ;  and  even  where 
they  sanction  or  suggest  the  continu- 
ance of  schools,  they  endorse  and 
aggravate  the  very  evils  which  have 
prevented  those  schools  from  doing 
really  high  work  in  the  past.  Their 
sole  idea  seems  to  be  to  throw  all 
funds  promiscuously  into  two  or  three 
large  heaps,  and  to  use  these  large  funds 
to  support  a  huge  system  of  close  and 
semi-eleemosynary  bursaries,  without 
taking  any  steps  to  secure  that  there 
shall  be  first-rate  schools  at  which 
these  bursaries  shall  be  held. 

Thus,  ignoring  the  special  wishes  of 
founders,  and  wiping  out  wholesale 
all  distinctions  between  the  original 
purposes  of  foundations,  they  have 
lumped  seventeen  endowments  into  two 
groups  ;  and  the  aggregate  income  of 
this  fund,  amounting  to  over  7,000?.  a 
year,  is  to  be  mainly  spent  upon  school 
bursaries,  mostly  small  in  amount, 
and  confined  to  particular  classes. 
Out  of  the  whole  income  a  sum  of 
1,600?.  a  year  may  be  expended  in 
paying  the  school  fees  of  "  poor  but 
deserving  children  "  at  elementary 
schools.  This  sum,  properly  speaking, 
is  not  spent  in  education  at  all ;  it  is 
a  subsidy  to  poor  children.  About 
2,100?.  must  be  spent  on  bursaries 
of  from  51.  to  10?.  in  amount 
tenable  only  for  two  years,  and  to 
be  competed  for  amongst  children 
who  have  passed  the  fifth  standard 
at  elementary  schools ;  1,200?.  a 
year  is  to  be  spent  on  school 
bursaries  of  a  higher  kind,  to  be 
awarded  under  no  special  restrictions 


amongst  the  pupils  of  State-aided 
schools ;  while,  lastly,  500?.  is  to  be 
spent  on  university  bursaries  (half  to 
be  for  schoolmasters),  for  poor  students 
from  State-aided  schools  in  Glasgow. 
Bursaries  to  assist  in  payment  of  fees 
at  evening  classes,  and  special  pay- 
ments towards  an  ideal  school  of 
domestic  economy  and  a  proposed 
technical  college,  absorb  the  re- 
mainder. 

Now  there  is   much  to  be  said  in 
favour  of  the  creation  of  bursaries ; 
and   all  authorities   agree  that  much 
good  would  be  done  by  enabling  clever 
scholars  from   elementary    schools  to 
carry  on  their  education  at  some  good 
secondary  school,  provided  good  schools 
are  established  to  which  to  send  them. 
But  in  expending  nearly  their  whole 
funds  on  this  one  object,  the  Commis- 
sioners have  run  their  hobby  to  death  ; 
and,  although   the  principle  of   com- 
petition is  partially  recognised,  the  con- 
ditions under  which  the  various  compe- 
titions are  regulated  are  of  the  most 
narrow    and  parochial  kind.     In  the 
great  majority  of  cases  candidates  must 
be  "  poor  and   deserving,"  which   will 
be  interpreted  as  heretofore  to  mean 
"deserving  because  poor."     In  almost 
every  case   none    will    be  eligible   to 
bursaries   but  those   who   have   been 
educated    at    State-aided    schools    in 
Glasgow  ;  so  that  instead  of  attracting 
to  herself  poor  and  deserving  ability 
from    every    quarter,    Glasgow,    the 
wealthy    Glasgow,     will     be    strictly 
reserving  "  her  ain  fish-guts  for    her 
ain    sea-maws."      Nay,     more:     even 
that  class  which  constitutes  most  em- 
phatically the  "  Glasgow  "  of  to-day — 
the  ship-building  population — will  be 
to  a  great  extent  excluded  altogether, 
for  the  exigencies  of  the  trade  have 
caused  it  to  slip  down  the  river,  and 
pass  beyond  the  boundaries  of  Glasgow 
proper.     In  no   single   instance,  amid 
all    this  flood  of  bursaries,   have  the 
Commissioners  provided  for  an  abso- 
lutely free  and  open  competition. 

Nor  is  this  the  only  blemish  in 
the  scheme.  These  multitudinous 
bursaries  are  not  to  be  held  at  any 


40 


Scotch  and  English  Educational  Endowments. 


school  in  particular ;  they  are  be- 
stowed, as  it  were,  "  in  the  air,"  and 
the  holders  may  attend  at  any  school 
which  may  suit  themselves  and  con- 
tent the  governors.  Thus  one  of  the 
main  benefits  of  a  bursary  system — 
viz.,  that  it  supplies  a  good  school 
with  a  certain  number  of  able  scholars 
— is  lost  altogether. 

Next,    let   us    see  what   the   Com- 
missioners have  done  for  those  schools 
which  are  to  be  retained.     In  Glas- 
gow the  Hutcheson  Endowment,  with 
an  income  of  4,000£.  a  year,  has  pro- 
duced hitherto  a  very  moderate  result 
in  the  way  of   higher   education  ;  in 
Edinburgh,    the    magnificent    Heriot 
Endowment,  which  was  expressly  de- 
signed by  the  founder  to  be  a  second 
Christ's    Hospital,   and   has  now    an 
income    of    over  20,000£.  a  year,  has 
done    little,   if  at  all,   better.      How 
are    the    schools    attached    to    these 
foundations   to   be  re-vivified  by  the 
Commissioners?    The  general  arrange- 
ments   which    they    have    made    for 
their  government   and   discipline  are 
good ;  but  in  both  schools  they  have 
permitted  and  perpetuated  that  inter- 
mixture of    elementary  with    higher 
education,  which   is   the  bane  of  our 
Scottish     system;     and     they     have 
failed  to  grasp  the  fundamental  fact 
that  the  quality  of  the  education  to 
be  given  in  a  school  depends  wholly 
upon  its  finance.     We  have  seen  how 
.strict  the  English  schemes  are  upon 
this  point,  with  the  object  of  securing 
both  that  the  education  given  shall  be 
good,  and  that  the  fee-paying  pupils 
shall  pay  the  full  price  of  what  they 
get.       The       Hutcheson       Grammar 
School     and     the     Heriot     Hospital 
School    are     both    intended     to     be 
schools  of  the  middle-class  >  sort,   and 
at  the  latter  it   seems  to  be  contem- 
plated that  boys  may  remain  till  the 
age  of  seventeen.     Yet  for   Heriot' s 
the  minimum  fee  is  fixed  at    \L  10s. 
for  the  year,  for  Hutcheson' s   Gram- 
mar School  at   II.  10s.  for  the   lowest 
class,    and    21.  for  the  higher  classes 
No  mention  is  made    of    any  higher 
figure,  and  to  suggest  a  low  fee  of  this 


kind  is  to  enjoin  it.  It  is  evident 
that  the  Commissioners  have  never 
seriously  considered  what  the  expenses 
of  a  secondary  school  should  be,  and 
have  fixed  upon  II.  10s.  and  21.  merely 
because  those  sums  are  just  above  the 
highest  rate — 9d.  a  week — charged  in 
Board  Schools.  They  further  over- 
look entirely  the  fact  that  Board 
Schools,  besides  having  lower  work  to 
do,  have  Government  grant  and  rates 
to  support  them  as  well  as  fees. 

To  expose  the  inadequacy  of  these 
proposals,  let  us  consider  at  what 
price  it  is  possible  to  provide  a  good 
secondary  education  of  the  different 
grades  recognised  in  English  schools. 
The  following  calculation,  based  on  a 
careful  examination  of  different  types 
of  schools,  may  be  accepted  as  ap- 
proximately correct.  In  each  case  the 
buildings  are  supposed  to  be  supplied 
free. 

(1.)  In  a  large,  well-organised 
Board  School  it  is  possible,  by  means 
of  good  assistants  and  good  organisa- 
tion, to  carry  on  the  education  of  a 
few  select  pupils  to  a  very  considerable 
height,  and  at  a  very  low  cost.  I 
have  before  me  the  accounts  of  such  a 
school,  with  1,100  names  on  the 
register.  Out  of  this  number  small 
classes  of  six  or  ten  or  twelve  are 
being  given  advanced  instruction  in 
Latin,  Greek,  Modern  languages,  and 
Mathematics,  at  a  total  cost  of  less 
than  21.  10s.  per  head  over  the  whole 
number  in  average  attendance.  But 
of  course  the  great  bulk  of  the  work 
in  this  school  is  elementary  ;  and  no 
school  could  carry  on  all  its  scholars 
to  the  same  stage  at  anything  like  the 
same  figure. 

(2.)  A  well-managed  school  of  400 
boys  can  furnish  a  really  sound 
scientific  and  literary  training  between 
the  ages  of  ten  and  fifteen — a  very  few 
able  boys  remaining  a  year  or  two 
longer — at  a  cost  of  61.  a  year  per 
head.  The  teaching-staff  alone  in 
such  a  school  will  cost  over  41.  per 
head. 

(3.)  A  secondary  school  of  the  best 
Scottish  type,  containing  from  600  to 


Scotch  and  English  Educational  Endowments. 


41 


700  boys,  and  giving  a  complete 
classical  course  in  the  higher  classes, 
cannot  be  carried  on  for  less  than 
from  10?.  10s.  to  121.  12s.  per  head 
over  the  entire  school.  Were  the 
school  smaller,  and  confined  to  strictly 
secondary  work,  under  masters  of  high 
standing,  the  fees  would  have  to  rise 
to  fifteen  and  twenty  guineas  ahead. 

To  suggest  therefore  that  a  good 
secondary  school  can  be  conducted  at 
the  cost  of  21.  a  head  is  simply  absurd  ; 
and  the  attempt  must  entail  one, 
probably  both,  of  the  following  re- 
sults : — The  standard  of  the  school 
will  be  kept  low ;  and  the  funds  of  the 
endowment — in  spite  of  all  provisions 
to  the  contrary — will  be  largely  spent 
in  supplementing  the  fees  paid  by  the 
paying  pupils.  This  is  exactly  what 
is  being  done  at  present  at  Hutcheson's 
Grammar-School,  and  the  Commission- 
ers now  sanction  the  arrangement.  The 
accounts  of  the  school  for  1883  show 
that  the  cost  of  maintaining  the  school 
for  the  year,  even  on  its  present  foot- 
ing, was  at  the  rate  of  4?.  12s.  per  head. 
There  were  822  paying  pupils;  but 
these  paid  on  an  average  only  21. 15s. 
per  head.  Thus  no  less  than  II.  17s. 
per  head,  or  actually  1,520?.  17s.  in 
all  was  paid  out  of  the  endowment  as 
a  present  to  the  parents  of  boys  who 
were  supposed  to  be  paying  the  whole 
cost  of  their  education.  In  the  girls 
school,  744?.  was  spent  in  a  similar 
manner ;  in  all  2,264?.  out  of  one  en- 
dowment spent  in  artifically  cheapen- 
ing education  for  the  general  public 
who  can  afford  to  pay  the  full  price  ! 
In  addition,  the  foundation  supplies 
the  school  buildings  free  to  all.  For 
all  this  the  Commissioners  have  no 
word  of  blame,  and  provide  no  re- 
medy ;  yet  with  strange  inconsistency, 
when  they  come  to  deal  with  Fettes 
College,  in  which  the  existence  of 
boarding  houses  with  paying  pupils 
is  essential  for  the  conduct  of  the 
school,  they  are  filled  with  such  a 
pious  horror  of  allowing  non-founda- 
tioners to  reap  any  benefit  out  of  the 
foundation,  that  they  insist  that  they 
shall  pay  rent  for  the  use  of  the  board- 


ing houses  already  erected  out  of  the 
capital  of  the  foundation.  In  this 
they  have  been  needlessly  squeamish. 
It  is  a  perfectly  legitimate  thing  for 
an  endowment  to  provide  and  to 
maintain  buildings  for  the  use  of  all, 
foundationers  and  non-foundationers 
alike ;  but  it  is  not  legitimate  for  the 
Commissioners  to  permit  this  principle 
in  one  set  of  schools  and  then  to  forbid 
it  in  another,  merely  because  some  of 
their  number  do  not  appreciate  an 
education  of  the  highest  grade. 

In  one  instance  this  feeling  has 
shown  itself  in  a  manner  which  is 
probably  without  a  parallel  in  the 
history  of  education.  In  the  case 
of  Heriot's  Hospital  School  —  and 
again  in  the  case  of  Allen  Glen's 
School  in  Glasgow — it  is  enacted  that 
"  Greek  shall  not  be  taught."  It  is  re- 
freshing to  know  that  there  is  such 
avidity  to  study  Greek  amongst  the 
lower  middle  classes  of  Edinburgh  that 
it  has  to  be  put  down  by  law.  Possibly 
the  noble  chairman  was  anxious  to 
emulate  the  famous  and  unique 
example  set  by  Mr.  Gladstone,  when 
he  proposed  to  found  a  university  in 
Ireland  in  which  philosophy  and 
history  were  to  be  forbidden  subjects. 
But  even  with  such  a  precedent,  a 
proposal  so  retrograde  and  gratuitous 
as  to  prohibit  any  lawful  branch  of 
study,  must  surely  be  reconsidered, 
and  could  not,  in  fact,  hold  its  ground 
were  circumstances  to  call  for  its 
repeal. 

The  latest  scheme  put  forth  by  the 
Commissioners  is  that  for  Fettes  Col- 
lege. This  scheme  has  been  awaited 
with  great  interest.  Fettes  College  is 
the  solitary  example  among  the  endowed 
schools  of  Scotland  of  a  school  of  the 
highest  grade,  completely  equipped 
and  organised  for  its  work.  It  is 
known  to  be  doing  its  work  admirably, 
and  it  is  turning  out  results  worthy  of 
being  placed  beside  those  of  the  best 
English  Public  schools.  It  has  carried 
off  many  scholarships  at  Oxford  and 
Cambridge ;  and  there  is  probably  no 
school  in  the  kingdom  doing  better 
work  all  round.  But  unhappily  an 


Scotch  and  English  Educational  Endowments. 


ignorant  and  vindictive  outcry  has 
been  raised  against  the  school,  mainly 
by  those  interested  in  the  Heriot 
foundation,  on  the  ground  that  the 
will  of  the  founder  has  been  wrongly 
interpreted,  and  that  funds  meant  for 
the  poor  have  been  used  to  provide  an 
education  for  the  rich. 

This  ground  is  wholly  untenable. 
There  is  not  a  word  in  the  will  to 
show  that  Sir  William  Fettes  intended 
to  benefit  any  special  class,  least  of 
all  a  humble  class.  He  conferred 
upon  his  trustees  "  the  most  ample 
and  unlimited  powers  ;  "  and  the  sole 
condition  which  he  imposed  upon  them 
was  that  they  should  erect  a  building 
near  Edinburgh  for  the  "  maintenance, 
education,  and  outfit,  of  young  people 
whose  parents  have  either  died  withoxit 
leaving  sufficient  fundsfor  that  purpose, 
or  who  from  innocent  misfortune  dur- 
ing their  own  lives  are  unable  to  give 
a  suitable  education  to  their  children." 
These  words  show  that  the  founder 
did  not  contemplate  the  poorer  classes, 
but  such  persons  as  usually  leave 
behind  them  sufficient  means  to  edu- 
cate their  children.  The  trustees— of 
whom  the  Justice-General  is  chair- 
man— wisely  deeming  that  Edinburgh 
was  overdone  with  endowments  for 
the  poorer  and  lower  middle  classes ; 
and  considering  that  probably  no  class 
is  so  poor  and  feeble  as  those  members 
of  the  middle  or  professional  classes 
who  have  by  misfortune  fallen  into 
poor  circumstances,  determined  to 
found  a  high-class  school  after  the 
model  of  the  English  Public  Schools, 
to  which  foundationers  from  the  class 
above  described  should  be  admitted 
free,  while  all  others  should  be  ad- 
mitted on  payment  of  a  full  price. 

Of  all  classes  of  the  community, 
there  is  none  that  appeals  more  to  our 
sympathy,  and  especially  in  the  matter 
of  education,  than  that  of  the  poor 
and  reduced  gentry,  though  it  is  not  a 
class  which  can  make  itself  felt  at  the 
polling-booths,  or  which  cares  to  parade 
its  sufferings.  The  class  which  com- 
bines culture  with  straitened  means  is 
a  source  of  special  strength  to  the 


nation,  and  has  a  special  claim  on  it 
in  return.  It  is  composed  of  those 
who  have  engaged  unsuccessfully  in 
professions,  in  business,  in  literature, 
or  art,  or  who  have  never  found  their 
way  to  any  profession  at  all.  Among 
this  class  "innocent  misfortune"  is 
not  less  common,  it  is  perhaps  more 
common,  than  in  others  ;  and  when  it 
comes,  it  brings  with  it  a  sting  keener 
perhaps  than  to  any  other.  For  its  chief 
characteristic  as  a  class,  whether  in 
failure  or  success  is  this — that  it  has 
known  and  appreciated  the  benefits  of 
a  liberal  education ;  and  there  is  no 
privation  so  bitter  to  a  cultured  and 
high-minded  parent  as  that  of  being 
unable  to  give  to  his  own  children  as 
good  an  education  as  he  has  himself 
received. 

If  then  the  Commissioners  can 
understand  any  kind  of  poverty  but 
pauper  poverty,  we  may  ask  them  : 
May  not  one  out  of  all  the  huge  en- 
dowments of  Scotland  be  justly  and 
wisely  allowed  to  remain  for  the  bene- 
fit of  this  often  bravely-struggling 
class?  or  is  no  voice  to  prevail  with 
them  but  that  of  the  average  rate- 
payer, who  is  in  fact  far  more  wealthy 
than  the  member  of  the  class  for  whom 
we  plead  1  Educationally,  and  as 
regards  the  interests  of  the  nation, 
there  can  be  no  doubt  as  to  what  their 
action  should  be.  Here  we  have  a 
school  so  good  that  in  fifteen  years 
it  has  pushed  its  way  to  a  front  rank 
among  the  schools  of  Great  Britain, 
and  its  existence  is  a  benefit  to  the 
whole  country.  Scotland  is  noto- 
riously deficient  in  such  schools  ;  the 
Commissioners  are  doing  nothing  to 
create  them ;  it  would  be  nothing 
short  of  a  scandal  and  a  national 
misfortune  were  they  to  introduce  rash 
and  inconsiderate  changes  which  would 
lower  its  character  and  cripple  it  in 
its  work. 

Now  there  exists  in  many  Scottish 
minds  a  prejudice  against  boarding- 
schools.  Some  deem  the  education 
given  at  Fettes  College  too  expensive  ; 
others  object  to  the  introduction  of 
the  English  Public-School  system  as 


Scotch  and  English  Educational  Endowments. 


an  attempt  to  "  Anglicise  "  our  institu- 
tions— an  offence  which  in  Scotland 
it  little  short  of  criminal.  As  the  suc- 
cess of  Fettes  College  is  undoubtedly 
due  to  its  system,  it  will  be  well  to 
point  out  the  main  features  of  the 
English  Public-School  system,  to  show 
why  it  must  be  costly,  and  what  ad- 
vantages it  offers  in  return. 

A  day-school  undertakes  no  duty 
but  that  of  teaching  and  controlling  a 
boy  for  a  certain  number  of  hours  in 
the  day.  As  soon  as  the  teaching 
hours  are  over,  the  teachers  are  free, 
and  the  scholars  no  longer  under  school 
control.  But  a  boarding-school  not 
only  teaches  a  boy,  it  also  undertakes 
to  regulate  his  life,  to  train  his 
character,  to  consider  specially .  his 
intellectual  wants,  to  provide  for  his 
recreation,  his  amusement,  and  his 
health.  It  stands  absolutely  in  loco 
parenlis  to  every  individual  boy.  The 
masters'  labour  and  anxiety  are  not 
confined  to  school  hours ;  they  have  to 
study  each  character  ;  they  have  to  be 
alive  to,  and  to  provide  for,  all  the 
difficulties  and  temptations  which  sur- 
round boy-life.  To  do  such  work  well, 
men  are  needed  of  strong  and  high 
characters,  possessed  of  insight  and 
refinement  as  well  as  knowledge,  and 
devoted  to  their  duty.  Such  men 
must  be  well  paid  :  and  for  such  work 
more  masters  are  needed  than  would 
suffice  for  a  day-school.  Thus,  at 
Fettes  College  at  present,  there 
is  about  one  resident  master  for 
every  eighteen  boys ;  at  one  of  our 
best  Scottish  secondary  schools,  where 
the  staff  is  considered  ample,  there  are 
forty-one  boys  to  each  master. 

To  the  cost  of  tuition,  therefore,  has 
to  be  added  the  cost  of  superintend- 
ence. Then  comes  the  cost  of  keep, 
over  a  period  of  not  less  than  thirty- 
eight  or  thirty-nine  weeks :  and 
growing  boys  must  be  well,  if  simply, 
fed.  In  the  matter  of  buildings,  it 
is  obvious  that  a  boarding-school 
has  many  more  needs  than  a  day- 
school.  It  must  furnish  sufficient 
play- grounds,  and  other  means  of  re 
creation,  both  for  summer  and  winter ; 


a  sanatorium,  a  gymnasium,  a  swim- 
ming-bath, fives-courts,  a  library  in 
which  boys  may  read  in  bad  weather, 
are  all  valuable,  indeed  almost  neces- 
sary, adjuncts  :  all  these  not  only  entail 
a  heavy  outlay  at  the  outset,  but  also 
a  regular  yearly  cost  for  maintenance. 
Such  advantages  as  these  have  to  be 
obtained  for  a  day  scholar,  if  he  gets 
them  at  all,  apart  from  the  school ; 
so  that  the  cost  of  his  recreations  does 
not  figure  in  his  school  accounts.  All 
this  should  be  taken  account  of  in 
considering  what  is  a  reasonable 
amount  to  pay  for  a  boy's  keep  and 
education  at  a  boarding-school. 

Thus  a  boarding  school,  conducted 
on  the  principles  of  an  English  Public 
School,  and  thoroughly  equipped  to 
enable  it  to  do  its  work  well,  must 
necessarily  be  a  more  expensive  in- 
stitution than  a  day  school ;  and  if 
it  be  not  well  equipped,  then  the 
whole  system  will  break  down,  and  all 
the  evils  which  were  connected  with 
the  old  "  monastic  system,"  as  it  was 
carried  out  in  some  of  our  Scottish 
Hospitals,  will  reappear.  Those  evils 
were  caused  by  boys  being  huddled 
together  in  a  confined  space,  under 
strict  discipline  possibly,  but  without 
sufficient  individual  superintendence, 
in  an  atmosphere  from  which  all  the 
elements  of  freedom  and  natural  en- 
joyment were  absent.  No  life  could 
be  more  different  from  this  than  that 
of  an  English  Public  School,  in  which, 
along  with  good  teaching  and  careful 
moral  guidance  under  the  hands  of 
cultured  masters,  the  boys  have  a 
natural  healthy  life  of  their  own, 
organised  in  such  a  way  as  to  assist 
their  social,  moral,  and  physical  de- 
velopment. The  active  energies,  the 
organised  interests,  the  carefully  regu- 
lated self-government,  and  continual 
give-and-take  of  a  public  school  life 
give  an  admirable  training  in  manners 
and  manliness,  in  honour  and  esprit 
de  corps,  and  save  many  a  boy  from 
the  selfishness  and  the  narrowness, 
from  the  self-consciousness  and  touchi- 
ness, from  the  diffidence  or  the  boorish- 
ness,  which  are  so  often  to  be  seen  in 


44 


Scotch  and  English  Educational  Endowments. 


those  who  have  not  learnt  from  an 
early  age  to  jostle  with  their  fellows, 
and  to  take  their  part  both  in  forming, 
and  conforming  to,  the  demands  of  a 
healthy  public  opinion. 

The  system,  then,  is  necessarily 
costly :  what  are  the  special  advan- 
tages which  it  provides?  Are  they 
worth  having  at  the  price] 

(1)  As  to  health.  It  is  of  the 
utmost  importance  for  the  health 
and  development  of  growing  boys, 
that  they  should  have  their  meals 
not  only  at  regular,  but  at  suitable, 
hours  ;  that  they  should  not  be 
obliged  or  allowed  to  work  too  long 
at  a  sitting ;  that  they  should  have 
regular  and  systematic  exercise  ; 
and  lastly,  that  the  hours  devoted 
to  recreation  should  be  distributed 
as  evenly  and  judiciously  as  pos- 
sible amongst  the  hours  devoted  to 
work.  Lungs  need  airing  as  well  as 
class-rooms ;  and  it  is  a  physiological 
law  that  in  the  young  neither  mind 
nor  body  can  be  worked  long  at  a 
stretch  without  impairing  the  effici- 
ency of  both,  or  even  inflicting  upon 
them  permanent  injury.  No  lesson 
should  last  longer  than  an  hour :  at 
the  end  of  each  lesson  some  relief 
should  be  afforded,  some  exercise 
taken,  before  the  commencement  of 
the  next.  Meals  should  not  be  de- 
ferred too  long ;  four,  or  at  the  most 
five  hours,  should  be  the  maximum 
interval. 

To  carry  out  such  arrangements  as 
these  in  day  schools,  especially  such 
as  are  situated  in  large  towns,  is  al- 
most impossible.  In  Scotland  it  often 
happens  that  a  boy  leaves  home  after  a 
hurried  breakfast  at  eight  in  the  morn- 
ing, and  is  kept  at  work  till  three  in 
the  afternoon,  with  insufficient  inter- 
vals and  without  taking  any  exercise 
worthy  of  the  name.  He  will  then 
hurry  home  to  dinner,  after  which  in 
the  winter  months  it  will  be  too  late 
to  go  out,  even  if  the  work  to  be  pre- 
pared at  home  permitted  him  to  do 
so.  But  the  tired  brain  may  have  to 
set  to  work  again  at  once  with  new 
tasks,  and  weary  hours  are  spent  over 


work  which  could  be  better  done,  and 
done  in  half  the  time,  had  the  mind 
been  freshened  by  air  and  exercise, 
and  were  a  set  time  fixed  within  which 
it  must  be  done.  Parents  frequently 
permit  or  encourage  over-work  of  this 
kind.  Still  worse  is  it  when  work  is 
allowed  to  encroach  upon  the  hours 
of  sleep,  and  the  mind,  overtaxed  to 
begin  with,  loses  its  last  chance  of 
recovering  its  natural  energy  for  the 
work  of  the  next  day. 

In  other  homes,  again,  too  much 
indulgence  is  granted  to  the  day 
scholar  when  at  home.  He  is  allowed 
to  join  in  the  grown-up  amusements 
of  the  house ;  he  eats  too  much,  sits 
up  too  late,  has  too  much  excitement. 
It  is  the  old  story — 

"Quidquid  delirant  reges,  plectuntur  Achivi ;" 

whether  the  parents  be  over-anxious 
or  over-indulgent,  the  harm  falls  upon 
the  scholar. 

In  a  boarding  school,  the  whole  day 
is  at  the  disposal  of  the  masters ;  the 
hours  for  work,  for  play,  for  meals, 
and  for  sleep  can  be  arranged  in  what- 
ever manner  experience  shows  to  be 
most  couducive  to  mental  and  bodily 
health. 

(2)  As  to  regularity  of  work  and 
discipline.  In  a  boarding-school,  dis- 
cipline and  instruction  can  be  carried 
out  with  strictness  and  uniformity. 
School-work  is  not  interrupted  by 
scholars  dropping  in,  or  dropping 
off,  at  irregular  periods.  No  irregu- 
larity of  attendance  (except  for 
actual  illness)  is  possible.  In  a  day- 
school  all  these  disturbing  causes 
exist,  and,  worst  of  all,  the  discipline 
is  constantly  liable  to  be  disturbed  by 
the  injudicious  interference  of  parents. 
In  some  of  our  secondary  schools — 
especially  such  as  belong  to  the  "gen- 
teel "  sort — the  head  master's  first 
care  may  be  to  please  and  gratify 
the  parents ;  exceptions  are  made  in 
favour  of  particular  boys,  and  care  is 
taken  that  the  discipline  should  not 
press  too  hardly  on  them.  Some- 
times the  headmaster,  in  appointing 


Scotch  and  English  Educational  Endowments. 


an  assistant,  will  tell  him  that  he 
must  not  draw  the  reins  of  discipline 
too  tightly ;  that  he  must  be  "  judi- 
cious "  and  show  "  tact;"  which  means 
that  he  must  not  be  too  particular  about 
discipline,  and  must,  as  far  as  possible, 
abstain  from  administering  punish- 
ments of  which  parents  would  be  likely 
to  complain.  What  discipline  can  be 
kept  up,  what  respect  can  be  felt  for 
the  masters,  under  such  a  system  ? 

(3)  Next,  as  to  moral  supervision. 
It  is  not  easy  to  overrate  the  moral 
benefit  which  may  be  conferred  upon 
a  boy  by  placing  him  under  the  eye 
and  influence  of  an  experienced  master 
— one    who   is   a   competent  and  im- 
partial judge  of  character,  whose  busi- 
ness it  is  to  understand  boy-nature,  and 
who  knows  how  to  give  it  the  warnings 
or  encouragement  that  it  needs.     It  is 
common  in  Scotland  to  speak  of  the 
importance  of  home  influence,  and  to 
suppose  that  all  parents  are  gifted  by  na- 
ture with  one  of  the  rarest  of  all  powers 
— that  of  judging  the  young  justly,  and 
of  knowing  how  to  draw  out  what  is 
good  in  them,  how  to  deal  wisely  and 
firmly  with  their  faults.     Home  influ- 
ence is  indeed  inestimable;  but  there 
are  many  important  points  in  a  boy's 
character  which  can  be  best  dealt  with 
by  one  who  is  less  personally  interested 
than  a  parent,  and  there  are  many  trials 
in  life  which  do  not  meet  a  boy  until  he 
is  sent  out  in  the  world,  and  for  which 
he  may  be  totally  unprepared,  unless 
he  has  already  made  essays  in  a  minia- 
ture life  of  his  own,  in  which  he  has 
had  to  encounter  similar  trials,  fore- 
seen   and    moderated    for    him,    and 
through   which   he    has    had   an    ex- 
perienced hand  to  help  him. 

(4)  A  few  words  may  be  added  as  to 
the  Sixth-Form  or  Monitorial  system, 
by  which  a  certain  amount  of  authority 
over  the  other  boys  is  given  to  the 
head   boys  of   the   school,   under   the 
title  of  monitors,  praepostors,  or  prefects. 
Many  persons  entertain   a   prejudice 
against  the   idea  of    giving  one   boy 
authority   over  another   boy ;  but,  in 
reality,  the  exercise  of  such  authority 
is  indispensable  for  securing  due  liberty 


to  the  weak,  for  checking  wrong  and 
evil  of  every  kind,  and  for  creating 
not  only  a  high  level  of  public  spirit, 
but  also  a  high  tone  of  morality  and 
conduct  throughout  an  entire  school. 
Public  opinion  of  some  sort  must 
exist  in  a  school,  and  once  formed, 
exercises  the  most  powerful  influence ; 
and  the  monitorial  system  is  simply  a 
mode  of  reducing  this  public  opinion 
to  rule — first  thoughtfully  considered 
and  shaped  by  the  masters  in  concert 
with  the  best  boys,  then  enforced  by 
those  who  have  been  directly  influ- 
enced by  the  masters. 

(5)  It  is  sometimes^said  that  the  edu- 
cation afforded  by  the  English  Public 
Schools,  however  excellent  in  itself  for 
those  to  whom  it  is  suitable,  does  not 
afford  a  good  preparation  for  those 
who  will  have  to  make  their  own  way 
in  the  world  by  hard,  and  perhaps 
dull,  work ;  and  that  it  especially  un- 
fits boys  for  the  dull  drudgery  with 
which  a  business  career,  if  it  is  to  be 
successful,  must  necessarily  begin.  Ex- 
perience does  not  confirm  this  opinion. 
The  life  of  a  public  school  is  busy 
and  bracing ;  boys'  tastes  as  a  rule 
are  healthy ;  their  admiration  is 
bestowed  upon  what  is  vigorous  and 
manly  ;  they  have  little  respect 
for  self-indulgence,  and  have  no  re- 
gard for  money  for  its  own  sake. 
There  is  nothing  necessarily  contract- 
ing in  a  business  life  :  but  if  anything 
could  make  it  so,  it  would  be  the 
practice  of  cutting  off  those  who  are 
to  take  part  in  it  at  a  needlessly  early 
age  from  the  natural  pursuits,  the 
wider  interests,  the  greater  insight 
into  life  as  a  whole,  which  are  enjoyed 
by  those  who  go  through  a  complete 
course  in  one  of  our  Public  Schools. 
Such  boys  are  more  fit,  not  less  fit,  to 
deal  with  any  circumstances  in  which 
they  may  be  placed ;  they  know  life 
better ;  they  have  been  taught  to  face 
difficulties  ;  they  have  acquired  a  self- 
command  and  a  power  of  influencing 
others  which  will  serve  them  in  good 
stead  in  whatever  business  they  may 
be  placed. 

Such  are  the  main  features  of  the 


Scotch  and  English  Educational  Endowments. 


English  Public  School  system ;  and  it 
is  adopted  more  or  less  completely  in 
all  English  schools  of  the  first  grade. 
Its  advantages  are  obviously  not 
within  the  reach  of  all ;  and  there  will 
always  be  a  large  number  of  parents 
who  will,  on  principle,  prefer  day 
schools  to  boarding  schools.  There  is 
room  enough  for  all  in  Scotland  ;  and 
the  Trustees  of  Fettes  College  deserve 
the  thanks  of  all  friends  of  the  higher 
culture  for  having  taken  a  liberal  view 
of  their  powers,  for  having  aimed  at  a 
high  standard,  and  for  having  proved 
conclusively  that  the  English  Public- 
school  System  can  be  worked  as  suc- 
cessfully in  Scotland  as  in  England, 
and,  when  established  upon  an 
adequate  scale,  will  produce  the 
same  high  scholarship,  the  same  high 
moral  tone,  which  distinguishes  the 
best  English  schools.  At  Fettes,  the 
system  has  become  fully  established  ; 
and  its  establishment  has  been  a 
benefit  to  the  whole  country.  Any 
serious  interference  with  the  principles 
on  which  it  is  conducted  would  be  a 
public  misfortune. 

The  Commissioners  have,  happily,  de- 
cided, by  a  majority  of  their  number, 
to  resist  the  pressure  put  upon  them 
to  lower  the  whole  character  of  the 
school,  and  to  maintain  it,  more  or 
less,  upon  its  present  lines.  But  there 
are  serious  blots  upon  their  scheme  as 
it  stands,  and  in  the  vain  attempt  to 
satisfy  an  ignorant  outside  clamour, 
partly  supported  by  two  of  the  Com- 
missioners themselves,  changes  have 
been  introduced  which,  if  not  recon- 
sidered, will  be  seriously  damaging  to 
the  efficiency  of  the  school.  We  have 
only  space  to  call  attention,  very  briefly, 
to  the  leading  defects  of  the  scheme. 

1.  The  governing  body  is  too  en- 
tirely local  in  its  character.  The 
foundation  is  happily  to  be  a  national, 
not  a  local  one  ;  the  governors  should 
not  therefore  be  appointed  exclusively 
by  Edinburgh  bodies.  In  this,  and 
other  instances,  it  is  much  to  be  re- 
gretted that  the  Commissioners  have 
not  introduced  the  principle— almost 
universal  in  the  English  schemes — of 


having  a  certain  proportion  of  Co- 
optative  governors.  No  bodies  or 
persons  are  so  likely  to  make  choice 
of  suitable  persons  to  act  as  governors 
of  a  school  as  the  members  of  the 
governing  body  itself. 

It  would  further  be  just,  as  well  as 
expedient,  to  give  a  distinct  voice  to 
the  Assistant  Masters  in  the  manage- 
ment of  the  school.  In  the  schemes 
of  the  English  Public  Schools,  one 
of  the  members  of  the  governing 
body  is  elected  by  the  masters  of  the 
school.  They  usually  appoint  some 
person  of  acknowledged  position  as  an 
educationist,  and  in  this  way  mate- 
rially strengthen  that  body.  None 
are  more  interested  in  the  success  of 
a  school  than  the  masters  who  conduct 
it,  and  their  interests  and  opinions 
ought  to  be  represented. 

2.  The  inconsistency  of  making  fee- 
paying  pupils  pay  for  the  rent  of  the 
boarding-houses  they  occupy,  and  not 
applying  the  same  principle  to  schools 
of    a  lower   grade,  has  already    been 
pointed  out.     As  a  matter  of  fact,  the 
boarders  are  a  source  of  great  strength 
to    the    school ;    without    them,   the 
foundation  would  be  shorn  of  half  its 
advantages.     It  is  perfectly  legitimate 
therefore  that  boarding-houses  —  and 
more  of  them  are  much  needed  for  the 
development  of  the  school — should  be 
built  out  of  the  funds  of  the  founda- 
tion, especially  as  all  profit  upon  the 
boarding  goes  to  the  school  fund,  and 
not,    as    in    English    schools,    to   the 
boarding-house      masters.      Provision 
should  expressly  be  made  for  building 
more  boarding-houses. 

3.  The   age   of  18   has   been  fixed 
as   that   at    which  boys   must    leave, 
except     under    very     special    circum- 
stances.     This   age   must   have  been 
fixed   by   inadvertence.     The  age   for 
leaving  all  English  public  schools  is 
19,  and  it  would  be  quite  impossible 
for   Fettes    College  to   compete   upon 
even  terms   with    them    for    scholar- 
ships  and   similar   competitions   if   a 
whole  year  were  to  be  taken  out  of 
the  school  course. 

4.  The  new  arrangements  for  admis- 


Scotch  and  English  Educational  Endowments. 


si  on  to  the  foundation  are  good ;  bat 
there  can  be  no  reason  for  limiting  the 
number  of  those  admitted  to  the  ex- 
aminations (out  of  the  total  number  of 
those  qualified  by  poverty  of  circum- 
stances) to  three  times  the  number  of 
the  vacancies  to  be  filled  up.  The 
competition  should  be  free  to  all  who 
satisfy  the  prescribed  conditions. 

5.  The  tendency  towards  narrow  un- 
desirable restrictions  shows  itself  again 
where  it  is  least  in  place,  in  the  regu- 
lation for  entrance  foundation  scholar- 
ships. Here,  if  anywhere,  competition 
should  be  absolutely  free  ;  the  main 
purpose  of  such  scholarships  is  to  at- 
tract ability  and  good  training  to  a 
school  wherever  they  may  be  found. 
Yet  the  Commissioners  propose  to  re- 
strict the  competition  to  boys  who 
have  spent  three  years  in  public  or 
State-aided  schools,  or  at  schools  sub- 
ject to  Government  inspection,  under 
the  Endowment  Act  of  1882.  Such  a 
restriction  will  be  a  fatal  mistake,  and 
is  absolutely  without  justification  or 
excuse,  when  imposed  in  addition  to 
the  other  restriction  that  the  candi- 
dates' "parents  and  guardians  shall 
be  in  such  circumstances  as  to  require 
aid  for  giving  them  a  higher  edu- 
cation." 

6.  Day  scholars  are,  in  future,  to 
be  admitted  to  the  school.  To  this, 
in  itself,  there  is  no  great  objection  ; 
but  it  is  further  provided  that  the 
hours  of  attendance  shall  be  so  fixed 
as  to  permit  the  attendance  of  scholars 
residing  in  Edinburgh.  Here  again, 
from  sheer  inadvertence  and  want  of 
familiarity  with  the  practical  working 
of  schools,  the  Commissioners  make  a 
proposal  which  would  upset  the  whole 
teaching  arrangements  of  the  school, 
and  rob  it  precisely  of  those  advan- 
tages in  which  the  superiority  of 
boarding-schools  over  day  -  schools 
mainly  consists.  The  early  hours  uni- 
versally insisted  on  in  boarding  schools 
are  essential  to  the  proper  working  of 
the  system,  as  has  been  already  pointed 
out,  and  constitute  one  of  its  best 
features.  Yet  the  Commissioners  are 
prepared  to  sacrifice  all  these  advan- 


tages for  the  sake  of  theoretically 
admitting  a  few  Edinburgh  boys  as 
day-scholars,  for  whom  there  are 
excellent  day-schools  in  Edinburgh 
already,  if  their  parents  prefer  that 
kind  of  education  for  them. 

7.  The  head  master  should  have  the 
sole  power  of  appointing  and   dismiss- 
ing assistant  masters  ;  and  he  should 
also  have  power  to  dismiss  or  suspend 
any  boy  for  any  adequate  cause,  to  be 
judged    by  him,  subject  only  in   the 
latter  case  to  the  condition  of   send- 
ing in  a  full  report  in  writing  to  the 
governors.     Such  powers  are  granted 
to  all  head  masters  in  English  schemes, 
and  they  are  essential  to  the  proper 
management  and  discipline  of  a  school. 

8.  Once   more   the    local    principle 
leaks  out  in  the  conditions  as  to  the 
"  Fettes  Exhibitions  "  of  60J.  a  year. 
These  are  to  be  tenable  only  at  the 
university  of  Edinburgh.  On  what  pos- 
sible principle  should  the  other  univer- 
sities of  Scotland,  or  even  the  English 
universities,  be  shut  to  the  holders  of 
these  exhibitions  ?      Here  once   again 
we  find  the  testator  more  liberal  than 
his  interpreters ;    for   he  attached  a 
codicil  to  his  will  expressly  empower- 
ing his  trustees  to  pay  "  such  sums  as 
they  may  think   proper  for  finishing 
the  education  of  such   of  the  children 
as  they  may  select  by  sending  them  to 
the  University  of  Edinburgh,  or  such 
other  university  as  nvy  trustees  may  think 
proper."  ] 

It  is  earnestly  to  be  hoped  that  the 
Commissioners  will  reconsider  these 
points  ;  and  that,  as  they  have  wisely 
determined  to  maintain  the  school 
as  it  is,  they  will  do  everything  in 
their  power  to  strengthen  it  to  take 
its  proper  place  as  the  first  public 
school  in  Scotland. 

These  and  other  modifications  of 
the  proposed  scheme  are  essential  if 
Fettes'  College  is  to  maintain  the  posi- 
tion it  has  already  secured  for  itself, 
and  to  fill  with  increasing  advantage 

1  We  need  scarcely  point  out  that  this  clause 
again  shows  conclusively  that  Sir  William 
Fettes  contemplated  a  high-class  education, 
leading  right  on  to  the  universities. 


48 


Scotch  and  English  Educational  Endowments. 


to  the  nation  the  unique  place  which 
it  holds  in  the  Scottish  educational 
system.  Let  the  endowments  of  Scot- 
land have  at  least  one  example  to 
point  to  of  a  school  of  the  highest 
class,  organised  in  the  best  way,  and 
producing  results  as  high  as  those  pro- 
duced by  any  school  in  the  kingdom. 
If  elsewhere  the  commissioners  have 
held  themselves  bound  to  interpret 
their  instructions  in  the  narrowest 
way,  to  maintain  or  impose  restric- 
tions which  can  only  have  the  effect  of 
lowering  the  quality  of  education  given 
— if  elsewhere  they  feel  bound  to  for- 
bid Greek  to  be  taught — let  them  at 
least,  in  the  one  case  that  admits  of  it, 
allow  a  great  school  to  remain  organ- 
ised on  principles  of  absolutely  open 
competition,  teaching  the  highest  sub- 
jects, attracting  the  best  talent  from 
every  part  of  the  country,  and  confer- 
ring a  priceless  boon  upon  a  class  which 
in  a  special  manner  deserves  our  sym- 
pathy. There  are  here  no  testator's 
wishes  to  be  disregarded,  no  restrictive 
conditions  imposed  by  the  Act.  The 
attempt  to  prove  that  the  testator  in- 
tended specially  a  school  of  the  ordin- 
ary middle-class  or  lower  middle-class 
type,  has  utterly  broken  down.  He  left 
to  his  trustees  absolute  discretion  as  to 
the  kind  of  education  to  be  provided  ; 
and  they  have  acted  most  wisely  in  not 
adding  one  more  to  that  class  of  school 
which  is  too  numerous  in  Edinburgh 
already.  The  legality  of  their  action 
has  indeed  been  questioned  :  but  by 
whom?  And  who  are  the  trustees 
whose  law  has  thus  been  assailed? 
Two  of  them  are  judges  in  the  Court 
of  Session  :  the  Chairman  of  the  Trust, 
who  has  been  its  guide  and  moving 


spirit,  is  the  Lord  Justice-General,  the 
President  of  the  Scottish  College  of 
Justice,  known  not  only  as  a  great 
lawyer,  but  as  a  master  of  the  subject 
of  education.  He  has  himself  ex- 
plained and  completely  vindicated  the 
course  pursued  by  the  trustees  be- 
fore previous  Commissions.  The  im- 
pugner  of  the  legality  of  that  course  is 
Mr.  John  Ramsay  of  Kildalton,  Islay, 
M.P.  for  the  Falkirk  Burghs  and  a 
member  of  the  Commission.  In  a  note 
of  dissent  from  the  scheme  of  the 
commissioners,  he  says  : — "  I  am  not 
a  lawyer,  but  reading  Sir  William 
Fettes's  will,  according  to  what  I  con- 
ceive to  be  its  plain  meaning,  I  am 
of  opinion  that  the  application  of 
his  funds  for  the  purpose  of  estab- 
lishing an  institution  resembling  one 
of  the  English  Public  Schools  was 
not  warranted  by  the  provisions  of  his 
settlement."  And  so  far  does  he  hold  the 
trustees  to  have  mis-read  and  mis -used 
their  powers,  that  he  holds  that  none 
of  them  ought  to  be  nominated  by  the 
commission  to  act  on  the  governing 
body  for  the  future.  The  Justice- 
General  must  feel  deeply  humbled  by 
such  a  correction  of  his  law  coming 
from  such  a  quarter.  We  are  irre- 
sistibly reminded  of  the  famous 
speech  of  Marcus  Scaurus,  when 
accused  of  treason  by  the  tribune  of 
the  plebs,  Q.  Yarius  :  "  Romans  !  Q. 
Varius,  the  Spaniard,  has  accused 
M.  jEmilius  Scaurus,  Chief  of  the 
Senate.  Which  do  you  believe  ?  "  Nor 
can  we  doubt  that  were  the  people 
of  Scotland  similarly  appealed  to,  the 
objecting  Western  voice  would  be  not 
less  summarily  extinguished  in  one 
universal  acclamation. 


UNEXPLAINED. 


"  For  facts  are  stubborn  things." 

SMOLLETT. 


I. 


"  SILBERBACH  1  What  in  the  name  of 
everything  that  is  eccentric  should  you 
go  there  for  ?  The  most  uninteresting, 
out-of-the-way,  altogether  unattractive 
little  hole  in  all  Germany  ?  What 
can  have  put  Silberbach  in  your 
head?" 

"  I  really  don't  know,"  I  answered, 
rather  tired,  to  tell  the  truth,  of  the 
discussion.  "There  doesn't  seem  any 
particular  reason  why  anybody  ever 
should  go  to  Silberbach,  except  that 
Goethe  and  the  Duke  of  Weimar  are 
supposed  to  have  gone  there  to  dance 
with  the  peasant  maidens.  I  certainly 
don't  see  that  that  is  any  reason  why 
/  should  go  there.  Still,  on  the  other 
hand,  I  don't  see  that  it  is  any  reason 
why  I  should  not  ?  I  only  want  to 
find  some  thoroughly  country  place 
where  the  children  and  I  can  do  as  we 
like  for  a  fortnight  or  so.  It  is  really 
too  hot  to  stay  in  a  town,  even  a  little 
town  like  this." 

"  Yes,  that  is  true,"  said  my  friend. 
"It  is  a  pity  you  took  up  your 
quarters  in  the  town.  You  might 
have  taken  a  little  villa  outside,  and 
then  you  would  not  have  needed  to  go 
away  at  all." 

"  I  wanted  a  rest  from  housekeeping, 
and  our  queer  old  inn  is  very  comfort- 
able," I  said.  "  Besides,  being  here, 
would  it  not  be  a  pity  to  go  away 
without  seeing  anything  of  the  far- 
famed  Thuringian  Forest  1 " 

"Yes,  certainly  it  would.  I  quite 
agree  with  you  about  everything  ex- 
cept about  Silberbach.  That  is  what 
I  cannot  get  over.  You  have  not 
enough  self-assertion,  my  dear.  I  am 
certain  Silberbach  is  some  freak  of 
Herr  von  Walden's — most  unpractical 
man.  Why,  I  really  am  not  at  all  sure 

No.  307. — VOL.  LIT. 


that  you  will  get  anything  to  eat 
there." 

"  I  am  not  afraid  of  that  part  of  it," 
I  replied  philosophically.  "  With 
plenty  of  milk,  fresh  eggs,  and  bread 
and  butter  we  can  always  get  on. 
And  those  I  suppose  we  are  sure  to 
find." 

"  Milk  and  eggs — yes,  I  suppose  so. 
Butter  is  doubtful  once  you  leave  the 
tourist  track,  and  the  bread  will  be 
the  sour  bread  of  the  country." 

"I  don't  mind  that — nor  do  the 
children.  But  if  the  worst  comes 
to  the  worst  we  need  not  stay  at 
Silberbach  —  we  can  always  get 
away." 

"  That  is  certainly  true  ;  if  one  can 
get  there  one  can,  I  suppose,  always 
get  away,"  answered  Fraulein  Ottilia 
with  a  smile,  "  though  I  confess  it  ib 
a  curious  inducement  to  name  for 
going  to  a  place — that  one  can  get 
away  from  it !  However,  we  need  not 
say  any  more  about  it.  I  see  your 
heart  is  set  on  Silberbach,  and  I  am 
quite  sure  I  shall  have  the  satisfaction 
of  hearing  you  own  I  was  right  in 
trying  to  dissuade  you  from  it,  when 
you  come  back  again,"  she  added, 
rather  maliciously. 

"Perhaps  so.  But  it  is  not  only 
Silberbach  we  are  going  to.  We  shall 
see  lots  of  other  places.  Herr  von 
Walden  has  planned  it  all.  The  first 
three  days  we  shall  travel  mostly  on 
foot.  I  think  it  will  be  great  fun. 
Nora  and  Reggie  are  enchanted.  Of 
course  I  would  not  travel  on  foot  alone 
with  them,  it  would  hardly  be  safe,  I 
suppose?  " 

"  Safe  ?  oh,  yes,  safe  enough.  The 
peasants  are  very  quiet  civil  people — 
honest  and  kindly,  though  generally 


50 


Unexplained. 


desperately  poor  !  But  you  would  be 
safe  enough  anywhere  in  Thuringia. 
It  is  not  like  Alsace,  where  now  and 
then  one  does  meet  with  rather  queer 
customers  in  the  forests.  So  good  by 
then,  my  dear,  for  the  next  two  or 
three  weeks — and  may  you  enjoy 
yourself." 

"  Especially  at  Silberbach  ]" 

"Even  at  Silberbach — that  is  to 
say,  even  if  I  have  to  own  you  were 
right  and  I  wrong.  Yes,  my  dear,  I 
am  unselfish  enough  to  hope  you  will 
return  having  found  Silberbach  an 
earthly  paradise." 

And  waving  her  hand  in  adieu,  kind 
Fraulein  Ottilia  stood  at  her  garden 
gate  watching  me  make  my  way  down 
the  dusty  road. 

"  She  is  a  little  prejudiced,  I  dare 
say,"  I  thought  to  myself.  "Prejudiced 
against  Herr  von  Walden's  choice, 
for  I  notice  every  one  here  has  their 
pet  places  and  their  special  aversions. 
I  dare  say  we  shall  like  Silberbach, 
and  if  not,  we  need  not  stay  there  after 
the  "Waldens  leave  us.  Any  way,  I 
shall  be  thankful  to  get  out  of  this 
heat  into  the  real  country." 

I  was  spending  the  summer  in  a 
part  of  Germany  hitherto  new  ground 
to  me.  We  had — the  "  we  "  meaning 
myself  and  my  two  younger  children, 
Nora  of  twelve  and  Reggie  of  nine — 
settled  down  for  the  greater  part  of 
the  time  in  a  small  town  on  the  bor- 
ders of  the  Thuringian  Forest.  Small, 
but  not  in  its  own  estimation  unim- 
portant, for  it  was  a  "  Residenz,"  with 
a  fortress  of  sufficiently  ancient  date 
to  be  well  worth  visiting,  even  had 
the  view  from  its  ramparts  been  far 
less  beautiful  than  it  was.  And  had 
the  little  town  possessed  no  attractions 
of  its  own,  natural  or  artificial,  the 
extreme  cordiality  and  kindness  of  its 
most  hospitable  inhabitants  would 
have  left  the  pleasantest  impres- 
sion on  my  mind.  I  was  sorry 
to  leave  my  friends  even  for  two  or 
three  weeks,  but  it  was  too  hot ! 
Nora  was  pale  and  Reggie's  noble 
appetite  gave  signs  of  nagging.  Be- 
sides— as  I  had  said  to  Ottilia — it 


would  be  too  absurd  to  have  come 
so  far  and  not  see  the  lions  of  the 
neighbourhood . 

So  we  were  to  start  the  next  morn- 
ing for  an  excursion  in  the  so-called 
"  Forest,"  in  the  company  of  Herr  von 
Walden,  his  wife,  and  son,  and  two 
young  men,  friends  of  the  latter.  We 
were  to  travel  by  rail  over  the  first 
part  of  the  ground,  uninteresting 
enough,  till  we  reached  a  point  where 
we  could  make  our  way  on  foot 
through  the  woods  for  a  considerable 
distance.  Then,  after  spending  the 
night  in  a  village  whose  beautiful 
situation  had  tempted  some  enter- 
prising speculator  to  build  a  good 
hotel,  we  proposed  the  next  day  to 
plunge  still  deeper  into  the  real  re- 
cesses of  the  forest,  walking  and  driv- 
ing by  turns,  in  accordance  with  our 
inclination  and  the  resources  of  the 
country  in  respect  of  Einspdnners — the 
light  carriage  with  the  horse  invariably 
yoked  at  one  side  of  the  pole  instead 
of  between  shafts,  in  which  one  gets 
about  more  speedily  and  safely  than 
might  be  imagined.  And  at  the  end 
of  three  or  four  days  of  this,  weather 
permitting,  agreeably  nomad  life,  our 
friends  the  Waldens,  obliged  to  return 
to  their  home  in  the  town  from  which 
we  started,  were  to  leave  my  children 
and  me  for  a  fortnight's  country  air 
in  this  same  village  of  Silberbach 
which  Ottilia  so  vehemently  objected 
to.  I  did  not  then,  I  do  not  now, 
know — and  I  am  pretty  sure  he  him- 
self could  not  say — why  our  guide, 
Herr  von  Walden,  had  chosen  Silber- 
bach from  among  the  dozens  of  other 
villages  which  could  quite  as  well — as 
events  proved,  indeed,  infinitely  better 
— have  served  our  very  simple  pur- 
pose. It  was  a  chance,  as  such  things 
often  are,  but  a  chance  which,  as  you 
will  see,  left  its  mark  in  a  manner 
which  can  never  be  altogether  effaced 
from  my  memory. 

The  programme  was  successfully 
carried  out.  The  weather  was  magni- 
ficent. Nobody  fell  ill  or  foot-sore,  or 
turned  out  unexpectedly  bad-tempered. 
And  it  was  hot  enough,  even  in  the 


Unexplained. 


51 


forest   shades,   which  we   kept   to   as 
much  as  possible,  to  have  excused  some 
amount  of  irritability.     But  we  were 
all  sound  and  strong,  and  had  entered 
into  a   tacit   compact   of   making  the 
best  of  things  and  enjoying  ourselves 
as  much  as  we  could.     Nora  and  Reg- 
gie perhaps,  by  the  end  of  the  second 
day,  began  to  have  doubts  as  to  the 
delights  of  indefinitely  continued  walk- 
ing excursions,  and  though  they  would 
not  have  owned  to  it,  they  were  not,  1 
think,  sorry  to  hear  that  the  greater 
part  of  the  fourth  day's  travels  was  to 
be   on   wheels.     But   they  were  very 
well  off.     Lutz  von  Walden  and   his 
two  friends,  a  young  baron — rather  the 
typical  "  German  student  "  in  appear- 
ance, though  in  reality  as  hearty  and 
unsentimental  as  any  John  Bull  of  his 
age  and  rank — and  George  Norman,  an 
English  boy  of  seventeen  or  eighteen, 
"  getting    up "    German    for  an  army 
examination,  were  all   three   only  too 
ready  to  carry  my  little  boy  on  their 
backs    on    any    sign    of    over-fatigue. 
And    indeed,    more    than    one    hint 
reached  me,  that  they  would  willingly 
have  done  the  same  by  Nora,  had  the 
dignity  of  her  twelve  years  allowed  of 
such  a  thing.     She  scarcely  looked  her 
age   at  that  time,   but  she  was  very 
conscious  of  having  entered   "  on  her 
teens,"  and  the  struggle  between  this 
new  importance  and  her  hitherto  al- 
most  boyish   tastes   was   amusing   to 
watch.     She  was   strong  and  healthy 
in  the  extreme,  intelligent  though  not 
precocious,     observant      but      rather 
matter-of-fact,  with  no  undue  develop- 
ment of  the  imagination,  nothing  that 
by  any    kind    of    misapprehension   or 
exaggeration   could    have    been  called 
"morbid"  about  her.     It  was  a  legend 
in  the  family,  that  the  word  "  nerves  " 
existed   not    for   Nora  :    she    did   not 
know  the  meaning  of  fear,  physical  or 
moral.     I    could    sometimes   wish  she 
had  never  learnt  otherwise.     But  we 
must  take  the  bad  with  the  good,  the 
shadow   inseparable   from    the    light. 
The    first    perception    of    things    not 
dreamt  of  in  her  simple  childish  philo- 
sophy came  to  Nora  as  I  would  not 


have  chosen  it ;  but  so,  I  must  believe 
it  had  to  be. 

"Where  are  we  to  sleep  to-night, 
Herr  von  Walden,  please  ? "  asked 
Reggie  from  the  heights  of  Lutz's 
broad  shoulders,  late  that  third  after- 
noon, when  we  were  all,  not  the  child- 
ren only,  beginning  to  think  that  a 
rest  even  in  the  barest  of  inn  parlours, 
and  a  dinner  even  of  the  most  modest 
description  would  be  very  welcome. 

"  Don't  tease  so,  Reggie,"  said  Nora. 
"  I'm  sure  Herr  von  Walden  has  told 
you  the  name  twenty  times  already." 

"  Yes,  but  I  forget  it,"  urged  the 
child ;  and  good-natured  Herr  von 
Walden,  nowise  loath  to  do  so  again, 
took  up  the  tale  of  our  projected 
doings  and  destinations. 

"  To-night,  my  dear  child,  we  sleep 
at  the  pretty  little  town — yes,  town 
I  may  almost  call  it,  of  Seeberg.  It 
stands  in  what  I  may  call  an  oasis  of 
the  forest,  which  stops  abruptly,  and 
begins  again  some  miles  beyond  See- 
berg.  We  should  be  there  in  another 
hour  or  so,"  he  went  on,  consulting  his 
watch.  "  I  have,  of  course,  written 
for  rooms  there,  as  I  have  done  to  all 
the  places  where  we  meant  to  halt. 
And  so  far  I  have  not  proved  a  bad 
courier,  I  flatter  myself?  " 

He  paused,  and  looked  round  him 
complacently. 

"  No,  indeed,"  replied  everybody. 
"  The  very  contrary.  We  have  got 
on  capitally." 

At  which  the  beaming  face  of  our 
commander-in-chief  beamed  still  more 
graciously. 

"And  to-morrow,"  continued  Reggie 
in  his  funny  German,  pounding  away 
vigorously  at  Lutz's  shoulders  mean- 
while, "  what  do  we  do  to-morrow  1 
We  must  have  an  Einspanner — is  it 
not  so?  not  that  we  are  tired,  but 
you  said  we  had  far  to  go." 

"  Yes,  an  Einspanner  for  the  ladies 
— your  amiable  mother,  Miss  Nora, 
and  my  wife,  and  you,  Reggie,  will  find 
a  corner  beside  the  driver.  Myself 
and  these  young  fellows,"  indicating 
the  three  friends  by  a  wave  of  the 
hand,  "  will  start  from  Seeberg  be- 

E  2 


52 


Unexplained. 


times,  giving  you  rendezvous  at  Ulrics- 
thal  where  there  are  some  famous 
ruins.  And  you  must  not  forget,"  he 
added,  turning  to  his  wife  and  me, 
"  to  stop  at  Griinstein  as  you  pass, 
and  spend  a  quarter  of  an  hour  in  the 
china  manufactory  there." 

"  Just  what  I  wanted,"  said  Frau 
von  Walden.  "  I  have  a  tea-service 
from  there,  and  I  am  in  hopes  of 
matching  it.  I  had  a  good  many 
breakages  last  winter  with  a  dread- 
fully careless  servant,  and  there  is  a 
good  deal  to  replace. 

"  I  don't  think  I  know  the  Griin- 
stein china,"  I  said.  "Is  it  very 
pretty  t " 

"  It  is  very  like  the  blue  and  white 
one  sees  so  much  of  with  us,"  said 
Frau  von  Walden.  "  That,  the  ordi- 
nary blue  and  white  is  made  at 
Blauenstein.  But  there  is  more  variety 
of  colours  at  Griinstein.  They  are  rather 
more  enterprising  there,  I  fancy,  and 
perhaps  there  is  a  finer  quality  of  china 
clay,  or  whatever  they  call  it,  in  that 
neighbourhood.  I  often  wonder  the 
Thuringian  china  is  not  more  used  in 
England,  where  you  are  so  fond  of 
novelties." 

"And  where  nothing  is  so  appre- 
ciated as  what  comes  from  a  distance," 
said  George  Norman.  "  By  Jove  ! 
isn't  that  a  pretty  picture  !  "  he  broke 
off  suddenly,  and  we  all  stood  still  to 
admire. 

It  was  the  month  of  August ; 
already  the  subdued  evening  lights 
were  replacing  the  brilliant  sunshine 
and  blue  sky  of  the  glowing  summer 
day.  We  were  in  the  forest,  through 
which  at  this  part  ran  the  main  road 
which  we  were  following  to  Seeberg. 
At  one  side  of  the  road  the  ground 
descended  abruptly  to  a  considerable 
depth,  and  there  in  the  defile  far 
beneath  us  ran  a  stream,  on  one  bank 
of  which  the  trees  had  been  for  some 
distance  cleared  away,  leaving  a  strip 
of  pasture  of  the  most  vivid  green 
imaginable.  And  just  below  where 
we  stood,  a  goat-herd,  in  what — thanks 
possibly  to  the  enchantment  of  the 
distance — appeared  a  picturesque  cos- 


tume, was  slowly  making  his  way 
along,  piping  as  he  went,  and  his  flock, 
of  some  fifteen  or  twenty  goats  of 
every  colour  and  size,  following  him 
according  to  their  own  eccentric 
fashion,  some  scrambling  on  the  bits 
of  rock  a  little  way  up  the  ascending 
ground,  others  quietly  browsing  here 
and  there  on  their  way — the  tinkling 
of  their  collar-bells  reaching  us  with 
a  far-away  silvery  sound  through  the 
still  softer  and  fainter  notes  of  the 
pipe.  There  was  something  strangely 
fascinating  about  it  all — something 
pathetic  in  the  goatherd's  music, 
simple,  barbaric  even  as  it  was,  and 
in  the  distant  uncertain  tinkling, 
which  impressed  us  all,  and  for  a 
moment  or  two  no  one  spoke. 

"  What  is  it  that  it  reminds  me  of  1 " 
said  Lutz  suddenly.  "  I  seem  to  have 
seen  and  heard  it  all  before." 

"  Yes,  I  know  exactly  how  you 
mean,"  I  replied.  "It  is  like  a 
dream,"  and  as  I  said  so,  I  walked  on 
again  a  little  in  advance  of  the  others 
with  Lutz  and  his  rider.  For  I 
thought  I  saw  a  philosophical  or 
metaphysical  dissertation  preparing  in 
Herr  von  Walden's  bent  brows  and 
general  look  of  absorption,  and  some- 
how, just  then  it  would  have  spoilt  it 
all.  Lutz  seemed  instinctively  to 
understand,  for  he  too  for  a  moment  or 
so  was  silent.  When  suddenly  a 
joyful  cry  arose. 

"  Seeberg ! "  exclaimed  several  voices. 
For  the  first  sight  of  our  temporary 
destination  broke  upon  the  view  all  at 
once,  as  is  often  the  case  in  these  more 
or  less  wooded  districts.  One  travels 
for  hours  together  as  if  in  an  enchanted 
land  of  changeless  monotony ;  trees, 
trees  everywhere  and  nothing  but 
trees — one  could  fancy  late  in  the 
afternoon  that  one  was  back  at  the 
early  morning's  starting  point — when 
suddenly  the  forest  stops — sharply 
and  completely,  where  the  hand  of 
man  has  decreed  that  it  should,  not  by 
gradual  degrees  as  when  things  have 
been  left  to  the  gentler  management 
of  nature  and  time. 

So  our  satisfaction  was  the  greater 


Unexplained. 


53 


from  not  having  known  the  goal  of 
that  day's  journey  to  be  so  near.  We 
began  to  allow  to  each  other  for  the 
first  time  that  we  were  "a  little  tired," 
and  with  far  less  hesitation,  that  we  were 
"very  hungry."  Still  we  were  not  a 
very  dilapitated-looking  party  when 
the  inhabitants  of  Seeberg  turned  out 
at  doors  and  windows  to  inspect  us. 
Reggie,  of  course,  -whom  no  considera- 
tions would  have  induced  to  make  his 
entry  on  Lutz's  shoulders,  looking  the 
freshest  of  all,  and  eliciting  many 
complimentary  remarks  from  the 
matrons  and  maidens  of  the  place  as 
we  passed. 

Our  quarters  at  Seeberg  met  with 
the  approval  of  everybody.  The 
supper  was  excellent,  our  rooms  as 
clean  and  comfortable  as  could  be 
wished. 

"  So  far,"  I  could  not  help  saying  to 
my  friends,  "  I  have  seen  no  signs  of 
the  '  roughing  it,'  for  which  you  pre- 
pared me.  I  call  this  luxurious." 

"Yes,  this  is  very  comfortable," 
said  Herr  von  Walden.  "At  Silber- 
bach,  which  we  shall  reach  to-morrow 
evening,  all  will  be  much  more  homely. 
"But  that  is  what  I  like,"  I 
maintained  stoutly.  "  I  assure  you  I  am 
not  at  all  difficile,  as  the  French  say." 
"  Still  "—began  Frau  von  Walden, 
"  are  you  sure  that  you  know  what 
'  roughing  it '  means  1  One  has  such 
romantic,  •  unpractical  ideas  till  one 
really  tries  it.  For  me,  I  confess, 
there  is  something  very  depressing  in 
being  without  all  the  hundred  and  one 
little  comforts,  not  to  say  luxuries, 
that  have  become  second  nature  to  us, 
and  yet  I  hope,  I  do  not  think  I  am  a 
self-indulgent  woman." 

"  Certainly  not,"  I  said,  and  with 
sincerity. 

"  Tf  it  were  necessary'  I  hope  I 
should  be  quite  ready  to  live  in  a 
cottage  and  make  the  best4  of  it  cheer- 
fully. But  when  it  is  not  necessary  ? 
Don't  you  think,  my  dear  friend,  it 
would  perhaps  be  wiser  for  you  to 
arrange  to  spend  your  two  or  three 
weeks  here,  and  not  go  on  to  Silber- 
bach  ]  You  might  return  here  to- 


morrow from  Ulrichsthal  while  we 
make  our  way  home  by  Silberbach,  if 
my  husband  really  wishes  to  see  it." 

I  looked  at  her  in  some  surprise. 
What  possessed  everybody  to  caution 
me  so  against  Silberbach  ?  Every- 
body, that  is  to  say,  except  Herr  von 
Walden  himself.  A  spice  of  contra- 
diction began  to  influence  me.  Per- 
haps the  worthy  Herr  had  himself 
been  influenced  in  the  same  way  more 
than  he  realised. 

"  I  don't  see  why  I  should  do  so," 
I  said.  "  We  expect  really  to 
enjoy  ourselves  at  Silberbach.  You 
have  no  reason  for  advising  me  to  give 
it  up  1 " 

"No,  oh  no — none  in  particular," 
she  replied.  "I  have  only  a  feeling 
that  it  is  rather  out  of  the  way  and 
lonely  for  you.  Supposing,  for  in- 
stance one  of  the  children  got  ill 
there?" 

"  Oh,  my  dear,  you  are  too  fanciful," 
said  her  husband.  "  Why  should  the 
children  get  ill  there  more  than  any- 
where else  ?  If  one  thought  of  all 
these  possibilities  one  would  never 
stir  from  home." 

"  And  you  know  my  maid  is  ready 
to  follow  me  as  soon  as  I  quite  settle 
where  we  shall  stay,"  I  said.  "  I 
shall  not  be  alone  more  than  four- 
and-twenty  hours.  Of  course  it  would 
have  been  nonsense  to  bring  Lina  with 
us  ;  she  would  have  been  quite  out  of 
her  element  during  our  walking  expe 
ditions." 

"And  I  have  a  very  civil  note  from 
the  inn  at  Silberbach,  the  Katze," 
said  Herr  von  Walden,  pulling  a  mass 
of  heterogeneous-looking  papers  out  of 
his  pocket.  "  Where  can  it  be  1  Not 
that  it  matters ;  he  will  have  supper 
and  beds  ready  for  us  to-morrow  night. 
And  then,"  he  went  on  to  me,  "  if  you 
like  it  you  can  make  some  arrangement 
for  the  time  you  wish  to  stay,  if  not  you 
can  return  here,  or  go  on  to  any  place 
that  takes  your  fancy.  We,  my  wife 
and  I  and  these  boys,  must  be  home 
by  Saturday  afternoon,  so  we  can  only 
stay  the  one  night  at  Silberbach,"  for 
this  was  Thursday. 


Unexplained. 


And  so  it  was  settled. 

The  next  day  dawned  as  bright  and 
cloudless  as  its  predecessors.  The  gentle- 
men had  started — I  should  be  afraid  to 
say  how  early — meaning  to  be  over- 
taken by  us  at  Ulrichsthal.  Reggie  had 
gone  to  bed  with  the  firm  intention  of 
accompanying  them,  but  as  it  was  not 
easy  to  wake  him  and  get  him  up  in 
time  to  eat  his  breakfast,  and  be  ready 
when  the  Einspawner  came  round 
to  the  door,  my  predictions  that  he 
would  be  too  sleepy  for  so  early  a  start 
proved  true. 

It  was  pleasant  in  the  early  morn- 
ing— pleasanter  than  it  would  be  later 
in  the  day.  I  noticed  an  unusual 
amount  of  blue  haze  on  the  distant 
mountain  tops,  for  the  road  along 
which  we  were  driving  was  open  on 
all  sides  for  some  distance,  and  the 
view  was  extensive. 

"  That  betokens  great  heat,  I  sup- 
pose," I  said,  pointing  out  the  appear- 
ance I  observed  to  my  companion. 

"I  suppose  so.  That  bluish  mist 
probably  increases  in  hot  and  sultry 
weather,"  she  said.  "  But  it  is  always 
to  be  seen  more  or  less  in  this  country, 
and  is,  I  believe,  peculiar  to  some  of 
the  German  hill  and  forest  districts.  I 
don't  know  what  it  comes  from — 
whether  it  has  to  do  with  the  im- 
mense number  of  pines  in  the  forests, 
perhaps.  Some  one,  I  think,  once  told 
me  that  it  indicates  the  presence  of  a 
great  deal  of  electricity  in  the  air,  but 
I  am  far  too  ignorant  to  know  if  that  is 
true  or  not." 

"And  I  am  far  too  ignorant  to 
know  what  the  effect  would  be  if  it 
were  so,"  I  said.  "  It  is  a  very  healthy 
country,  is  it  not  ?  " 

"  For  strangers  it  certainly  is. 
Doctors  send  theirpatients  herefrom  all 
parts  of  Germany.  But  the  inhabit- 
ants themselves  do  not  seem  strong  or 
healthy.  One  sees  a  good  many  de- 
formed people,  and  they  all  look  pale 
and  thin — much  less  robust  than  the 
people  of  the  Black  Forest.  But  that 
may  come  from  their  poverty — the 
peasants  of  the  Black  Forest  are  pro- 
verbially well  off." 


A  distant,  very  distant,  peal  of 
thunder  was  heard  at  this  moment. 

"  I  hope  the  weather  is  not  going  to 
break  up  just  yet,"  I  said.  "  Are  there 
often  bad  thunder-storms  here  ?  " 

"  Yes ;  I  think  we  do  have  a  good 
many  in  this  part  of  the  world,"  she 
replied.  "  But  I  do  not  think  there 
are  any  signs  of  one  at  present." 

And  then,  still  a  little  sleepy  and 
tired  from  our  unusual  exertions  of 
the  last  few  days,  we  all  three,  Frau 
von  Walden,  Nora,  and  myself,  sat 
very  still  for  some  time,  though  the 
sound  of  Reggie's  voice  persistently 
endeavouring  to  make  the  driver 
understand  his  inquiries,  showed  that 
he  was  as  lively  as  ever. 

He  turned  round  after  a  while  in 
triumph. 

"  Mamma,  Frau  von  Walden,"  he 
exclaimed,  "  we  are  close  to  that  place 
where  they  make  the  cups  and  saucers. 
Herr  von  Walden  said  we  weren't  to 
forget  to  go  there — and  you  all  would 
have  forgotten,  you  see,  if  it  hadn't 
been  for  me,"  he  added  complacently. 

"  Griinstein,"  said  Frau  von  Wal- 
den. "  Well,  tell  the  driver  to  stop 
there,  he  can  rest  his  horses  for  half- 
an-hour  or  so ;  and  thank  you  for  re- 
minding us,  Reggie,  for  I  should  have 
been  sorry  to  lose  the  opportunity  of 
matching  my  service." 

The  china  manufactory  was  not  of 
any  very  remarkable  interest,  at  least 
not  for  those  who  had  visited  such 
places  before.  But  the  people  were 
exceedingly  civil,  and  evidently  much 
pleased  to  have  visitors,  and  while  my 
friend  was  looking  out  the  things  she 
was  specially  in  search  of — a  business 
which  promised  to  take  some  little 
time — a  good-natured  sub-manager,  or 
functionary  of  some  kind,  proposed  to 
take  the  children  to  see  the  sheds 
where  the  first  mixing  and  kneading 
took  place,  the  moulding  rooms,  the 
painting  rooms,  the  ovens — in  short, 
the  whole  process.  They  accepted  his 
offer  with  delight,  and  I  wandered 
about  the  various  pattern  or  show 
rooms,  examining  and  admiring  all 
that  was  to  be  seen,  poking  into  cor- 


Unexplained. 


55 


ners  where  any  specially  pretty  bit  of 
china  caught  my  eye.  But  there  was 
no  great  variety  in  design  or  colour, 
though  both  were  good  of  their  kind, 
the  Griinsteiners,  like  their  rivals  of 
Blauenstein,  seeming  content  to  follow 
in  the  steps  of  their  fathers  without 
seeking  for  new  inspirations.  Sud- 
denly, however,  all  but  hidden  in  a 
corner,  far  away  back  on  a  shelf,  a 
flash  of  richer  tints  made  me  start 
forward  eagerly.  There  was  no  one 
near  to  apply  to  at  the  moment,  so  I 
carefully  drew  out  my  treasure  trove. 
It  was  a  cup  and  saucer,  evidently  of 
the  finest  quality  of  china,  though 
pretty  similar  in  shape  to  the  regular 
Griinstein  ware,  but  in  colouring 
infinitely  richer — really  beautiful,  with 
an  almost  Oriental  cleverness  in  the 
blending  of  the  many  shades,  and  yet 
decidedly  more  striking  and  uncommon 
than  any  of  the  modern  Oriental  with 
which  of  late  years  the  facilities  of 
trade  with  the  East  have  made  us  so 
familiar.  I  stood  with  the  cup  in  my 
hand,  turning  it  around  and  admiring 
it,  when  Frau  von  Walden  and  the 
woman  who  had  been  attending  to 
her  orders  came  forward  to  where  I 
was. 

"  See  here,"  I  exclaimed  :  "  here  is 
a  lovely  cup !  Now  a  service  like  that 
would  be  tempting  !  Have  you  more 
of  it  ?  "  I  inquired  of  the  woman. 

She  shook  her  head. 

"  That  is  all  that  remains,"  she 
said.  "  We  have  never  kept  it  in 
stock ;  it  is  far  too  expensive.  Of 
course  it  can  be  made  to  order,  though 
it  would  take  some  months,  and  cost  a 
good  deal." 

"  I  wish  I  could  order  a  service  of 
it,"  I  said  ;  but  when  I  heard  how 
much  it  would  probably  cost  it  was 
my  turn  to  shake  my  head.  "No,  I 
must  consider  about  it,"  I  decided ; 
"but  I  really  have  never  seen  any- 
thing prettier.  Can  I  buy  this  cup  t  " 

The  woman  hesitated. 

"  It  is  the  only  one  left,"  she  said  ; 
"  but  I  think — oh  yes,  I  feel  sure — we 
have  the  pattern  among  the  painting 
designs.  This  cup  belonged  to — or 


rather  was  an  extra  one  of  a  tea  ser 
vice  made  expressly  for  the  Duchess  of 

T ,    on   her   marriage,  now    some 

years  ago.  And  it  is  curious,  we  sold 
the  other  one — there  were  two  too 
many — to  a  compatriot  of  yours — (the 
gracious  lady  is  English  ? ) — two  or 
three  years  ago.  He  admired  them  so 
much,  and  felt  sure  his  mother  would 
send  an  order  if  he  took  it  home  to 
shew  her.  A  tall,  handsome  young 
man  he  was.  I  remember  it  so  well ; 
just  about  this  time  of  the  year,  and 
hot,  sultry  weather  like  this.  He  was 
travelling  on  foot — for  pleasure,  no 
doubt — for  he  had  quite  the  air  of  a 
'milord.'  And  he  bought  the  cup. 
and  took  it  with  him.  But  he  has 
never  written  !  I  made  sure  he  would 
have  done  so." 

"  He  did  not  leave  his  name  or 
address  1  "  I  said  :  for  the  world  is  a 
small  place :  it  was  just  possible  I 
might  have  known  him,  and  the  little 
coincidence  would  have  been  curious. 

"  Oh  no,"  said  the  woman.  "  But  I 
have  often  wondered  why  he  changed 
his  mind.  He  seemed  so  sure  about 
sending  the  order.  It  was  not  the 
price  that  made  him  hesitate ;  but  he 
wished  his  lady  mother  to  make  out 
the  list  herself." 

"  Well,  I  confess  the  price  does  make 
me  hesitate,"  I  said,  smiling.  "  How- 
ever, if  you  will  let  me  buy  this  cup,  I 
have  great  hopes  of  proving  a  better 
customer  than  my  faithless  com- 
patriot." 

"  I  am  sure  he  meant  to  send  the 
order,"  said  the  woman.  She  spoke 
quite  civilly,  but  I  was  not  sure  that 
she  liked  my  calling  him  "  faithless." 

"  It  is  evident,"  I  said  to  Frau  von 
Walden,  "  that  the  good-looking  young 
Englishman  made  a  great  impression 
on  her.  I  rather  think  she  gave  him 
the  fellow  cup  for  nothing." 

But  after  all  I  had  no  reason  to  be 
jealous,  for  just  then  the  woman  re- 
turned, after  consulting  the  manager, 
to  tell  me  I  might  have  the  cup  and 
saucer,  and  for  a  less  sum  than  their 
real  worth,  seeing  that  I  was  taking 
it,  in  a  sense,  as  a  pattern. 


56 


Unexplained. 


Then  she  wrapped  it  up  for  me, 
carefully  and  in  several  papers,  of 
which  the  outside  one  was  bright  blue  ; 
and,  very  proud  of  my  acquisition,  I 
followed  Frau  von  Walden  to  the  other 
side  of  the  building  containing  the 
workrooms,  where  we  found  the  two 
children  full  of  interest  about  all  they 
had  seen. 

I  should  here,  perhaps,  apologise  for 
entering  into  so  much  and  apparently 
trifling  detail.  But  as  will,  I  think,  be 
seen  when  I  have  told  all  I  have  to 
tell,  it  would  be  difficult  to  give  the 
main  facts  fairly  and  so  as  to  avoid  all 
danger  of  any  mistaken  impression 
without  relating  the  whole  of  the  siir- 
roundings.  If  I  tried  to  condense,  to 
pick  out  the  salient  points,  to  enter 
into  no  particulars  but  such  as  directly 
and  unmistakably  lead  up  to  the  cen- 
tral interest,  I  might  unintentionally 
omit  what  those  wiser  than  I  would 
consider  as  bearing  on  it.  So,  like  a 
patient  adjured  by  his  doctor  or  a 
client  urged  by  his  lawyer  to  tell  the 
whole  at  the  risk  of  long-windedness, 
I  prefer  to  run  that  risk,  while  claim- 
ing my  readers'  forgiveness  for  so 
doing,  rather  than  that  of  relating  my 
story  incompletely. 

And  what  I  would  here  beg  to  have 
specially  observed  is  that  not  one  word 
about  the  young  Englishman  had  been 
heard  by  Nora.  She  was,  in  fact,  in  a 
distant  part  of  the  building  at  the 
time  the  saleswoman  was  telling  us 
about  him.  And,  furthermore,  I  am 
equally  certain,  and  so  is  Frau  von 
Walden,  that  neither  she  nor  I,  then 
or  afterwards,  mentioned  the  subject 
to,  or  in  the  presence  of,  the  children. 
I  did  not  show  her  the  cup  and  saucer, 
as  it  would  have  been  a  pity  to  undo 
its  careful  wrappings.  All  she  knew 
about  it  will  be  told  in  due  course. 

We  had  delayed  longer  than  we  in- 
tended at  the  china  manufactory,  and 
in  consequence  we  were  somewhat  late 
at  the  meeting-place — Ulricsthal.  The 
gentlemen  had  arrived  there  quite  an 
hour  before ;  so  they  had  ordered 
luncheon,  or  dinner  rather,  at  the  inn, 
and  thoroughly  explored  the  ruins. 


But  dinner  discussed,  and  neither  Frau 
von  Walden  nor  I  objecting  to  pipes, 
our  cavaliers  were  amiably  willing  to 
show  us  all  there  was  to  be  seen. 

The  ruins  were  those  of  an  ancient 
monastery,  one  of  the  most  ancient  in 
Germany,  I  believe.  They  covered  a 
very  large  piece  of  ground,  and  had 
they  been  in  somewhat  better  preser- 
vation they  would  have  greatly  im- 
pressed us ;  as  it  was,  they  were 
undoubtedly,  .even  to  the  unlearned 
in  archaeological  lore,  very  interesting. 
The  position  of  the  monastery  had 
been  well  and  carefully  chosen,  for  on 
one  side  it  commanded  a  view  of  sur- 
passing beauty  over  the  valley  through 
which  we  had  travelled  from  Seeberg, 
while  on  the  other  arose  still  higher 
ground,  richly  wooded — for  the  irre- 
pressible forest  here,  as  it  were,  broke 
out  again. 

"  It  is  a  most  lovely  spot !  "  I  said 
with  some  enthusiasm,  as  we  sat  in 
the  shade  of  the  ruined  cloisters,  the 
sunshine  flecking  the  sward  in  eccentric 
patches  as  it  made  its  way  through 
what  had  evidently  been  richly-sculp- 
tured windows.  "  How  one  wishes  it 
were  possible  to  see  it  as  it  must  have 
been  —  how  many  1  —  three  or  four 
hundred  years  ago,  I  suppose !  " 

Lutz  grunted. 

"  What  did  you  say,  Lutz  ]  "  asked 
his  mother. 

"  Nothing  particular,"  he  sighed. 
"  I  was  only  thinking  of  what  I  read 
in  the  guide-book — -that  the  monastery 
was  destroyed — partly  by  lightning,  I 
believe,  all  the  same — by  order  of  the 
authorities,  in  consequence  of  the  really 
awful  wickedness  of  the  monks  who 
inhabited  it.  So  I  am  not  sure  that  it 
would  have  been  a  very  nice  place  to 
visit  at  the  time  you  speak  of,  gracious 
lady,  begging  your  pardon." 

"  What  a  pity  !  "  I  said,  with  a 
little  shudder.  "  I  do  not  like  to  think 
of  it.  And  I  was  going  to  say  how 
beautiful  it  must  be  here  in  the  moon- 
light !  But  now  that  you  have  dis- 
enchanted me,  Lutz,  I  should  not  like 
it  at  all,"  and  I  arose  as  I  spoke. 

"  Why  not,  mamma  ? "  said  Reggie 


Unexplained. 


57 


curiously.  I  had  not  noticed  that  he 
and  his  sister  were  listening  to  us. 
"  They're  not  here  now :  not  those 
naughty  monks." 

"No,  of  course  not,"  agreed  prac- 
tical Nora.  "Mamma  only  means 
that  it  is  a  pity  such  a  beautiful  big 
house  as  this  must  have  been  had  to 
be  pulled  down — such  a  waste  when 
there  are  so  many  poor  people  in  the 
world  with  miserable,  little,  stuffy 
houses,  or  none  at  all  even  !  That  was 
what  you  meant,  wasn't  it,  mamma?  " 

"  It  is  always  a  pity — the  worst  of 
pities — when  people  are  wicked,  wher- 
ever they  are,"  I  replied. 

"  But  all  monks  are  not  bad," 
remarked  Nora  consolingly.  "Think 
of  the  Great  St.  Bernard  ones,  with 
their  dogs." 

And  on  Reggie's  inquiring  mind 
demanding  further  particulars  on  the 
subject,  she  walked  on  with  him  some- 
what in  front  of  the  rest  of  us — a 
happy  little  pair  in  the  sunshine. 

"  Lutz,"  said  his  father,  "  you  cannot 
be  too  careful  what  you  say  before 
children  :  they  are  often  shocked  or 
frightened  by  so  little.  Though  yours 
are  such  healthy-minded  little  people," 
he  added,  turning  to  me,  "  it  is  not 
likely  anything  undesirable  would 
make  any  impression  on  them." 

I  particularly  remember  this  little 
incident. 

It  turned  out  a  long  walk  to  Silber- 
bach,  the  longest  we  had  yet  attempted. 
Hitherto  Herr  von  Walden  had  been 
on  known  ground,  and  thoroughly 
acquainted  with  the  roads,  the  dis- 
tances, and  all  necessary  particulars. 
But  it  was  the  first  time  he  had 
explored  beyond  Seeberg,  and  before 
we  had  accomplished  more  than  half 
the  journey,  he  began  to  feel  a  little 
alarm  at  the  information  given  us  by 
the  travellers  we  came  across  at  long 
intervals  "  coming  from,"  not  "  going 
to  St.  Ives  !  "  For  the  further  we 
went  the  greater  seemed  to  be  the 
distance  we  had  to  go  ! 

"An  hour  or  thereabouts,"  grew 
into  "two,"  or  even  "three,"  hours; 
and  at  last,  on  a  peculiarly  stupid 


countryman  assuring  us  we  would 
scarcely  reach  our  destination  before 
nightfall,  our  conductor's  patience 
broke  down  altogether. 

"  Idiots !  "  he  exclaimed.  "  But  I 
cannot  stand  this  any  longer.  I  will 
hasten  on  and  see  for  myself.  And  if, 
as  I  expect,  we  are  really  not  very  far 
from  Silberbach,  it  will  be  all  the 
better  for  me  to  find  out  the  '  Katze,' 
and  see  that  everything  is  ready  for 
your  animal." 

Frau  von  Walden  seemed  a  little 
inclined  to  protest,  but  I  begged  her 
not  to  do  so,  seeing  that  three  able- 
bodied  protectors  still  remained  to  us, 
and  that  it  probably  was  really  tire- 
some for  a  remarkably  good  and  trained 
pedestrian  like  her  husband  to  have  to 
adapt  his  vigorous  steps  to  ours.  And 
comfort  came  from  an  unexpected 
quarter — the  old  peasant  woman, 
strong  and  muscular  as  any  English 
labourer,  whom  we  had  hired  at  See- 
berg  to  carry  our  bags  and  shawls 
through  the  forest,  overheard  the  dis- 
cussion, and  for  the  first  time  broke 
silence  to  assure  "  the  gracious  ladies  " 
that  Silberbach  was  at  no  great  dis- 
tance, in  half  an  hour  or  so  we  should 
come  upon^the  first  of  its  houses. 

"  Though  as  for  the  '  Katze,'  "  she 
added,  "  that  was  further  off — at  the 
other  end  of  the  village ;  "  and  she 
went  on  muttering  something  about 
"if  she  had  known  we  were  going  to 
the  'Katze,'  "  which  we  did  not  under- 
stand, but  which  afterwards,  "being 
translated,"  proved  to  mean  that  she 
would  have  stood  out  for  more  pay. 

Sure  enough,  at  the  end  of  not  more 
than  three  quarters  of  an  hour  we 
came  upon  one  or  two  outlying  houses. 
Then  the  trees,  gradually  here,  grew 
sparser  and  soon  ceased,  except  in  oc- 
casional patches.  It  was  growing 
dusk,  but  as  we  emerged  from  the 
wrr-i  we  found  that  we  were  on  a 
height,  the  forest  road  having  been  a 
steady,  though  almost  imperceptible,  as- 
cent. Far  below  gleamed  already  some 
twinkling  cottage  lights  and  the 
silvery  reflection  of  a  small  piece  of 
water. 


58 


Unexplained. 


"To  be  sure,"  said  young  Yon 
Trachenfels,  "  there  is  a  lake  at 
Silberbach.  Here  we  are  at  last ! 
But  where  is  the  «  Katze '  ?  " 

He  might  well  ask.  Never  was 
there  so  tantalising  a  place  as  Silber- 
bach. Instead  of  one  compact,  sensi- 
ble village,  it  was  more  like  three  or 
four — nay,  five  or  six — wretched  ham- 
lets, each  at  several  minutes'  distance 
from  all  the  others.  And  the  "Katze," 
of  course,  was  at  the  further  end  of 
the  furthest  off  from  where  we  stood 
of  these  miserable  little  ragged  ends  of 
village  !  Climbing  is  tiring  work,  but 
it  seemed  to  me  it  would  have  been 
preferable  to  what  lay  before  us,  a 
continual  descent,  by  the  ruggedest  of 
hill  paths,  of  nearly  two  miles,  stumb- 
ling along  in  the  half  light,  tired,  foot- 
sore past  description,  yet — to  our  ever- 
lasting credit  be  it  recorded — laughing, 
jor  trying  to  laugh — determined  at  all 
costs  to  make  the  best  of  it. 

"  I  have  no  feet  left,"  said  poor 
Frau  von  "Walden.  "  I  am  only  con- 
scious of  two  red-hot  balls,  attached 
somehow  to  my  ankles.  I  dare  say 
tJiey  will  drop  off  soon." 

How  thankful  we  were  at  last  to 
attain  to  what  bore  some  faint  resem- 
blance to  a  village  street !  How  we 
gazed  on  every  side  to  discover  any- 
thing like  an  inn  !  How  we  stared  at 
each  other  in  bewilderment  when  at 
last,  from  we  could  not  see  where, 
came  the  well-known  voice  of  Herr  von 
Walden,  shouting  to  us  to  stop. 

"  It  is  here — here,  I  say.  You  are 
going  too  far." 

"  Here,"  judging  by  the  direction 
whence  came  the  words,  seemed  to  be 
a  piled-up  mass  of  hay,  of  proportions, 
exaggerated  perhaps  by  the  uncertain 
light,  truly  enormous.  *  Was  our 
friend  buried  in  the  middle  of  it  ?  Not 
so.  By  degrees  we  made  out  his  sun- 
burnt face,  beaming  as  ever,  from  out 
of  a  window  behind  the  hay — cartful 
or  stack,  we  were  not  sure  which — -and 
by  still  further  degrees  we  discovered 
that  the  hay  was  being  unloaded  before 
a  little  house  which  it  had  almost 
entirely  hidden  from  view,  and  inside 


which  it  was  being  carried,  apparently 
by  the  front  door,  for  there  was  no 
other  door  to  be  seen ;  but  as  we  stood 
in  perplexity,  Herr  vonj Walden,  whose 
face  had  disappeared,  emerged  in  some 
mysterious  way. 

"  You  can  come  through  the  kitchen, 
ladies ;  or  by  the  window,  if  you 
please."  But  though  the  boys,  and 
Nora  were  got,  or  got  themselves,  in 
through  the  window,  .Frau  von  Walden 
and  I  preferred  the  kitchen;  and  I 
remember  nothing  more  till  we  found 
ourselves  all  assembled — the  original 
eight  as  we  had  started — in  a  very 
low-roofed,  sandy-floored,  tobacco-im- 
pregnated sort  of  cabin  which,  it 
appeared,  was  the  salle-a-manger  of  the 
renowned  hostelry  "  zur  Katze"  of 
Silberbach ! 

Herr  von  Walden  was  vigorously 
mopping  his  face.  It  was  very  red, 
and  naturally  so,  considering  the 
weather  and  the  want  of  ventilation 
peculiar  to  the  "  Katze  "  ;  but  it  struck 
me  there  was  something  slightly  forced 
about  the  beamingness. 

"  So,  so,"  he  began ;  "  all's  well  that 
ends  well !  But  I  must  explain,"  and 
he  mopped  still  more  vigorously,  "  that 
— there  has  been  a  slight,  in  short  a 
little,  mistake  about  the  accommodation 
I  wish  to  secure.  The  supper  I  have 
seen  to  and  it  will  be  served  directly. 
But  as  to  the  beds,"  and  here  he 
could  not  help  laughing,  "  our  worthy 
host  has  beds  enough " — we  found 
afterwards  that  every  available 
mattress  and  pillow  in  the  village  had 
been  levied — "  but  there  is  but  one 
bedroom,  or  two,  I  may  say."  For 
the  poor  Herr  had  not  lost  his  time 
since  his  arrival.  Appalled  by  the 
want  of  resources,  he  had  suggested 
the  levy  of  beds,  and  had  got  the  host 
to  spread  them  on  the  floor  of  a 
granary  for  himself,  the  three  young 
men  and  Reggie  ;  while  his  wife,  Nora 
and  I  were  to  occupy  the  one  bedroom, 
which  luckily  contained  two  small 
beds  and  a  sort  of  settee,  such  as  one 
sees  in  old  farmhouses  all  over  the 
world. 

So  it  was  decided  ;  and,  after  all,  for 


Unexplained. 


59 


one  night,  what  did  it  matter  ?  For  one 
night  1  that  was  for  me  the  question  ! 
The  suppeivwas  really  not  bad  ;  but  the 
look,  and  still  worse  the  smell,  of  the 
room  when  it  was  served,  joined  no 
doubt  to  our  excessive  fatigue,  made  it 
impossible  for  me  to  eat  anything. 
My  friends  were  sorry,  and  I  felt 
ashamed  of  myself  for  being  so  easily 
knocked  up  or  knocked  down.  How 
thoroughly  I  entered  into  Frau  von 
Walden's  honestly  expressed  dislike  to 
"  roughing  it  "  !  Yet  it  was  not  only 
the  uncivilised  look  of  the  place,  nor 
the  coarse  food,  nor  the  want  of 
comfort  that  made  me  feel  that  one 
night  of  Silberbach  would  indeed  be 
enough  for  me.  A  sort  of  depression, 
of  fear  almost,  came  over  me  when  I 
.•pictured  the  two  children  and  myself 
alone  in  that  strange,  out-of-the-world 
place,  where  it  really  seemed  to  me  we 
might  all  three  be  made  an  end  of 
without  any  one  being  the  wiser  of  it ! 
There  was  a  general  look  of  squalor 
and  stolid  depression  about  the  people 
too  :  the  landlord  was  a  black  browed, 
surlily  silent  sort  of  man,  his  wife  and 
the  one  maid-servant  looked  frightened 
and  anxious,  and  the  only  voices  to  be 
heard  were  those  of  half  tipsy  peasants 
drinking  and  quarrelling  at  the  bar. 

To  say  the  least  it  was  not  enliven- 
ing. Yet  my  pride  was  engaged.  I 
did  not  like  to  own  myself  already 
beaten.  After  supper  I  sat  apart,  re- 
flecting rather  gloomily  as  to  what  I 
could  or  should  do,  while  the  young 
men  and  the  children  amused  them- 
selves with  the  one  piece  of  luxury 
with  which  the  poorest  inn  in  Thuringia 
is  sure  to  be  provided.  For,  anomalous 
as  it  may  seem,  there  was  a  piano,  and 
by  no  means  an  altogether  decrepit 
one,  in  the  sandy-floored  parlour  ! 

Herr  von  Walden  was  smoking  his 
pipe  outside,  the  hay  being  by  this 
time  housed  somewhere  or  other.  His 
wife,  who  had  been  speaking  to  him, 
came  in  and  sat  down  beside  me. 

"  My  dear,"  she  said,  "  you  must 
not  be  vexed  with  me  for  renewing 
the  subject,  but  I  cannot  help  it :  I 
feel  a  responsibility.  You  must  not, 


you  really  must  not,  think  of  staying 
here  alone  with  those  two  children.  It 
is  not  fit  for  you." 

Oh,  how  I  blessed  her  for  breaking 
the  ice  !  I  could  hardly  help  hugging 
her  as  I  replied — diplomatically — 
"You  really  think  so  ? " 
"  Certainly  I  do  ;  and  so,  though 
perhaps  he  won't  say  so  as  frankly — 
so  does  my  husband.  He  says  I  am 
foolish  and  fanciful ;  but  I  confess  to 
feeling  a  kind  of  dislike  to  the  place 
that  I  cannot  explain.  Perhaps  there 
is  thunder  in  the  air — that  always 
affects  my  nerves — but  I  just  feel  that 
I  cannot  agree  to  your  staying  on 
here." 

"  Very  well,  I  am  quite  willing  to 
go  back  to  Seeberg  to-morrow,"  I 
replied  meekly.  "  Of  course  we  can't 
judge  of  the  place  by  what  we  have 
seen  of  it  to-night,  but  no  doubt,  as  far 
as  the  inn  is  concerned,  Seeberg  is  much 
nicer.  I  dare  say  we  can  see  all  we 
want  by  noon  to-morrow  and  get  back 
to  Seeberg  in  the  afternoon." 

Kind  Frau  von  Walden  kissed  me 
rapturously  on  both  cheeks. 

"  You  don't  know,  my  dear,  the  re- 
lief to  my  mind  of  hearing  you  say 
so!  And  now  I  think  the  best  thing  we 
can  do  is  to  go  to  bed.  For  we  must 
start  at  six." 

"So  early!"  I  exclaimed,  with  a 
fresh  feeling  of  dismay. 

"  Yes,  indeed  ;  and  I  must  bid  you 
good-bye  to-night,  for,  after  all,  I  am 
not  to  sleep  in  your  room,  which  is  much 
better,  as  I  should  have  had  to  disturb 
you  so  early.  My  husband  has  found 
a  tidy  room  next  door  in  a  cottage,  and 
we  shall  do  very  well  there." 

What  sort  of  a  place  she  euphem- 
istically described  as  "  a  tidy  room  " 
I  never  discovered.  But  it  would 
have  been  useless  to  remonstrate,  the 
kind  creature  was  so  afraid  of  incom- 
moding us  that  she  would  have  listened 
to  no  objections. 

Herr  von  Walden  came  in  just  as 
we  were  about  to  wish  each  other  good- 
night. 

"  So ! "  he  said,  with  a  tone  of 
amiable  indulgence,  "  so  !  And  what 


60 


Unexplained. 


do  you  think  of  Silberbach  ?     My  wife 
feels  sure  you  will  not  like  it  after  all." 

"  I  think  I  shall  see  as  much  as  I 
care  to  see  of  it  in  an  hour  or  two 
to-morrow  morning,"  I  replied  quietly. 
"  And  by  the  afternoon  the  children 
and  I  will  go  back  to  our  comfortable 
quarters  at  Seeberg." 

"  Ah,  indeed  !  Yes,  I  dare  say  it 
will  be  as  well,"  he  said  airily,  as  if  he 
had  nothing  at  all  to  do  with  decoying 
us  to  the  place.  "  Then  good-night 
and  pleasant  dreams,  and — 

"  But,"  I  interrupted,  "  I  want  to 
know  how  we  are  to  get  back  to 
Seeberg.  Can  I  get  an  Einsptinner 
here?" 

"To  be  sure,  to  be  sure.  You 
have  only  to  speak  to  the  landlord 
in  the  morning,  and  tell  him  at  what 
hour  you  want  it ; "  he  answered  so 
confidently  that  I  felt  no  sort  of  mis- 
giving, and  I  turned  with  a  smile  to 
finish  my  good-nights. 

The  young  men  were  standing  close 
beside  us.  I  shook  hands  with 
Trachenfels  and  Lutz,  the  latter  of 
whom,  though  he  replied  as  heartily 
as  usual,  looked,  I  thought,  annoyed. 
George  Norman  followed  me  to  the 
door  of  the  room.  In  front  of  us  was 
the  ladder  like  staircase  leading  to  the 
upper  regions. 

"  What  a  hole  of  a  place  !  "  said  the 
boy.  "  I  don't  mind  quite  a  cottage, 
if  it's  clean  and  cheerful,  but  this  place 
is  so  grim  and  squalid.  I  can't  tell 
you  how  glad  I  am  you're  not  going 
to  stay  on  here  alone.  It  really  isn't 
fit  for  you." 

""Well,  you  may  be  easy,  as  we 
shall  only  be  here  a  few  hours  after 
you  leave." 

"  Yes ;  so  much  the  better.  I  wish 
I  could  have  stayed,  but  I  must  be 
back  at  Kronberg  to-morrow.  Lutz 
could  have  stayed  and  seen  you  back 
to  Seeberg,  but  his  father  won't  let 
him.  Herr  von  Walden  is  so  queer 
once  he  takes  an  idea  in  his  head,  and 
he  won't  allow  this  place  isn't  all 
right." 

"  But  I  dare  say  there  would  be 
nothing  to  hurt  us  !  Any  way,  I  will 


write  to  reassure  you  that  we  have 
not  fallen  into  a  nest  of  cut-throats 
or  brigands,"  I  said  laughingly. 

Certainly  it  never  occurred  to  me 
or  to  my  friends  what  would  be  the 
nature  of  the  "experience"  which 
would  stamp  Silberbach  indelibly  on 
our  memory. 

We  must  have  been  really  very 
tired,  for,  quite  contrary  to  our  habit, 
the  children  and  I  slept  late  the  next 
morning,  undisturbed  by  the  depart- 
ure of  our  friends  at  the  early  hour 
arranged  by  them. 

The  sun  was  shining,  and  Silber- 
bach, like  every  other  place,  appeared 
all  the  better  for  it.  But  the  view 
from  the  window  of  our  room  was  not 
encouraging.  It  looked  out  upon  the 
village  street — a  rough,  unkempt  sort 
of  track,  and  on  its  other  side  the 
ground  rose  abruptly  to  some  height, 
but  treeless  and  grassless.  It  seemed 
more  like  the  remains  of  a  quarry  of 
some  kind,  for  there  was  nothing  to 
be  seen  but  stones  and  broken  pieces 
of  rock. 

"  We  must  go  out  after  our  break- 
fast and  look  about  us  a  little  before  we 
start,"  I  said.  "  But  how  glad  I  shall 
be  to  get  back  to  that  bright,  cheerful 
Seeberg ! " 

"  Yes,  indeed,"  said  Nora.  "  I  think 
this  is  the  ugliest  place  I  ever  was  at 
in  my  life."  And  she  was  not  in- 
clined to  like  it  any  better  when 
Reggie,  whom  we  sent  down  to  recon- 
noitre, rcame  back  to  report  that  we 
must  have  our  breakfast  in  our  own 
room. 

"  There's  a  lot  of  rough-looking 
men  down  there,  smoking  and  drink- 
ing beer.  You  couldn't  eat  there," 
said  the  child. 

But,  after  all,  it  was  to  be  our  last 
meal  there,  and  we  did  not  complain. 
The  root  coffee  was  not  too  unpalatable 
with  plenty  of  good  milk ;  the  bread 
was  sour  and  the  butter  dubious,  as 
Ottilia  had  foretold,  so  we  soaked 
the  bread  in  the  coffee,  like  French 
peasants. 

"Mamma,"  said  Nora  gravely,  "it 
makes  me  sorry  for  poor  people.  I 


Unexplained. 


61 


dare  say  many  never  have  anything 
nicer  to  eat  than  this." 

"  Not  nicer  than  this  !  "  I  exclaimed. 
"  Why,  my  dear  child,  thousands,  not 
in  Germany  only,  but  in  France  and 
England,  never  taste  anything  as 
good." 

The  little  girl  opened  her  eyes. 
There  are  salutary  lessons  to  be  learnt 
from  even  the  mildest  experience  of 
"  roughing  it." 

Suddenly  Nora's  eyes  fell  on  a  little 
parcel  in  blue  paper.  It  was  lying 
on  one  of  the  shelves  of  the  stove, 
which,  as  in  most  German  rooms,  stood 
out  a  little  from  the  wall,  and  in  its 
summer  idleness  was  a  convenient 
receptacle  for  odds  and  ends.  This 
stove  was  a  high  one,  of  black-leaded 
iron  ;  it  stood  between  the  door  and  the 
wall,  on  the  same  side  as  the  door,  and 
was  the  most  conspicuous  object  in 
the  room. 

"  Mamma,"  she  exclaimed,  "  there 
is  the  parcel  you  brought  away  from 
the  china  place.  What  is  it  1  I  wish 
you  would  show  it  me." 

I  gave  a  little  exclamation  of 
annoyance. 

"  Frau  von  Walden  has  forgotten 
it,"  I  said ;  for  my  friend,  returning 
straight  to  Kronberg,  had  offered  to 
take  it  home  for  me  in  her  bag  for 
fear  of  accidents.  "  It  does  not  mat- 
ter," I  added,  "  I  will  pack  it  among 
our  soft  things.  It  is  a  very  pretty 
cup  and  saucer,  but  I  will  show  it  to 
you  at  Kronberg,  for  it  is  so  nicely 
wrapped  up.  Now  I  am  going  down- 
stairs to  order  the  Einspanner,  and  we 
can  walk  about  for  an  hour  or  two." 

The  children  came  with  me.  I  had 
some  trouble  in  disinterring  the  land- 
lord, but  at  last  I  found  him,  of  course 
with  a  pipe  in  his  mouth,  hanging 
about  the  premises.  He  listened  to 
me  civilly  enough,  but  when  I  waited 
for  his  reply  as  to  whether  the 
Einspanner  would  be  ready  about 
twelve  o'clock,  he  calmly  regarded 
me  without  speaking.  I  repeated  my 
inquiry. 

"At     twelve?"     he    said    calmly. 
"Yes,  no    doubt   the    gracious    lady 


might  as  well  fix  twelve  as  any  other 
hour,  for  there  was  no  such  thing  as  a 
horse,  much  less  an  Einspanner,  to  be 
had  at  Silberbach." 

I  stared  at  him  in  my  turn. 
"  No  horse,  no  carriage  to  be  had. 
How  do  people  ever   get  away  from 
here  then  ? "  I  said. 

"  They  don't  get  away — that  is  to 
say,  if  they  come  at  all,  they  go  as 
they  came,  in  the  carriage  that  brought 
them ;  otherwise  they  neither  come 
nor  go.  The  lady  came  on  foot :  she 
can  go  on  foot ;  otherwise  she  can 
stay." 

There  seemed  something  sinister  in 
his  words.  A  horrible,  ridiculous 
feeling  came  over  me  that  we  were 
caught  in  a  net,  as  it  were,  and  doomed 
to  stay  at  Silberbach  for  the  rest  of 
our  lives.  But  I  looked  at  the  man. 
He  was  simply  stolid  and  indifferent. 
I  did  not  believe  then,  nor  do  I  now, 
that  he  was  anything  worse  than  sulky 
and  uncivilised.  He  did  not  even  care 
to  have  us  as  his  visitors :  he  had  no 
wish  to  retain  us  nor  to  speed  us  on 
our  way.  Had  we  remained  at  the 
"  Katze  "  from  that  day  to  this,  I  don't 
believe  he  would  have  ever  inquired 
what  we  stayed  for  ! 

"  I  cannot  walk  back  to  Seeberg,"  I 
said,  half  indignantly,  "  we  are  too 
tired ;  nor  would  it  be  safe  through 
the  forest  alone  with  two  children." 

The  landlord  knocked  some  ashes 
off  his  pipe. 

"There  may  be  an  ox-cart  going 
that  way  next  week,"  he  observed. 

"  Next  week  !  "  I  repeated.  Then 
a  sudden  idea  struck  me.  "  Is  there 
a  post-office  here  ?  "  I  said. 

Of  course  -  there  was  a  post-office ; 
where  can  one  go  in  Germany  where 
there  is  not  a  post  and  telegraph- 
office? 

"The  telegraph  officials  must  be 
sadly  over- worked  here,"  I  said  to 
myself.  But  as  far  as  mine  host  was 
concerned  I  satisfied  myself  with  ob- 
taining the  locality  of  the  post-office, 
and  with  something  like  a  ray  of  hope 
I  turned  to  look  for  the  children. 
They  had  been  amusing  themselves 


62 


Unexplained. 


with  the  piano  in  the  new  empty 
room,  but  as  I  called  to  them,  Reggie 
ran  out  with  a  very  red  face. 

"  I  wish  I  were  a  man,  mamma. 
Fancy !  a  peasant — one  of  those  men 
who  were  drinking  beer — came  and 
put  his  arm  around  Norah  as  she  was 
playing.  '  Du  spielst  schb'n,'  he  said, 
and  I  do  believe  he  meant  to  kiss 
her,  if  I  hadn't  shaken  my  fist  at 
him." 

"  Yes,  indeed,  mamma,"  said  Nora, 
equally  but  more  calmly  indignant. 
"  I  certainly  think  the  sooner  we  get 
away  the  better." 

I  had  to  tell  them  of  my  discom- 
fiture, but  ended  with  my  new  idea. 

"  If  there  is  a  post-office,"  I  said, 
"the  mail  must  stop  there,  and  the 
mail  takes  passengers." 

But,  arrived  at  the  neat  little  post- 
house,  to  reach  which  without  a  most 
tremendous  round  we  had  to  climb  up 
a  really  precipitous  path,  so-called, 
over  the  stones  and  rocks  in  front  of 
the  inn,  new  dismay  awaited  us.  The 
post-master  was  a  very  old  man,  but 
of  a  very  different  type  from  our  host. 
He  was  sorry  to  disappoint  us,  but 
the  mail  only  stopped  here  for  letters 
— all  passengers  must  begin  their 
journey  at — I  forget  where— leagues 
off  on  the  other  side  from  Silberbach. 
We  wanted  to  get  away  ?  He  was  not 
surprised.  What  had  we  come  for  ?  No 
one  ever  came  here.  Were  we  Ameri- 
cans !  Staying  at  the  "  Katze  "  !  Good 
heavens  !  "  A  rough  place."  "  I  should 
rather  think  so." 

And  this  last  piece  of  information 
fairly  overcame  him.  He  evidently 
felt  he  must  come  to  the  rescue  of 
these  poor  Babes  in  the  wood. 

"  Come  up  when  the  mail  passes 
from  Seeberg  this  evening  *at  seven, 
and  I  will  see  what  I  can  do  with  the 
conductor.  If  he  happens  to  have  no 
passengers  to-morrow,  he  may  stretch 
a  point  and  take  you  in.  No  one  will 
be  the  wiser." 

"Oh,  thanks,  thanks,"  I  cried.  "Of 
course  I  will  pay  anything  he  likes 
to  ask." 

"  No     need    for    that.      He     is    a 


Iraver    Mann    and    will     not     cheat 
you." 

"  We  shall  be  here  at  seven,  then. 
I  would  rather  have  started  to  walk 
than  stayed  here  indefinitely." 

"  Not  to-day  any  way.  We  shall 
have  a  storm,"  he  said,  looking  up  to 
the  sky.  "Adieu.  A uf  Wiedersehen / " 

"  I  wish  we  had  not  to  stay  another 
night  here,"  I  said.  "  Still,  to-morrow 
morning  will  soon  come." 

We  spent  the  day  as  best  we  could. 
There  was  literally  nothing  to  see, 
nowhere  to  go,  except  back  into  the 
forest  whence  we  had  come.  Nor 
dared  we  go  far,  for  the  day  grew 
more  and  more  sultry ;  the  strange, 
ominous  silence  that  precedes  a  storm 
came  on,  adding  to  our  feelings  of 
restlessness  and  depression.  And  by 
about  two  o'clock,  having  ventured  out 
again  after  "  dinner,"  we  were  driven 
in  by  the  first  great  drops.  Huddled 
together  in  our  cheerless  little  room 
we  watched  the  breaking  loose  of 'the 
storm  demons.  I  am  not  affected  by 
thunder  and  lightning,  nor  do  I  dread 
them.  But  what  a  storm  that  was ! 
Thunder,  lightning,  howling  wind,  and 
rain  like  no  rain  I  had  ever  seen 
before,  all  mingled  together.  An  hour 
after  it  began,  a  cart  standing  high 
and  dry  in  the  steep  village  street  was 
hidden  by  water  to  above  the  top  of 
the  wheels — a  little  more  and  it  would 
have  floated  like  a  boat.  But  by 
about  five,  things  calmed  down ;  the 
few  stupid  -  looking  peasants  came 
out  of  their  houses,  and  gazed  about 
them  as  if  to  see  what  damage  had 
been  done.  Perhaps  it  was  not  much 
after  all— they  seemed  to  take  it 
quietly  enough  ;  and  by  six  all  special 
signs  of  disturbance  had  disappeared 
— the  torrents  melted  away  as  if  by 
magic.  Only  a  strange,  heavy  mist 
began  to  rise,  enveloping  everything, 
so  that  we  could  hardly  believe  the 
evening  was  yet  so  early.  I  looked  at 
my  watch. 

"  Half-past  six.  We  must,  mist  or 
no  mist,  go  up  to  the  post-house.  But 
I  don't  mind  going  alone,  dears." 

"No,  no,  mamma;  I  must  go  with 


Unexplained. 


63 


you,  to  take  care  of  you,"  saidlReggie ; 
"  but  Nora  needn't." 

"  Perhaps  it  would  be  as  well,"  said 
the  little  girl.  "  I  have  one  or  two 
buttons  to  sew  on,  and  I  am  still 
rather  tired." 

And,  knowing  she  was  never  timid 
about  being  left  alone,  thinking  we 
should  be  absent  half-an-hour  ab  mosst 
I  agreed. 

But  the  half-hour  lengthened  into 
an  hour,  then  into  an  hour  and  a  half, 
before  the  weary  mail  made  its  appear- 
ance. The  road  through  the  forest 
must  be  all  but  impassable,  our  old 
friend  told  us.  But  oh,  how  tired 
Reggie  and  I  were  of  waiting  !  though 
all  the  time  never  a  thought  of  uneasi- 
ness with  regard  to  Nora  crossed  my 
mind.  And.  when  the  mail  did  come, 
delayed,  as  the  postmaster  had  sus- 
pected, the  good  result  of  his  negotia- 
tions made  us  forget  all  our  troubles  ; 
for  the  conductor  all  but  promised  to 
take  us  the  next  morning,  in  con- 
sideration of  a  very  reasonable  extra 
payment.  It  was  most  unlikely  he 
would  have  any,  certainly  not  many 
passengers.  We  must  be  there,  at 
the  post-house  by  nine  o'clock,  bag- 
gage and  all,  for  he  dared  not  wait  a 
moment,  and  he  would  do  his  best. 

Through  the  evening  dusk,  now  past 
replacing  the  scattered  mist,  Reggie 
and  I,  light  of  heart,  stumbled  down 
the  rocky  path. 

"  How  pleased  Nora  will  be !  She 
will  be  wondering  what  has  come  over 
us,"  I  said  as  the  "Katze"  came  in  view. 
"  But  what  is  that,  Reggie,  running 
up  and  down  in  front  of  the  house  1 


Is  it  a  sheep,  or  a  big  white  dog  ] 
or — or  a  child?  Can  it  be  Nora, 
and  no  cloak  or  hat  ?  and  so  damp 
and  chilly  as  it  is  ?  How  can  she  be 
so  foolish  !  " 

And,  with  a  vague  uneasiness,  I 
hurried  on. 

Yes,  it  was  Nora.  There  was  light 
enough  to  see  her  face.  What  had 
happened  to  my  little  girl1?  She  was 
white — no,  not  white,  ghastly.  Her  eyes 
looked  glassy,  and  yet  as  if  drawn  into 
her  head  ;  her  whole  bright,  fearless 
bearing  was  gone.  She  clutched  me 
convulsively  as  if  she  would  never 
again  let  me  go.  Her  voice  was  so 
hoarse  that  I  could  scarcely  distin- 
guish what  she  said. 

"  Send  Reggie  in — he  must  not 
hear,"  were  her  first  words — of  rare 
unselfishness  and  presence  of  mind. 

"  Reggie,"  I  said,  "  tell  the  maid  to 
take  candles  up  to  our  room,  and  take 
off  your  wet  boots  at  once." 

My  children  are  obedient ;  he  was 
off  instantly. 

Then  Nora  went  on,  still  in  a 
strained,  painful  whisper — 

"  Mamma,  there  has  been  a  man  in 
our  room,  and " 

"Did  that  peasant  frighten  you 
again,  dear  \  Oh,  I  am  so  sorry  I  left 
you  ;  "  for  my  mind  at  once  reverted  to 
the  man  whom  Reggie  had  shaken  his 
fist  at  that  morning. 

"  No,  no  ;  not  that.  I  would  not 
have  minded.  But,  mamma,  Reggie 
must  never  know  it — he  is  so  little, 
he  could  not  bear  it — mamma,  it  was 
not  a  man.  It  was — oh,  mamma,  I 
have  seen  a  ghost  /" 


To  be  continued. 


64 


A    FEW   LAST   WORDS   ON   DAY-SCHOOLS   AND    BOARDING- 
SCHOOLS. 


A  WRITER  on  Catholic  education,  whose 
criticisms  on  English  Protestant  teach- 
ers are  most  suggestive,  says  in  one  of 
his  pamphlets,  "  It  has  sometimes  been 
remarked  to  me,  '  You  yourself  have 
a  school ;  will  it  not  seem  indelicate  to 
say  that  your  brother  grocers  sand 
their  sugar?  Do  you  expect  your 
school  to  flourish  when  you  cry  down 
the  schools  of  others?  You  will  find 
the  enemy  in  front,  flank,  and  rear.' 
And  he  goes  on  to  reply,  'As  to  my 
own  school  it  is  my  interest  in  life, 
my  love,  and  my  pride.  But  I  would 
sooner  see  it  blown  into  the  air  than 
hesitate  to  speak.'  " 

I  cannot  say  that  I  regard  my  free- 
dom to  speak  as  of  similar  importance 
to  that  of  the  warden  of  Woburn 
School.  But  having  broken  silence 
I  do  not  wish  to .  be  misunderstood, 
and  with  the  permission  of  the  Editor 
I  will  say  a  few  last  words.  And  first 
as  regards  what  I  did  not  say.  I  cer- 
tainly did  not  "protest,"  as  an  "Ex- 
Day  Boy,"  in  the  March  number  of 
Macmillaris  Magazine  says,  "against 
the  continuance  of  the  boarding-house 
system  at  Rugby."  Perhaps  in  trying 
to  write  as  impersonally  as  possible,  I 
may  have  seemed  to  attack  institu- 
tions which  I  only  wished  to  supple- 
ment. Anyhow  I  am  not  unselfish 
enough  to  wish  to  pull  down  the  most 
interesting  work  of  my  life,  or  to  call 
in  the  public  to  assist  at  the  operation. 

Boarding-houses  are  an  absolute  ne- 
cessity at  our  great  public  schools ;  it 
is  a  simple  impossibility  that  many  of 
the  parents  should  be  able  to  fix  their 
homes  at  the  residence  of  the  school 
of  their  choice,  and  any  one  who  pro- 
tests against  their  continuance,  speci- 
ally at  Rugby,  which  is  two  hours 
from  London  and  at  least  one  hour 
from  any  large  town  of  business,  would 
show  that  he  did  not  realise  English 
life. 


And  before  I  go  further,  I  will  be 
honest,  and  discount  the  value  of 
my  own  remarks.  I  hold  that  there 
are  many  things  that  an  assistant- 
master  might  think,  which,  however, 
he  is  bound  only  to  say  to  his  local 
chief  or  local  council.  If  my  readers 
are  looking  for  "  revelations,"  I  warn 
them  that  here  they  will  find  nothing 
so  exciting.  If,  in  the  article  of  last 
September,  I  seemed  to  ignore  my  own 
school,  it  was  only  because,  to  use  the 
words  of  the  editor  of  the  Journal -of 
Education,  I  was  conscious  of  my  own 
"  Rugby -olatry  "  and  I  wished  sternly 
to  repress  it.  Still  there  are  one  or 
two  things  that  I  should  like  to  repeat 
now  that  I  have  read  my  critics. 

Are  not  the  boys  of  England  suffer- 
ing from  seeing  too  little  of  their 
homes?  Are  there  not  many  homes 
where  boys  could  be  better  educated 
than  they  are  at  present  in  many  of 
the  large  barracks  called  boarding- 
schools  ?  And  would  it  not  be  better 
for  all  boys  that  some  of  the  period  of 
education  should  be  spent  at  home  ? 

To  take  the  last  question  first.  Is 
it  not  an  astounding  fact  that  in  these 
days,  when  women  are  so  carefully 
educated,  mothers  think  it  necessary 
to  send  their  boys  away  from  home, 
very  often  at  the  age  of  eight,  to  be 
brought  up  among  strangers,  in  an 
atmosphere  where  the  prevailing  tone 
is  set  by  a  knot  of  bigger  boys'?  It 
is  perfectly  true  that  there  are  wives 
of  schoolmasters  who  endeavour  to 
"  mother "  their  husband's  fifty  or 
hundred  pupils  as  conscientiously  as 
they  do  his  sons,  and  it  is  marvellous 
how  some  of  them  succeed ;  but,  on 
the  other  hand,  every  schoolmaster 
must  have  very  painful  experiences 
the  other  way.  It  will  be  replied  that 
so,  too,  has  every  schoolmaster  ex- 
periences of  homes  where  boys  ara 
spoilt,  or  insufficiently  taught,  or  mis- 


A  Few  Last   Words  on  Day-Schools  and  Boarding-Schools.          65 


understood.  But  all  that  is  contended 
here  is  that  the  good  homes  should 
not  give  way  to  a  fashion,  or  that,  if 
they  do  so,  they  should  not  expect  to 
have  what  they  cannot  get  for  their 
money.  Schools  cannot  give  stillness 
and  quietude ;  they  are  afraid  to  give 
enough  leisure  for  fear  of  its  being 
abused  ;  and  they  must  treat  one  boy 
very  much  as  another.  The  small 
beginnings  of  interests  in  various  sub- 
jects, which  must  vary  with  particular 
homes  according  to  the  profession  of 
the  father  or  the  locality  where  he 
resides  or  the  surroundings ;  the  atti- 
tude of  being  useful  which  a  young 
mind  will  assume  for  a  mother  but  not 
for  a  master;  the  opportunities  of 
sympathy  with  other  ages  and  other 
classes  that  a  home  can  give  and  a 
school  very  often  dare  not ;  the  absence 
of  the  incessant  appeals  to  competition 
as  a  motive  for  industry  ;  the  contagion 
of  intellectual  or  moral  earnestness 
which  is  silently  working  when  a  boy 
sees  much  of  his  elder  blood-relations 
in  his  early  days — all  these  things,  it 
is  contended,  are  thrown  away  too 
indiscriminately  in  the  England  of  to- 
day. 

There  are  certain  good  qualities  that 
a  public  schoolmaster  can  safely  reckon 
on  finding  in  the  boys  who  come  from 
some  of  our  preparatory  schools,  but 
those  qualities  do  not  include  literary 
interest,  originality,  variety  of  taste. 
How  can  they  1  The  unfortunate  wife 
of  the  schoolmaster  cannot  read  to  sets 
of  threes  the  Arabian  Nights,  or  the 
Waverley  novels,  or  Masterman  Ready 
— the  family  is  on  too  large  a  scale; 
the  exquisite  sense  of  being  the  one 
consulted  which  a  loving  mother  can 
convey  to  each  member  even  of  a  large 
natural  family  cannot  be  given  to  a 
school.  So  they  will  not  listen  even  if 
there  be  any  to  read  to  them ;  and 
even  if  they  do  there  is  not  the  same 
uniform  directness  of  aim,  backed  by 
family  associations,  in  a  school  as  is 
supplied  by  the  accumulated  store  of 
knowledge  and  literature  embodied 
in  the  family  library  and  the 
family's  advice  as  to  choice  of  books. 

No.  307.— VOL.  HI. 


In  the  same  way  with  out- door 
life  :  neighbours  soon  draw  a  fence 
around  a  boarding-school,  and  the 
few  nests  that  may  be  found  on 
the  grounds  hardly  make  up  for  the 
loss  of  the  parsonage  garden,  which 
an  unreasoning  fashion  discards  as  a 
second-rate  nursery.  To  study  the 
natural  delights  of  one  spot  till  they 
are  exhausted  is  one  of  the  most  ne- 
cessary ingredients  in  early  education. 
But  it  may  be  said  that  all  this  is 
easily  done  in  the  holidays.  There 
are  two  or  three  objections  to  this 
theory.  The  first  is  that  parents  who 
only  receive  their  little  boys  for  the 
holidays  have  lost  the  character  of 
being  educators;  too  often  they  de- 
scend into  the  rank  of  caterers  for  the 
amusement  of  their  children  ;  either 
they  think  it  necessary  to  break  up 
the  home  and  go  to  the  seaside,  or 
they  suspend  their  ordinary  occupa- 
tions, the  sight  of  which  is  really 
valuable  and  should  be  interesting  to 
their  children,  or  in  some  way  they 
flood  the  home  with  excitement. 
These  are  they  whose  worst  specimen 
writes  to  the  Times  to  protest  against 
extra  weeks  being  given  for  the  holi- 
days. Of  course  if  boys  are  allowed 
to  upset  the  natural  flow  of  their 
relations'  lives,  they  are  nuisances. 
Or,  again,  some  parents  from  never 
having  taught  their  boys  in  their  early 
years  have  no  idea  of  their  capabili- 
ties, and  if  they  do  try  to  continue  in 
a  small  degree  the  process  of  educa- 
tion during  the  holidays,  commit  such 
mistakes  that  they  give  the  attempt 
up  in  despair,  and  fall  to  abuse  of  the 
unfortunate  schoolmaster  for  not 
having  brought  young  Hopeful  more 
on.  Or  they  find  that  they  have  so 
delegated  their  authority  that  in  two 
months  they  cannot  easily  recover  it. 
In  such  cases  what  is  here  maintained 
is  that  parents  should  take  more 
personal  interest  in  the  education  of 
their  sons,  and  not  be  content  to  pay 
large  sums  to  have  the  trouble  taken 
off  their  hands,  if  by  any  sacrifice 
they  can  undertake  it.  It  is  not 
within  the  scope  of  the  present  article 


66          A  Few  Last   Words  on  Day-Schools  and  Boarding-Schools. 


to  show  how  such  sacrifice  improves  the 
whole  tone  of  the  family  life ;  but  it 
may  fairly  be  remarked  that  the  impa- 
tience or  in  judiciousness  of  parents  who 
have  uniformly  boarded  out  their  child- 
ren cannot  fairly  be  quoted  as  evidence 
that  they  are  less  fitted  for  their  early 
education  than  hired  schoolmasters. 
Such  parents  have  simply  killed  out 
the  nobler  side  of  the  parental  instinct 
by  neglecting  it,  and  it  may  fairly 
be  argued  that  the  sooner  they  deve- 
lop it  afresh  the  better  it  will  be  for 
their  descendants  and  for  the  nation. 
But  enough  has  been  said  on  the  first 
point  whether  it  be  not  better  that 
some  of  the  period  of  education  be 
spent  at  home. 

It  is  a  far  more  difficult  question 
whether  as  the  boy  gets   older  it  is 
desirable  that  parents  should  live  near 
a  public  school,  supervising  the  studies 
of  their  sons,  instead  of  sending  them 
to  a  boarding-house.  In  the  September 
number  of  the  Contemporary  last  year 
an   attempt  was  made  to  sketch   the 
various  duties  of  the   boarding-house 
master.      Fortunately    the    days    are 
gone  by  when  it  was  common  for  a 
house-master  to  court  the  cheers  of  his 
boys  by  saying  that  he  knew  nothing 
of  what  went  on  in  their  side  of  the 
house,  and    did    not    care    to    know. 
House  masters  do  try  to  do  their  duty 
by  both  big  and   little  boys,  and  do 
not  leave   the  latter  to  the  exclusive 
attention  of  the  former.     But  the  list 
of  duties  is  sufficiently  great  for  even 
the  most  Herculean  constitution  to  be 
glad  of  assistance,  and  such  assistance, 
it  was  argued,  can  be  given  by  the 
neighbourhood  of  some  family  life  with 
parents  keenly  watching  the  success 
or  failure  of   the   school,  and  gladly 
welcoming   associates  for   their  boys. 
It  is  perfectly  true  that  "  the  number 
of  parents  who  can  afford  to  settle  in 
the   proximity   of    a  great  school  is 
limited,  and  that  few  can  spare  the 
time  from  their  daily  business  to  exer- 
cise any  real  influence  over  their  sons' 
studies."     But  all  that  is  needed  is  an 
atmosphere  of  interest  in  the  studies 
not  unfavourable  to  the  morals  of  the 


boys.  As  Mr.  Oscar  Browning  has 
well  remarked,  in  a  home  "there  is 
no  need  of  that  elaborate  drilling  into 
occupation  which  presses  so  heavily  on 
the  conscience  of  a  boarding  house- 
master ; "  in  a  well-organised  home 
there  is  no  need  of  filling  up  every 
moment  of  a  boy's  time  either  with 
work  or  play ;  there  are  more  hands 
to  help  at  any  rate,  sister  or  mother, 
only  too  glad  to  be  called  in  ;  it  may 
be  added  that  the  grammar  and  the 
dictionary  are  less  likely  to  have  gone 
astray  when  the  moment  comes  for 
their  use.  It  is  perfectly  true  that 
few  parents  are  either  able  or  present 
to  superintend  their  son's  lessons ;  but 
the  atmosphere  is  favourable  to  work, 
and  that  is  all  that  is  needed.  Masters 
know  well  enough  the  difficulty  of 
creating  such  an  atmosphere  in  large 
boarding-houses,  and  so  frequently 
have  to  sweep  in  the  boys  from  their 
studies  into  one  large  room  for  "  pre- 
paration." This  is  in  many  ways  a 
good  expedient,  but  it  is  open  to  two 
objections :  it  cannot  be  said  to  give 
stillness  or  quietude,  and  it  tempts  a 
master  to  give  a  boy  more  help  than 
is  good  for  his  natural  development. 

Again  there  is  the  danger  of  loafing, 
for  sports  at  a  day-school  are  said  not 
to  be  worth  much.  This  is  an  ob- 
jection which  it  is  entirely  in  the 
hands  of  the  masters  to  remove.  The 
"  Ex-Day-Boy  "  who  writes  in  Mac- 
millan's  Magazine  writes  with  sensitive 
exaggeration,  but  describes  what  took 
place  in  one  of  our  public  schools  with 
accuracy.  But  a  little  organisation 
can  arrange  places  of  meeting  to 
establish  intimacy  within  the  circle  of 
the  day-boys,  and  the  head  master  can 
secure  the  co-operation  of  the  parents, 
and  games  can  be  made  part  of  the 
education  of  a  school,  to  give  which  is 
as  much  the  duty  of  the  institution  as 
it  is  to  see  that  a  boy  attends  his 
lessons.  Clifton  College  and  Bedford 
School  are  examples  of  what  can  be 
done  in  this  respect. 

Again  it  has  been  very  ably  urged 
that  with  the  day-boy  system  life  is 
too  monotonous.  This  is  true  with 


A  Few  Last   Words  on  Day-Schools  and  Boarding-Schools.         67 


certain  natures,  and  has  often  been 
well  met  by  sending  a  boy  into  a 
boarding-house  about  the  age  of  six- 
teen. Of  course,  too,  it  cannot  be 
repeated  too  often  that  a  home  which 
is  not  a  home  of  character  is  no  home 
at  all.  In  many  homes  the  petty 
gossip  of  school-life  is  allowed  to 
dominate  the  conversation ;  the  sisters 
think  it  necessary  to  learn  the  football- 
shop  ;  the  mother  knows  the  masters 
by  their  nicknames ;  the  boy  gains  no 
freshness  in  such  an  atmosphere.  But 
it  is  only  homes  where  this  is  not  the 
case  that  fulfil  their  proper  function 
of  offering  wider  interests  and  greater 
enthusiasms  than  a  boarding-house. 
And  where  a  boarding-house  is  ob- 
viously overshadowed  by  the  influence 
of  a  really  great  man,  as  occasionally 
happens,  no  one  could  doubt  that  a 
few  years'  residence  in  such  a  society 
would  improve  the  temper,  widen  the 
interests,  and  open  the  eyes  of  any 
older  boy.  Once  a  boy  has  a  character 
of  his  own,  and  has  acquired  reading 
or  thinking  habits,  the  more  he  sees 
of  other  people's  lives,  and  other 
people's  ways  of  thought,  the  less 
trouble  he  will  have  in  realising 
history,  in  throwing  himself  into  fresh 
points  of  view,  and  in  a  word  in 
jostling  with  the  world  at  large.  But 
many  of  our  ablest  public  school  men 
have  picked  this  quality  up  by  going 
to  a  boarding-house  at  the  age  of 
sixteen. 

In  conclusion,  if  it  is  necessary  to 
remind  good  homes  and  the  ever 
increasing  body  of  well-educated 
mothers  of  the  power  they  possess, 
and  the  duties  they  cannot  delegate  ; 
on  the  other  hand,  it  must  never  be 
forgotten  that  there  are  some  good 
qualities  that  a  period  spent  at  a  board- 
ing-house invariably  secures.  Very 


able  authorities  are  of  opinion  that  the 
stillness  and  quietude  necessary  for 
natural  development  of  a  boy  of  talent 
are  lost  nowadays  in  boarding-schools, 
not  so  much  owing  to  the  storm  and 
tempest  of  the  little  world  in  which 
boys  live  there,  as  to  the  injudicious 
eagerness  of  schoolmasters  who  will 
not  leave  boys  alone,  but  like  to  use 
up  all .  their  willingness  to  learn  by 
teaching  them  in  their  own  fashion, 
and  smoothing  their  way  over  difficul- 
ties. The  reply  that  such  constant 
interference  is  inevitable,  as  the  one 
safeguard  against  immorality  is  to 
fill  up  time  either  with  work  or  play, 
they  regard  as  exaggerated.  No  school- 
master can  wish  to  assert  that  it  is 
not ;  the  present  writer  believes  that 
with  proper  structural  arrangements, 
some  selection  of  preparatory  schools 
from  which  boys  are  received,  and 
absolute  determination  to  get  rid  of 
any  tainted  boy  at  once,  good  boys 
can  be  entirely  screened  from  hearing 
of  evil ;  but  there  remains  the  ques- 
tion what  to  do  with  the  doubtful 
ones.  They  need  to  be  interested  ; 
is  the  home  or  the  "house"  the  best 
place  for  them '{  The  answer  to  that 
question  must  depend  on  the  character 
of  both. 

On  one  point  it  must  be  confessed 
the  boarding-house  far  surpasses  any 
home.  It  checks  eccentricity ;  it  un- 
masks that  sham  genius  that  a  fond 
home  mistakes  for  real ;  it  teaches  a 
boy  to  know  himself ;  it  removes 
affectation. 

It  is  for  these  reasons  that  it  is  de- 
sirable that  our  public  schools  should 
have  the  admixture  of  both  systems, 
so  long  as  the  masters  will  take  the 
trouble  to  see  that  day-boys  have  a 
certainty  of  finding  themselves  recog- 
nised as  equals  in  the  community. 


F  2 


68 


AT  THE  STATION  ON  AN  AUTUMN  MORNING. 
From  the  Italian  of  Giosue  Garducci. 

[THE  first  edition  of  the  Odi  JBarbare,  from  which  the  following  poem  is  taken, 
appeared  in  1877  :  "No  book,"  says  Doctor  Ugo  Brilli,  "  has  given  rise  to  a 
controversy  more  ardent,  more  varied,  more  wide-spread,  more  serious,  more 
learned,  more  fruitful  of  good  results  than  the  Odi  JBarbare  of  Giosue  Carducci." 
Into  this  controversy  I  do  not  propose  to  enter  here,  beyond  noting  that  one 
German  critic  calls  Carducci  "  the  Italian  Heine,"  and  gives  good  reasons  for 
the  name.  The  strange  mixture  of  romantic  sentiment  and  startling  realism  is 
what  will  strike  an  English  reader  most,  and  it  certainly  renders  the  poems  as 
unlike  the  rest  of  modern  Italian  poetry  as  they  well  can  be.  As  to  the  metre, 
the  example  given  will  show  that  the  poems  attempt  to  revive  in  modern 
Italian  the  classical  measures  of  antiquity.  Carducci  himself  looked  upon  them 
as  little  more  than  experiments,  and  says,  "  I  have  called  these  Odes  'JBarbare ' 
because  such  would  they  sound  to  the  ears  and  minds  of  the  old  Greeks  and 
Romans."  Later  on  in  his  interesting  and  beautifully  written  preface  he  adds  : 
"  I  have  thought  that  if  to  Catullus  and  Horace  it  was  lawful  to  introduce  the 
metres  of  the  ,^Eolian  Muse  into  the  Roman  tongue ;  if  Dante  was  able  to 
enrich  Tuscan  poetry  with  the  care  rime  of  Provence  ;  if  Chiabrera  and  Rinuc- 
cini  might  add  to  its  wealth  the  verse-forms  of  France,  I  ought  in  reason  to  be 
able  to  hope  that  for  what  constituted  the  praise  of  the  great  poets  and  verse- 
makers  I  have  mentioned,  I  should  at  least  be  granted  a  pardon.  I  ask  pardon 
also  for  having  believed  that  the  classical  revival  of  lyric  measures  was  not 
condemned  and  finally  brought  to  an  end,  with  the  more  unpoetical  experiments 
of  Claudio  Tolomei  and  his  school,  and  the  slender  attempts  of  Chiabrera.  I 
crave  pardon  for  not  having  despaired  of  our  noble  Italian  tongue,  believing  it 
well  fitted  to  do  for  itself  what  the  German  poets  from  Klopstock  onwards  have 
been  doing  with  happy  enough  results  for  theirs  ;  and  I  beg  to  be  forgiven  for 
having  dared  to  introduce  into  our  modern  lyric  measures  some  little  variety  of 
form,  in  which  respect  they  are  not  by  any  means  so  well  off  as  some  of  us  seem 
to  imagine."] 

LAMP  after  lamp  how  the  lights  go  trooping, 
Stretching  behind  the  trees,  dreamily  yonder : 
Through  the  branches  adrip  with  the  shower 
The  light  slants  and  gleams  on  the  puddles. 

Plaintively,  shrilly,  piercingly  whistles 

The  engine  hard  by.     Cold  and  grey  are  the  heavens 

Up  above,  and  the  Autumn  morning 

Ghostlike  glimmers  around  me. 


Oh  quei  fanali  come  s'inseguono 
accidiosi  la  dietro  gli  alberi, 
fra  i  rami  stillanti  di  pioggia 
sbadigliando  la  luce  su  '1  fango  ! 

Flebile,  acuta,  stridula  fischia 
la  vaporiera  da  presso.     Plumbeo 
il  cielo  e  il  mattino  d'  auttmno 
come  un  grande  fantasma  11'  e  intorno. 


At  the  Station  on  an  Autumn  Morning.  69 

Whither  and  whence  move  the  people  hurrying 
Into  dark  carriages,  muffled  and  silent  ? 
To  what  sorrows  unknown  are  they  rushing — 
Long  tortures  of  hopes  that  will  tarry? 

You  too,  oh  fair  one,  are  dreamily  holding 
Your  ticket  now  for  the  guard's  sharp  clipping — 
Ah,  so  clips  Time,  ever  relentless, 
Joys,  memories,  and  years  that  are  golden. 

Far-stretching  the  dark  train  stands,  and  the  workmen 
Black-capped,  up  and  down  keep  moving  like  shadows; 
In  his  hand  bears  each  one  a  lantern, 
And  each  one  a  hammer  of  iron. 

And  the  iron  they  strike  sends  a  hollow  resounding 
Mournful ;  and  out  of  the  heart  and  echo 
Mournfully  answers — a  sudden 
Dull  pang  of  regret  that  is  weary. 

Now  the  hurrying  slam  of  the  doors  grows  insulting 
And  loud,  and  scornful  the  rapidly-sounding 
Summons  to  start  and  delay  not : — 
The  rain  dashes  hard  on  the  windows. 

Puffing,  shuddering,  panting,  the  monster 
Now  feels  life  stir  in  its  limbs  of  iron, 
And  opens  its  eyes,  and  startles 
The  dim  far  space  with  a  challenge. 

Then  on  moves  the  evil  thing,  horribly  trailing 
Its  length,  and,  beating  its  wings,  bears  from  me 


Dove  e  a  che  move  questa  che  affrettasi 
a  i  carri  oscuri  ravvolta  e  tacita 
gente  ?   a  che  ignoti  dolori 
o  tormente  di  speme  lontana  ? 

Tu  pur  pensosa,  Lidia,  la  tessera 
al  secco  taglio  dai  de  la  guardia, 
e  al  tempo  incalzante  i  belli  anni 
dai,  gl'  istanti  gioiti  e  i  ricordi. 

Van  lungo  il  nero  convoglio  e  vengono 
incappucciati  di  nero  i  vigili, 
com'  ombre  ;  una  fioca  lanterna 
harnio,  e  mazze  di  ferro  :  ed  i  ferrei 

freni  tentati  rendono  un  lugubre 
rintocco  lungo  :  di  fondo  a  1'  anima 
un'  eco  di  tedio  risponde 
doloroso,  che  spasimo  pare. 

E  gli  sportelli  sbattuti  al  chiudere 
paiono  oltraggi :  scherno  par  1'  ultimo 
appello  che  rapido  suona : 
grossa  scroscia  su'  vetri  la  pioggia. 

Gia  il  mostro  conscio  di  sua  metallica 
anima  sbuffa,  crolla,  ansa,  i  fiammei 
occhi  sbarra  ;  immane  pe'l  buio 
gitta  il  nschio  che  spida  lo  spazio. 

Va  1'  empio  mostro  :  con  traino  orribile 
sbattendo  1'  ale  gli  amor  miei  portasi. 


70  At  the  Station  on  an  Autumn  Morning. 

My  love — and  her  face  and  her  farewell 
Are  lost  to  me  now  in  the  darkness. 

O  sweet  face  flushed  with  the  palest  of  roses ! 

0  starlike  eyes  so  peaceful !  O  forehead 
Pure -shining  and  gentle,  with  tresses 
Curling  so  softly  around  it ! 

The  air  with  a  passionate  life  was  a  tremble, 
And  summer  was  glad  when  she  smiled  to  greet  me ; 
The  young  sun  of  June  bent  earthward 
And  kissed  her  soft  cheek  in  his  rapture. 

Full  'neath  the  nut-brown  hair  he  kissed  her — 
But  though  his  beauty  and  splendour  might  circle 
Her  gentle  presence — far  brighter 
The  glory  my  thoughts  set  around  her. 

There  in  the  rain,  in  the  dreary  darkness 

1  turn  me,  and  with  them  would  mingle  my  being ; 
I  stagger ;  then  touch  myself  grimly — • 

Not  yet  as  a  ghost  am  I  moving. 

0  what  a  falling  of  leaves,  never-ending, 
Icy,  and  silent,  and  sad,  on  my  spirit ! 

1  feel  that  forever  around  me 

The  earth  has  grown  all  one  November. 

Better  to  be  without  sense  of  existence — 
Better  this  gloom,  and  this  shadow  of  darkness. 
Would  I,  ah,  would  I  were  sleeping 
A  dull  sleep  that  lasted  forever. 

Ahi,  la  bianca  faccia  e'l  bel  velo 
salutando  scompar  ne  la  tenebra. 

0  viso  dolce  di  pallor  roseo, 

o  stellanti  occhi  di  pace,  o  Candida 

tra'  floridi  ricci  inchinata 

pura  fronte  con  atto  soave  ! 

Fremea  la  vita  nel  tepid'  aere, 
fremea  1'  estate  quando  mi  arrisero  ; 
e  il  giovine  sole  di  giugno 
si  piacea  di  baciar  luminoso. 

In  tra  i  riflessi  del  crin  castanei 
la  molle  guancia :   come  un'  aureola 
piu  belli  del  sole  i  miei  sogni 
ricingean  la  persona  gentile. 

Solto  la  pioggia,  fra  la  caligine 

torno  ora,  e  ad  esse  vorrei  confondermi ; 

barcollo  'com'  ebro,  e  mi  tocco, 

non  anch'  io  fossi  dunque  un  fantasma. 

Oh  qual  caduta  di  foglie,  gelida, 
continua,   muta,  greve,  su  1'  anima  ! 
Io  credo  che  solo,  che  sterno, 
che  per  tutto  nel  mondo  e  uovembre. 

Meglio  a  chi  '1  senso  smarri  de  1"  essere, 
meglio  quest'  ombra,  questa  caligine  ; 
io  voglio  io  voglio  adagiarmi 
in  un  tedio  che  duri  infinite. 

H.    COURTHOPE   BOWEN. 


71 


REVIEW  OF    THE    MONTH. 


IT  is  possible,  though  we  are  still  un- 
willing to  think  it  probable, that  before 
these  pages  are  published,  the  country 
may  find  itself  committed  either  ac- 
tually to  a  great  war,  or  to  a  position 
of  suspended  relations  not  far  removed 
from  war.  For  the  last  three  weeks 
the  public  mind  has  undergone  endless 
fluctuations  between  hope  and  appre- 
hension. To-day  the  mercury  stands 
at  its  lowest  in  the  glass.  Ministers 
have  demanded  a  vote  of  credit  for  six 
and  a  half  millions  for  special  prepara- 
tions. The  demand  was  made  with 
phrases  of  ominous  gravity.  The 
Russian  government  is  believed  to  be 
holding  its  ground  stiffly.  To  attempt 
now  to  forecast  the  outcome  is  not 
much  better  than  waste  of  time.  The 
result  depends  upon  men  at  St.  Peters- 
burg, in  the  Caucasus,  at  Pul-i-Khisti, 
at  Cabul,  but  above  all  at  St.  Peters- 
burg. The  best-informed  people  in 
England  have  very  little  trustworthy 
knowledge  of  the  play  of  parties 
round  the  Czar.  In  lack  of  that,  it 
is  impossible  to  calculate  the  future 
with  any  reasonable  confidence. 

Anything  comes  easier  to  men  than 
suspension  of  judgment ;  and  the  graver 
the  issue,  the  greater  the  readiness  to 
hurry  to  a  decision.  The  necessary 
uncertainty  as  to  most  of  the  facts  of 
the  Russo-Afghan  crisis  is  partly 
answerable  for  the  excitement  of  the 
last  month.  The  ferment  of  opinion 
is  constantly  found  in  the  inverse 
proportion  to  knowledge.  Doubt  as 
to  the  rights  and  wrong  of  the  affair 
of  the  Khushk  River  increases  public 
irritation;  perhaps,  if  we  knew  the 
worst,  we  should  take  a  calmer  view 
of  it  than  is  possible  while  the  mate- 
rial for  judgment  is  so  disputable  and 
obscure.  Fixed  prepossessions  rush  in 
to  fill  the  vacuum,  and  standing  anti- 
pathies do  duty  for  deliberate  judg- 


ment.     All   that   is   part   of  human 
nature  ;  it  is  idle  to  moralise  over  it. 

Since  we  last  wrote,  this  dangerous 
incident   on  the   Khushk  has    taken 
place,    and    it   will    undoubtedly    be 
taken   materially    to   alter   the  case, 
and  to  alter  it  seriously  for  the  worse. 
Until     Kornaroff's    attack    upon   the 
Afghans,  the  difference   between  the 
two  Governments  turned  upon  ques- 
tions of  delimitation,  debateable  zones, 
and  disputable  frontiers.     From  such 
issues    as    these    it   was   hardly  pos- 
sible that    war   should   arise,    unless 
either   of    the  two  countries  was  de- 
liberately bent   upon    war.     Negotia- 
tion in    Europe    would   have   settled 
the    zone    of    survey,    commissioners 
would  have   pursued  their  investiga- 
tions within  it,  and  if  agreement  had 
been  impossible,  the   matter  was  one 
eminently  fitted  for  prompt  decision 
by  a  neutral  umpire.     But  the  conflict 
at  Pul-i-khisti  raises  a  more  delicate 
issue.  And  that  is  not  all.   That  such  a 
conflict  should  have  occurred,  in  itself 
goes  no  small  way  towards  showing 
that   one  of  the  two  parties   to    the 
dispute  has   resolved  either  to    have 
his  own  way,  or  else  to  make  a  quarrel 
of  it.     We  have  now  the  two  versions 
of  the  story — not  indeed  in  the  most 
explicit   shape   imaginable,   but  suffi- 
ciently   so   to   enable   us  to  shape   a 
decently  satisfactory    judgment — and 
it  seems  hard  for  any  impartial  per- 
son   to    avoid    the     conclusion    that 
General  Komaroff,  presumably  acting 
under   orders   from    Donkakof-Korsa- 
kof  or  some  other  official  superior,  did 
enter   upon   a   provocative   course   of 
proceedings,      whatever     that      may 
ultimately   amount   to    on   a   general 
survey  of  the  whole  situation.     Even 
if  we  confine  ourselves  to  the  special 
pleas  adduced  by  the  Russians,  their 
case  is  less  than  dubious  and  equivo- 


72 


Eemew  of  the  Month. 


cal.  They  are  suspiciously  vague. 
General  Lumsden's  story  is  precise. 
The  Afghans  had  held  a  position  on 
the  left  or  west  bank  of  the  Khushk 
before  March  17th.  The  Russian  out- 
posts had  never  been  nearer  than  a 
mile  to  Pul-i-Khisti ;  Komaroff,  for 
no  reasons  that  have  yet  been  made 
public,  pushed  forward  3,000  of  his 
men  face  to  face  with  the  Afghans. 
This  is  an  unexplained  circumstance, 
and  it  is  the  key  to  the  rest.  As  a 
consequence  of  that,  the  Afghans 
proceeded  to  strengthen  their  outposts, 
under  "  the  military  necessity  of  ex- 
tending their  defensive  position."  On 
March  27th  the  Russians,  still  ignor- 
ant of  the  truce,  of  which  they  are 
alleged  not  to  have  heard  until  the 
next  day,  made  a  reconnaissance, 
which  could  evidently  have  no 
friendly  object,  whatever  the  excuse 
for  it  may  have  been.  What  is  the 
explanation  again  of  this  reconnais- 
sance? Alikhanoff  said  it  was  a 
pleasure  -  trip  ;  but  a  pleasure  -  trip 
which  took  him  with  a  force  four  miles 
south  of  the  extreme  point  where  he 
had  any  right  to  be,  was  a  provocation 
and  a  source  of  just  alarm  to  the 
Afghans.  It  is  surely  no  wonder  that 
a  proceeding  of  such  a  kind  on  the 
part  of  such  a  man  as  Alikhanoff  pro- 
duced a  commotion.  The  next  day 
the  Afghans  occupied  a  height  com- 
manding one  of  the  flanks  of  the 
Russian  camp,  to  give  notice  of 
further  movements,  but  their  post 
was  withdrawn  again  on  the  day 
following  (29th).  Meanwhile,  the 
Afghans  from  the  time  of  the  advance 
of  the  Russians  in  force  to  Ak  Tapa, 
had,  in  the  words  of  Lumsden  as  quoted 
by  the  Prime  Minister,  "  thrown  out 
vedettes  to  their  front  and  extended 
their  pickets  to  Pul-i-Khisti,  on  the 
left  bank  of  the  Khushk,  and  gradu- 
ally strengthened  it  until  on  the  30th, 
the  bulk  of  their  force  had  been  trans- 
ferred across  the  river.  In  his  opinion, 
that  does  not  properly  constitute  an 
advance,  but  was  the  occupation  of  a 
more  advantageous  position."  This, 
of  course,  is  the  crux  of  the  Afghan 


case.  Was  their  transfer  of  the  bulk 
of  their  force  across  the  river  an 
offensive  or  a  defensive  measure, 
justified  by  Komaroff's  advance,  Ali 
khanoff's  pleasure-trip,  and  the  rest  ? 
We  do  not  see  how  there  can  be  two 
opinions  about  that,  among  English- 
men who  retain  their  capacity  for 
reasonable  judgment. 

Now  came  the  catastrophe.  "  On  the 
30th,"  says  Komaroff,  "  to  support  my 
demands,  I  marched  with  my  detach- 
ment against  the  Afghan  position, 
counting  still  on  pacific  result,  but 
artillery  fire  and  cavalry  attack  com- 
pelled me  to  accept  combat."  In  plain 
English,  the  Russians  advanced  to 
attack  the  Afghan  position,  and  the 
Afghans  were  obliged  to  defend  them- 
selves. In  what  possible  sense  a 
general  marching  out  with  force 
against  a  position  could  count  on  a 
pacific  result,  it  is  hard  to  guess. 
Such  a  sentence  inevitably  rouses 
suspicion.  At  the  best,  it  is  highly 
unsatisfactory  to  find  a  commander, 
instead  of  definite  military  statements, 
falling  back  upon  general  words  like 
audacity  and  arrogance.  But  let  that 
pass.  Let  pass  Komaroff's  account  of 
the  successive  steps  between  his  ad- 
vance in  force  and  the  final  rout  of 
the  Afghans.  Why  did  he  advance 
in  force  at  all  1  If  the  Russians  had 
been  sincere  in  their  desire  for  a 
settlement  with  us,  it  could  never  have 
been  sanctioned.  There  seems  to  be  no 
reason  whatever  for  discrediting  the 
allegation  of  a  correspondent  with 
Sir  Peter  Lumsden.  "  The  long  and 
short  of  the  matter  is  that  the 
Russians  believed  that  it  was  indis- 
pensable to  deal  a  telling  blow  at  the 
Afghans,  if  the  Muscovite  prestige, 
waning  of  late  in  the  Turcoman 
country,  was  to  be  effectually  restored, 
and  as  there  was  no  justification  for 
breaking  the  truce,  a  pretext  had  to 
be  invented.  The  attitude  of  our 
allies  was,  in  fact,  studiously  mode- 
rate. There  is  absolutely  no  colour 
for  the  pretence  that  their  movements 
were  irritating,  much  less  aggres- 
sive." 


Review  of  the  Month. 


73 


What  is  serious  in  this,  if,  as  we  ex- 
pect, it  be  the  true  interpretation  of 
what  has  happened,  is  the  temper  and 
the  policy  that  it  indicates.  It  means 
that  the  Russian  war  party  has  got 
the  bit  between  its  teeth,  and  is  indif- 
ferent either  to  comity  or  concord.  We 
may  minimise  the  incident  as  much 
as  we  please,  but  it  is  childish  to 
minimise  the  practical  moral  of  it. 

So  far  all  seems  to  be  only  too  clear. 
But  it  is  at  this  point — even  if  it  be 
carried  from  a  presumption  to  a  de- 
monstration that  the  Russian  officers 
acting  under  orders  were  guilty  of  an 
"  unprovoked  aggression  " — that  an 
embarrassing  suspicion  comes  into 
men's  minds.  On  the  special  issue, 
England  is  in  the  right.  If  we  were 
thirsting  for  a  fight  with  Russia ;  if 
we  were  prepared  at  all  arms  and  with 
one  or  more  effective  allies ;  if  we  saw 
clearly  how  we  were  going  to  get  at 
Russia,  and  to  prevent  her  from  ever 
doing  us  any  more  mischief ;  'and  if  we 
thoroughly  understood  how  a  defeat  of 
Russia's  present  designs  would  secure 
our  Indian  frontier  for  a  long  period — 
then  the  attack  on  the  Afghans  and 
their  rout  would,  as  the  world  goes, 
be  a  very  tenable  plea  for  demanding 
impossible  reparations  and  despatching 
desperate  ultimatums.  We  venture 
to  think  that  some  of  the  advocates  of 
peace  conduct  their  case  very  badly  in 
blinking  all  the  facts  and  probabilities 
that  make  for  what  we  may  call  the 
English  view  of  the  case.  There  is  no 
virtue  in  being  unfair,  even  to  one's 
own  countrymen.  On  the  special  issue, 
we  repeat,  it  seems  to  us  that  in  com- 
plaining of  Komaroff 's  action,  England 
has  right  on  her  side.  But  can  it  be 
possible  that  she  is  in  the  right,  after 
placing  herself  in  an  essentially  false 
position?  That  is  the  troublesome 
misgiving.  The  Russians  may  be  as 
unscrupulous  as  possible  ;  but  are  we 
putting  ourselves  at  the  strongest 
point  for  resisting  them]  Do  we 
start  from  a  coign  of  vantage?  The 
position  may  be  a  false  one  in  various 
respects.  Perhaps  it  was  a  mistake 
to  accompany  the  Boundary  Commis- 


sioner with  what  captious  people  might 
consider  an  excessive  military  escort. 
Was  it  prudent — if  you  intended  not 
to  pass  beyond  a  policy  of  reasonable 
conciliation — to  have  all  that  blowing 
of  trumpets  at  Rawul  Pindi  ?  Again,  if 
we  look  at  it  more  largely,  our  Afghan 
policy  may  be  a  mistaken  policy  on 
the  merits.  If  not,  if  we  are  to  fight 
Russia  for  the  line  of  the  Afghan 
frontier,  we  may  not  have  made 
either  the  military  or  the  diplomatic 
preparations  that  would  on  that 
alternative  have  been  prudent  or  in- 
dispensable. In  either  of  these  cases 
we  are  in  a  false  position,  and  in 
spite  of  our  being  right  about  the  raid 
of  the  Khushk  river,  we  have  given  the 
advantage  to  our  adversary. 

The  difficulties  of  the  case  are  well 
known,  and  they  are  hard  to  match. 
We  have  pledged  ourselves  to  defend 
the  territory  of  the  Ameer;  yet  the 
Ameer  has  warned  us  that  the  people 
who  live  in  it  suspect  and  hate  us  ;  that 
if  we  enter  it,  we  shall  probably  have  a 
rising  of  our  trusty  allies  against  us  ; 
and  that  if  we  attempt  to  get  a  force 
into  Herat,  perhaps  even  if  we  only 
send  a  few  British  officers,  the  Heratis 
will  declare  against  both  us  and  the 
Ameer  himself.  We  have,  again,  more 
or  less  definitely  committed  ourselves 
to  the  inclusion  of  this  spot  and  that 
within  the  Afghan  frontier.  Then  the 
Ameer  suddenly  warns  us  that  he 
cannot  hold  them,  nor  be  responsible 
for  them,  and  that  he  does  not  want 
them,  and  we  are  left  planted.  But, 
if  it  be  shown — so  some  will  argue — 
that  the  right  line  on  which  to  resist 
Russian  projects  for  the  invasion 
of  India  be  the  line  of  Herat  and 
the  Oxus,  it  would  then  be  our 
business  to  make  short  work  of  our 
trusty  allies,  by  reducing  Afghan- 
istan to  the  pacific  condition  of  the 
Punjaub.  Perhaps ;  but  as  we  have 
found  out  twice  before  now,  this  would 
be  much  more  easily  said  than  done, 
and  would  cost  an  enormous  sum  of 
money,  which  the  Indian  finances  are 
singularly  unprepared  to  support.  Sup- 
posing this  difficulty  to  be  met,  another 


74 


Review  of  the  Month. 


question  has  been  put  by  a  writer  who 
knows  what  he  is  talking  about. 

"What,"  asks  Mr.  Archibald  Forbes,  "con- 
stitutes the  strategical  reasoning  or  the  neces- 
sity for  the  conversion  of  Afghanistan  into  a 
British  province  ?  The  present  frontier  line 
is  penetrable  but  at  four  points  by  an  enemy 
in  any  strength,  and  demands  to  be  watched 
at  only  those  four  points.  The  frontier  of 
Afghanistan  looking  towards  Turkestan  is 
much  more  open  to  an  enemy  ;  we  should 
have  to  picket  it  all  along  the  line  from  the 
march  with  Persia  to  the  Hindoo  Koosh,  even 
on  the  assumption  that  Russia  would  respect 
Persian  soil.  And  to  hold  this  line,  and  main- 
tain reserves  in  its  rear,  would  lengthen  to  a 
portentous  extent  our  line  of  communications 
from  our  base  in  India.  That  base  could  not 
be  shifted  forward  into  Afghanistan,  because 
Afghanistan  is  a  country  unfruitful  in  supplies 
for  the  maintenance  of  armies.  We  might 
mitigate  this  condition,  it  is  true,  by  strategi- 
cal railways,  but  at  what  a  cost,  and  what  a 
barren  and  even  wanton  cost  when  the  alter- 
native is  regarded  !  We  are  a  strange  people. 
We  are  ever  forward  ;  and  the  paradox  is  that 
we  are  forward  because  of  funk.  We  have 
been  guilty  of  a  similar  daring  panic  in  regard 
to  the  Soudan,  and  have  struggled  up  through 
the  Nubian  desert  to  get  at  our  foe,  instead  of 
affably  placing  the  luxury  of  that  experience 
at  that  foe's  disposal." 

So  strong  and  plain  are  considera- 
tions of  this  kind,  that  we  find  at  the 
back  of  the  minds  of  nearly  every- 
body of  the;  warlike  school,  whether 
in  England  or  Anglo-India,  a  very  curi- 
ous impression.  They  all  really  assume 
as  the  essential  condition  of  the  dura- 
tion of  Afghanistan  as  a  buffer-state, 
not  only  that  we  shall  have  had  a  war 
with  Russia,  but  that  at  the  end  of  it, 
the  war  shall  leave  Russia  driven  back 
to  the  Caspian,  broken,  destroyed,  and 
perhaps  partitioned.  In  other  words, 
the  advocates  of  the  buff er-state  prac- 
tically give  up  their  case  by  postulating 
as  a  condition  precedent  that  the 
Power  against  which  it  was  to  have 
been  a  buffer  shall  have*  in  effect 
disappeared.  If  any  man  believes 
this,  that  England,  not  at  the  head  of 
a  European  coalition,  but  alone,  with- 
out Austria  or  France  or  even  Turkey, 
is  going  to  "  smash  Russia  up  " — to 
use  the  language  of  eight  years  ago — 
he  is  in  a  state  of  mind  in  which  fact 
and  reason  have  no  bearings. 

This,  however,  is  not  the  time  for 


discussing    things   at     large.       If    it 
should  be  the  case  that  we  have  taken 
up  what  is  substantially  a  false  posi- 
tion, how  are  we  to  get  -out   of   it? 
That  question  is  not  easy  to  answer. 
But  it  is  safe  to  say  that  war,  waged 
under  such  conditions  as  seem  to  be 
imposed   upon   us   by   our   European 
relations  and  our  other  engagements 
in  various  parts  of  the  world,  seems 
the   least    promising   of   all   possible 
modes  of  extrication.      That  it  would 
be  popular  at  first,  there  is  little  doubt* 
The  Russian  government  is  profoundly 
disliked  and  distrusted  in  this  country, 
as   it   ought   to   be.      That   was   the 
sentiment  that  suddenly  turned  public 
feeling  round  from  Mr.  Gladstone  in 
the   autumn  and    winter   of    1876  to 
Lord  Beaconsfield  by  the  summer  of 
1877.     There   is  a  strong  impression 
that  Russia  has  long  played  fast  and 
loose  with  her  engagements  in  respect 
to    Central    Asia.      This    may   be  a 
prejudice,    but    it    exists.      The    old 
brutalities      of     Russia     in      Poland 
and  her  malign   intervention  against 
Hungary  are  not  forgotten  :  people  are 
not   even  willing   to    set   off   against 
them     the     benevolent     intervention 
against  Turkish  misrule  in  the  Balkan 
Peninsula.       But     the     favour    with 
which  war  would  be  at  first  regarded 
could  only  endure  if  the  case  were  a 
thoroughly   good    case  all   round,  re- 
gard being  had  to  the  great  contin- 
gencies of  the  future,  no  less  than  to 
the  narrow  emergencies  of  the  present. 
We   have  still  to  hear  what  such  a 
case  would  be. 

Undoubtedly  one  of  the  most  for- 
midable embarrassments  of  the  central 
government  arises  from  the  pressure 
that  is  brought  to  bear  upon  it  from 
the  extremities  and  the  frontier.  Each 
province  feels,  judges,  and  acts  as  if 
the  imperial  authority  had  no  other 
concern  and  no  rival  demand  on  its 
resources.  Australia  insists  that  we 
shall  annex  New  Guinea  for  her,  and 
New  Zealand  is  as  keen  for  Samoa. 
From  Hong  Kong  we  are  told  (April 
llth)  that  "  Lord  Northbrook's  state- 
ment as  to  the  defences  of  Singapore 


Review  of  the  Month. 


75 


and  the  general  disinclination  of  the 
Government  to  expend  money  on  the 
navy  and  on  our  colonial  defences 
have  created  an  angry  feeling."  In 
India  the  military  and  official  classes 
are  wild  with  bellicose  excitement,  and 
their  deliverances  are  quoted  by  the 
Excitables  here,  as  if  the  opinion  of 
Simla  and  Calcutta  must  be  decisive. 
"  For  a  month  past/'  we  are  solemnly 
told,  "  it  has  been  commonly  believed 
here  (Calcutta)  that  the  Russian  object 
is  solely  to  gain  time  to  push  up  troops 
and  supplies ;  and  the  Ministry  is 
often  blamed  for  not  having  sent,  in 
the  beginning  of  March,  an  ultimatum, 
giving  Russia  a  fixed  time  to  choose 
peace  or  war."  As  if  people  at  Cal- 
cutta had  one  bit  better  means  of 
judging  these  grave  matters  than  are 
possessed  by  decently-informed  people 
in  London.  And  as  if  they  had  not 
shown  exactly  the  same  temper  and 
the  same  confidence  when  they  de- 
clared enthusiastically  in  favour  of 
the  policy  of  the  Afghan  invasion  of 
1879 — a  policy  for  which  nobody  now 
finds  a  word  to  say,  and  which  at  any 
rate  was  essentially  different  from  the 
policy  that  finds  favour  to-day. 

Out  of  all  this  evil  one  piece  of 
good  at  least  has  come.  The  wretched 
series  of  mistakes  that  began  with  the 
despatch  of  General  Gordon  to  Khar- 
toum, and  reached  a  climax  in  the 
resolution  in  February  last  to  de- 
stroy the  power  of  the  Mahdi  at 
that  place,  is  to  be  brought  to 
an  end.  We  are  to  hear  no  more 
of  offensive  operations  in  the  Soudan, 
or  of  military  preparations  with  a 
view  to  an  early  advance  upon  Khar- 
toum. The  whole  of  that  uncommonly 
bad  debt  is  to  be  written  off  as  soon 
as  ever  circumstances  will  permit.  The 
whole  of  the  objects  which  the  Govern- 
ment announced  on  February  19th 
have  vanished  into  limbo.  The  rescue 
of  the  persons  to  whom  Gordon  felt 
himself  honourably  bound — the  possi- 
bility of  establishing  some  orderly 
government  in  Khartoum — the  im- 
possibility of  excluding  the  slave 


trade  from  our  view — the  question 
of  aid  to  the  Egyptian  garrisons  in 
the  Soudan — are  all  clean  gone,  as 
they  may  well  go.  And  the  most 
wonderful  thing  is  that  the  very  jour- 
nals that  were  most  violent  against 
' '  scuttling,"now  assert  with  an  adorable 
calm,  which  some  have  mistaken  for 
consummate  impudence,  that  they 
never  were  in  favour  of  anything  but 
scuttle,  and  that  it  is  cruel  calumny 
to  say  otherwise.  Yet  it  was  precisely 
these  journals  which  fabricated  the 
"public  opinion"  that,  according  to 
Lord  Rosebery,  made  it  impossible  for 
the  Government  to  adopt  any  policy 
save  that  which  has  to-day  been 
mercilessly  flung  overboard  amid 
loud  and  almost  universal  acclama- 
tions. Oh,  vain  minds  of  men !  0 
pectora  caeca !  Let  us  pass  on  with 
what  composure  we  may  to  other 
matters. 

The  royal  visit  to  Ireland,  and  the 
more  important  circumstance  that  the 
question  of  renewing  the  Crimes'  Act 
will  have  to  be  dealt  with  shortly  after 
Whitsuntide,  are  once  more  bringing 
Ireland  back  to  its  familiar  place  in 
the  foreground  of  politics.  On  the  royal 
visit,  the  only  remark  to  be  made  is 
that  up  to  this  moment  it  has  been 
singularly  devoid  of  incidents  of  real 
significance.  Even  in  those  quarters  of 
Dublin  which  are  most  hostile  to  the 
English  connection,  the  Prince  was 
received  with  respect  if  not  with  accla- 
mation. In  Cork,  his  progress  was  short 
and  rapid,  but  there  were  symptoms 
that  if  it  had  been  much  longer  the 
demonstration  would  not  have  been 
more  agreeable.  At  Mallow,  Mr. 
O'Brien,  who  represents  a  perfectly 
honest  though  passionate  hatred  of 
English  misrule  in  Ireland,  and  who  had 
been  provoked  by  a  foolish  challenge 
in  the  Times,  attempted  to  organize  a 
Nationalist  demonstration  as  the 
Royal  party  passed  through  the  sta- 
tion. The  police  interfered,  the  Nation- 
alists were  driven  out  of  the  station, 
and  another  grievance  was  added  to 
the  list.  The  Prince  of  Wales  is  known 


76 


Beview  of  the  Month. 


to  be  as  manly  as  any  other  of  the 
Queen's  subjects,  and  perhaps  it  would 
have  done  no  harm  if  a  band  or  two 
had  been  allowed  to  play  God  Save 
Ireland  in  his  hearing.  It  would  at 
least  have  given  more  reality  and  an 
air  of  business  to  the  whole  affair. 

To  make  any  fuss  about  the  success 
of  the  Prince's  visit,  or  to  raise  a  cry 
of  triumph  as  the  more  silly  of  the 
Loyalists  have  been  inclined  to  do,  is 
perfectly  futile.  Mr.  Parnell's  power 
is  the  great  thing,  and  this  power 
seems  to  stand  exactly  where  it  did. 
Until  the  time  comes  when  the  in- 
fluence of  the  Irish  leader  can  be  as- 
sociated with  executive  responsibility 
in  some  shape  or  other,  though  the 
Prince's  visit  is  extremely  honourable 
to  his  own  public  spirit,  there  is  no 
change  in  the  hard  facts  of  the 
situation. 

Oddly  enough,  as  it  appears,  the 
visit  of  the  Prince  has  for  some 
reason  or  another  brought  into  cir- 
culation again  the  idea  of  abolishing 
the  office  of  his  host,  the  Viceroy. 
Nor  is  this  circulation  limited  to 
irresponsible  gossip.  As  everybody 
knows,  Lord  John  Russell  brought  in 
a  Bill  for  that  purpose  in  1850.  As 
everybody  does  not  know,  but  as  some 
believe,  Lord  Spencer  himself  turned 
his  thoughts  in  the  same  direction 
during  his  previous  tenure  of  the  most 
thankless  of  all  public  posts.  On  the 
other  hand,  Mr.  Justin  McCarthy 
brought  in  a  Bill  two  years  ago  for 
abolishing  the  ofiice  of  Viceroy,  and 
enacting  that  the  Chief  Secretary 
should  always  be  the  representative  of 
an  Irish  constituency.  The  debate  of 
1883  was  very  brief,  but  it  was  not 
without  interesting  features.  Mr. 
Trevelyan,  after  enumerating  the  vari- 
ous duties  imposed  by  statute  and 
custom  upon  the  Lord-Lieutenant, 
wound  up  by  declaring  it  to  be  obvious 
that  no  one  but  a  man  well  acquainted 
with  Ireland,  and  constantly  resident 
there,  could  perform  such  multifarious 
functions.  Of  course  it  must  have 
occurred  to  every  one  who  listened, 
that  Lord  Cowper,  who  had  filled  a 


post  that  required  acquaintance  with 
Ireland  during  a  most  critical  period, 
was  not  acquainted  with  that  country 
at  all.  As  much  might  be  said  of 
most  of  the  Viceroys  since  the  Union. 
A  further  question  put  by  Mr.  Tre- 
velyan was — How  could  all  these  duties 
be  discharged  by  a  gentleman  in  an 
office  at  Storey's  Gate,  with  a  seat  in 
the  House  of  Commons,  or  by  an  offi- 
cial who  was  hurrying  backwards  and 
forwards  between  London  and  Dublin  ? 
But  an  Irish  official  of  great  experience 
and  with  the  most  intimate  familiarity 
with  the  working  of  the  administrative 
machine,  and  who  was,  if  we  mistake 
not,  Mr.  Trevelyan's  own  private  secre- 
tary, has  just  published  an  article, 
in  which  he  contends  that  in  many 
of  the  most  important  departments 
of  the  State,  the  Viceroy  has  no 
authority  to  interfere ;  that  these  are 
the  departments  in  which  there  is  least 
friction  and  least  agitation  against 
them ;  that,  so  far  as  the  duties  of  the 
Viceroy  are  exercised  in  conjunction 
with  the  Irish  Privy  Council,  they  are 
of  a  kind  that  might  easily  be  exercised 
partly  by  the  English  Council  and  partly 
by  the  Home  Secretary ;  that  the 
most  important  patronage  is  already 
in  the  hands  of  the  Crown,  and  that 
there  is  no  peculiarity  about  the  little 
that  is  left,  such  as  demands  the  inter- 
vention of  a  deputy  of  the  Crown  ;  that 
the  various  departments  under  the 
control  and  management  of  the  Viceroy 
— prisons,  fisheries,  lunatic  asylum,  the 
registrar-general — are  strictly  analo- 
gous to  the  same  department  in  England, 
and  need  no  special  supervision  ;  that 
the  privilege  of  pardoning  offenders 
and  mitigating  sentences,  which  has 
brought  Lord  Spencer  into  such  odium, 
might  just  as  well  be  transferred  to 
the  Home  Secretary,  as  indeed  is 
already  done  in  the  case  of  an  Irish 
convict  who  chances  to  be  deported  to 
an  English  prison.  But  then  the  duties 
connected  with  the  preservation  of 
peace  and  order?  The  Viceroy  has 
direct  control  over  the  military  forces 
known  as  the  Constabulary  and  the 
Dublin  Metropolitan  Police,  and  he  can 


Review  of  the  Month. 


77 


call  on  the  military  for  aid ;  he  directs 
the  movements  of  the  seventy  and 
more  resident  magistrates ;  he  has 
extraordinary  powers  of  quartering  and 
charging  extra  police,  of  restricting 
the  possession  of  fire-arms,  of  prohibit- 
ing meetings,  and  so  forth.  There  is 
no  reason  whatever,  says  Mr.  Jephson, 
why  these  duties  should  not  be  dis- 
charged by  a  Secretary  of  State. 
"Supposing,  for  the  sake  of  illustra- 
tion and  argument,  that  certain 
counties  in  England  were  to  become 
disturbed,  and  were  ultimately  to 
burst  out  into  rebellion,  it  would  be 
preposterous  to  imagine  that  a  Viceroy 
would  be  created  specially  to  restore 
order.  Yet  what  would  be  universally 
acknowledged  as  preposterous  in  the 
one  case,  is  in  actual  operation  in  the 
other,  and  people  do  not  recognise  the 
incongruity." 

The  Duke  of  Wellington's  objection, 
which  upset  Lord  John  Russell's  Bill 
for  abolishing  the  Viceroyalty,  was 
founded  on  the  necessity  for  co-opera- 
tion between  the  civil  and  military 
authorities  in  case  of  popular  dis- 
turbance. It  would  never  do,  argued 
the  Duke,  to  give  any  Irish  agitator 
who  might  happen  to  be  Lord  Mayor 
that  voice  in  military  arrangements 
which  is  now  safely  given  to  the 
Viceroy.  This  contingency  Mr.  Jephson 
would  provide  against  by  giving  the 
lord  mayor  or  the  mayor  only  a  voice 
among  the  other  magistrates ;  or  else 
by  entrusting  the  stipendiary  magis- 
trates of  the  district  with  the  duty  of 
conferring  with  the  military  authorities 
as  to  the  proposed  arrangements. 

It  is  not  necessary  to  argue  out  the 
case  here.  What  is  remarkable  is 
that  an  official  of  the  hated  Castle 
should  agree  with  Mr.  Parnell's  friends. 
Mr.  O'Brien,  for  instance,  told  the 
House  of  Commons  that  whatever  else 
were  the  results  of  the  abolition  of  the 
Viceroyalty,  he  believed  the  people  of 
England  and  of  Ireland  would  be  able 
to  understand  one  another  better  ;  the 
Viceroy  was  neither  sovereign  nor 
subject,  but  the  director  of  a  vast 
network  of  secret  and  irresponsible 


power  of  all  kinds.  Mr.  Gray,  how- 
ever, resisted  the  proposal  as  remov- 
ing a  certain  recognition  of  Irish 
nationality,  and  reducing  Ireland  still 
more  completely  to  the  condition  of  an 
English  province ;  what  he  desired 
was  to  see  a  Viceroy  independent  of 
party,  like  a  colonial  governor,  ap- 
pointed for  a  term  and  not  going  out 
on  a  change  of  administration. 

With  these  differences  of  view 
within  the  ranks  of  the  party  which 
must  have  an  increasing  share  in 
settling  Irish  matters,  we  need  be  in 
no  hurry  to  make  up  our  minds.  At 
first  sight,  it  would  seem  that  any 
change  which  tended  towards  the  de- 
localisation  of  the  Irish  executive  was 
retrograde,  and  counter  to  the  domi- 
nant forces  of  the  hour.  What  you 
want  is,  if  possible,  and  so  far  as  possi- 
ble, both  to  localise  and  to  nationalise 
the  executive. 

The  tiresome  operations  and  nego- 
tiations of  France  and  China  have 
come,  for  the  moment  at  any  rate,  to 
a  sudden  and  dramatic  end.  The 
French  arms  suffered  a  reverse,  and 
the  very  day  after  the  unpleasant  news 
reached  Paris,  the  Chamber,  by  an 
overwhelming  majority,  and  with 
every  circumstance  of  passion  and 
contumely,  destroyed  the  Ministry. 
In  the  elegant  phrase  of  an  Irrecon- 
cilable journalist,  three  hundred  pairs 
of  boots  kicked  M.  Ferry  out  of  doors. 
The  scene  was  profoundly  unedifying. 
The  Chamber  had  supported  the  policy 
up  to  the  last  moment.  What  hap- 
pened at  Lang-Son  was  a  mere  military 
incident  of  the  policy :  the  Minister 
was  in  no  sense  responsible  for  it ;  the 
deputies  and  the  public  were  only 
half-informed  about  it.  The  action 
must  be  pronounced  vindictive,  pre- 
cipitate, and  unmanly.  M.  Ferry  has 
not  shown  so  much  consideration  for 
this  country,  that  we  are  not  able  to 
bear  his  disgrace  with  a  reasonable 
degree  of  Christian  fortitude.  But 
from  the  point  of  view  of  equity,  his 
case  was  hard,  and  from  the  point 
of  governmental  stability  in  the 


78 


Review  of  the  Month. 


Republic,  there  is  much  to  deplore  in 
the  dismissal  of  the  only  decently 
stable  administration  that  the  Re- 
public has  yet  had.  M.  Ferry  came  into 
power  in  February,  1883.  Neither 
Thiers  nor  Gambetta  had  so  long  a 
Ministerial  life.  After  the  sudden  fall 
of  M.  Ferry,  his  predecessor,  M.  de 
Freycinet,  made  a  laborious  attempt 
to  form  an  administration.  But  all 
his  persevering  negotiations  and  inge- 
nious combinations  could  not  overcome 
the  exigencies  of  some  and  the  suscep- 
tibilities of  others.  Each  group  was 
more  intent  upon  its  special  interest 
than  on  the  working  success  of  the 
whole.  No  strong  sense  of  the  neces- 
sity of  union  prevailed  among  the 
different  sections,  in  face  either  of 
the  enemy  in  the  East,  or  the  circum- 
stances of  the  approaching  elections 
at  home.  A  combination  of  the  vari- 
ous Republican  groups  was  effected, 
not  however  with  even  the  silent 
approval  of  the  least  extreme  of  the 
Extreme  Left,  but  at  the  eleventh 
,hour  new  pretensions  were  raised,  and 
all  fell  to  pieces.  The  President  next 
applied  in  succession  to  two  personages 
whose  names  are  hardly  worth  remem- 
bering. One  refused  without  trying 
the  experiment,  and  the  other  tried 
but  failed.  Then  the  idea  was 
favoured  of  what  the  French  call  a 
Ministry  of  Business,  corresponding 
very  much  to  King  George  III.'s 
cherished  system  of  •  government  by 
departments,  as  distinguished  from 
government  with  the  collective  re- 
sponsibility of  a  Cabinet.  But  this 
plan  was  speedily  dismissed,  and 
eventually  a  Cabinet  was  formed  by 
M.  Brisson.  He  had  been  one  of  the 
leading  men  of  the  Radical  Left,  until 
the  post  of  President  of  the  Chamber 
imposed  neutrality  upon  him.  M. 
Ferry  represented  the  great  group  of 
the  Republican  Union,  and  as  the 
Radical  Left  is  a  shade  more  advanced, 
the  substitution  of  M.  Brisson  marks 
a  move,  whatever  it  may  ultimately 
amount  to,  still  further  in  the  Radical 
direction.  In  the  same  way,  the  post 
of  President  of  the  Chamber,  vacated 


by  M.  Brisson,  was  filled  by  M.  Flo- 
quet,  the  nominee  of  the  Radical  Left 
in  co-operation  with  the  Extreme  Left. 

The  most  unsatisfactory  feature  in 
the  arrangement  for  us  in  England  is 
the  return  of  M.  de  Freycinet  to  the 
Foreign  Office ;  a  shifty  egoist,  who 
behaved  shabbily  in  the  negotiations 
about  Dulcigno,  Greece,  and  Egypt, 
and  who  may  be  trusted  to  lose  no 
chance  of  wiping  out  his  old  Egyptian 
disgraces  by  new  pretensions.  While 
he  was  trying  to  form  a  Ministry  of 
his  own,  he  invited  M.  Spuller  to  join 
him.  "  I  desire,"  he  told  M.  Spuller, 
"  to  form  a  Ministry  of  energetic 
action  abroad,  and  conciliation  at 
home."  A  policy  of  energetic  action 
abroad  is  about  the  most  unpromising 
flag  that  could  be  unfurled  at  the 
French  Foreign  Office.  The  first  effect 
has  been  felt  in  an  alleged  threat  to 
send  the  French  fleet  to  Alexandria, 
if  we  do  not  make  reparation  to  the 
printer  of  the  Bosphore  Egyptien.  If 
the  French  fleet  is  sent  there  on  any 
such  business,  we  predict  that  either 
three  hundred  pairs  of  boots  will  send 
M.  Freycinet  after  M.  Ferry,  or  else 
that  some  millions  of  electors  before 
the  summer  is  over  will  know  the 
reason  why. 

Meanwhile,  the  military  event  that 
had  made  Paris  lose  its  head,  had  no 
such  effect  upon  the  victors.  With  a 
grave  self-possession  from  which  fire- 
eating  simpletons  on  the  boulevards 
and  in  Pall  Mall  might  take  a  lesson, 
the  Chinese  Government  went  on  with 
negotiations  for  peace.  The  precise 
nature  of  these  is  still  the  subject  of 
some  mystification.  The  French  Go- 
vernment were  not  so  unwise  as  to 
insist  either  on  washing  off  the  stain 
of  defeat  in  further  bloodshed,  or  on 
the  exaction  of  an  indemnity  which 
China  would  practically  never  have 
paid,  and  which  would  have  kept  up 
dangerous  friction  where  it  is  the 
interest  of  the  French  in  Tonkin  to 
have  a  tranquil  and  friendly  neighbour. 

The  bad  impression  that  had  been 
made  by  the  circumstances  of  the  fall 
of  M.  Ferry,  made  itself  felt  in  a  gain 


Review  of  the  Month. 


79 


for  the  Anti-Republicans  in  depart- 
mental elections  a  fortnight  after. 
The  gain  was  extremely  slight,  but 
it  has  sufficed  to  put  a  little  heart 
into  both  Orleanists  and  Bonapart- 
ists.  The  Republicans  will  be  exposed 
to  a  severe  test  when  the  general 
election  comes.  That  election  will  be 
held  under  the  new  system  of  scrutin- 
de-liste.  Just  as  we  are  resorting  to 
the  single-member  district,  the  French 
are  exchanging  the  single- member  dis- 
trict for  the  departmental  ticket. 
"Will  the  Republican  party  concentrate 
its  forces?  Will  the  various  shades 
unite  on  common  lists,  on  which  each 
shall  be  represented  ?  Or  will  each 
group  insist  on  submitting  a  list  of 
its  own  particular  colour,  and  so  run 
the  risk  by  division  of  letting  in  the 
monarchical  enemy?  Will  the  Mode- 
rate compromise  himself  by  figuring 
in  the  same  list  with  the  Radical,  and 
will  the  Radical  decline  to  march 
under  the  same  flag  as  the  Oppor- 
tunist ?  It  is  too  early  in  the  cam- 
paign yet  to  judge  whether  the  fatal 
tendencies  of  French  parties  towards 
internecine  conflict  will  once  more 
prevail,  or  will  at  last  be  overcome  by 
counsels  of  moderation  and  good  sense. 
As  we  have  said,  M.  Brisson  represents 
a  coalition  of  the  groups  to  the  Left. 
Some  shrewd  prophets,  however,  pre- 
dict that  before  two  months  are  over 
he  will  be  caught  between  the  exi- 
gencies of  his  allies  of  the  hour  and 
the  attacks  of  the  Right,  and  driven 
to  lean  for  solid  support  on  the  old 
majority  of  the  Opportunists  and  the 
Republican  Union. 

Prince  Bismarck's  seventieth  birth- 
day was  celebrated  with  demonstra- 
tions of  enthusiasm  by  his  countrymen, 
which  all  the  rest  of  Europe  very  well 
understands  even  though  not  quite 
ready  to  share  in  it.  The  triumphant 
Chancellor  received  thousands  of  letters 
and  hundreds  of  telegrams ;  his  door 
was  encumbered  with  gifts  ;  the  aged 
Emperor,  his  master,  visited  and  em- 
braced him  with  tears  in  his  eyes; 
and  an  ancestral  estate  was  bought 


back  and  presented  to  him  out  of  a 
munificent  national  subscription  from 
Germans  all  over  the  world.  The  re- 
collection of  old  feuds  and  griefs,  not 
yet  extinct,  was  brought  back  by  the 
attitude  of  some  of  the  States  of 
Southern  Germany.  They  declared 
that  they  had  expected  the  patriotic 
subscription  to  be  used  for  some  great 
commemorative  national  work,  and 
not  as  a  personal  donation  to  a 
Minister  who  had  already  substantial 
marks  of  public  favour  in  the  grants 
of  1866  and  1871.  A  compromise  was 
hit  upon  by  devoting  the  surplus,  after 
the  purchase  of  the  Schbnhausen  estate, 
to  some  national  purpose  to  be  indi- 
cated by  Prince  Bismarck ;  but  some 
of  the  committees  in  Bavaria  and 
elsewhere  refused  to  be  pacified  and 
held  back  their  money. 

Prince  Bismarck  has  been  fifty 
years  in  the  service  of  his  State.  King 
Leopold  II.  was  born  just  fifty  years 
ago,  and  Brussels  has  celebrated  the 
event  with  official  rejoicings,  which 
have  been  described  as  showing  on  the 
part  of  the  population  the  affection  of 
reason  rather  than  a  delirium  of  the 
heart.  The  passions  that  were  raised 
by  the  political  events  of  September 
last  are  lulled,  but  not  quite  extinct. 
The  Liberals  are  rapidly  recovering 
from  their  unjust  anger  at  the  King's 
refusal  to  violate  the  constitution 
by  withholding  his  assent  from  an 
Education  Bill  that  had  been  approved 
by  Parliament ;  and  most  Belgians, 
whether  Clerical  or  Liberal,  feel  a 
certain  modest  satisfaction  at  the 
position  in  which  the  King  placed 
their  little  country  at  the  Conference 
in  respect  of  the  Congo. 

A  hundred  years  ago  it  was 
a  favourite  dream  among  en- 
lightened people  that  if  statesmen 
could  only  confer  the  gift  of  free 
government  on  nations  the  reign  of 
orderly  progress  would  have  come,  and 
civil  confusions  would  be  no  more. 
Yet  so  hard  has  it  been  found  to 
establish  constitutions  that  will  march 
and  work,  that  constitutional  reform 
is  everywhere  the  work  of  the  hour. 


80 


Review  of  the  Month. 


As  we  have  said,  an  electoral  change 
of  the  utmost  gravity  has  just  been 
effected  in  France,  and  in  Great 
Britain  too.  A  curious  identity  marks 
the  problems  of  modern  Europe. 
The  Table  of  Magnates,  or  Upper 
House  of  Hungary,  contains  800  mem- 
bers, of  whom  as  a  rule  not  more  than 
one-tenth  are  found  to  take  part  in 
its  proceedings.  But  last  year  it 
awoke  from  its  slumber  in  order  to 
defeat  the  Ministerial:  measure  in 
regard  to  mixed  marriages.  This 
sally  of  reactionary  life  made  re- 
form necessary,  and  changes  in  the 
composition  of  the  Table  are  now  in 
progress.  The  body  is  not  exclusively 
hereditary,  but  includes  certain  digni- 
taries, as  well  as  thirty  nominees  .of 
the  Crown  for  life.  Nobody  seems  to 
expect  that  the  new  reforms  will 
make  the  Magnates  either  much  more 
or  much  less  in  accord  with  the  Liberal- 
ism of  the  Chamber,  but  a  curious 
social  result  may  very  likely  follow. 
One  of  the  provisions  is  that  a  heredi- 
tary Magnate  must  possess  lands  that 
pay  a  direct  annual  contribution  of 
about  three  hundred  pounds  sterling  a 
year.  This,  it  is  said,  will  encourage 
marriages  for  money,  and  so  will  in- 
crease the  political  influence  of  capi- 
talists— in  other  words  of  Jews,  whose 
daughters  (duly  baptised)  will  be 
sought  by  the  Magnates  in  marriage. 

Again,  like  the  Hungarian  Table  of 
Magnates  and  the  British  Parliament, 
the  Swiss  National  Council  has  been 
discussing  electoral  reform  and  new 
registration  Bills.  It  is  proposed  to 
require  thirty  days  of  domicile  before 
putting  a  voter's  name  on  the  register  ; 
if  a  bankrupt  seeks  to  be  restored  to 
his  electoral  privilegs,  he  must  show 
that  his  failure  was  due  to  ill-fortune 
and  not  to  misconduct ;  if  a  man  is  in 
receipt  of  public  relief,  in  some  cantons 
he  loses  his  vote,  in  others  not,  and 
this  variety  of  practice  will  probably 
remain.  Among  other  proposals  that 

April  23. 


strike  the  British  politician  as  curious 
is  one  to  make  the  vote  compulsory ; 
and  another  to  allow  voting  by  proxy, 
as  is  already  permitted  in  Zurich. 
Our  old  friends,  too,  the  Cumulative 
and  the  Limited  vote,  which  are  in 
such  dejected  plight  here,  are  almost 
lively  in  Switzerland.  The  discussion 
is  adjourned,  and  the  law  will  not  be 
settled  until  the  month  of  June. 

In  Denmark,  parliamentary  govern- 
ment has  undergone,  for   the  second 
time  within  eight  years,  what  here  we 
should  regard  as  a  dangerously  rude 
shock.     The  two  chambers  which  exist 
in  Denmark  as  everywhere  else  save 
Greece — in  superstitious  deference  to 
the   English   model — could  not  agree 
about  the  Budget.      A    deadlock  fol- 
lowed, and  the   end  of   the  financial 
year  was  close  at    hand.  v  The   King 
prorogued  the  Rigsdag,  and  resorted 
to   the    curious  expedient   called   the 
Provisorium.      The  Provisorium  is  a 
power  conferred  by  the  Danish  consti- 
tution on  the   Sovereign,  of   levying 
taxes  and  duties,  and  authorising  ex- 
penditure in  case  of  emergency  during 
which  the  chambers  should  chance  not 
to  be  sitting.      Obviously  enough   it 
was  never  designed  that  the  chambers 
should   be  prorogued  for   the  express 
purpose  of  making  the  device  available. 
But  as  the  provisional  budget  does  not 
go  beyond  the  limits  within  which  the 
two  chambers  concur,  no  substantial 
harm   is    done    in    the    special  issue. 
That  does  not  lessen  the  popular  re- 
sentment.    Not    a    single   member  of 
the  Folksthing,  or  Lower  House,  went 
to  congratulate  the  King  on  his  birth- 
day ;  great  public  meetings  are  being 
organised  ;  patriots  will  refuse  to  pay 
taxes   that   have   not   been  voted   by 
parliament ;  then  the  aid  of  the  courts 
will  be  invoked,  and  the  tax-collector 
and    the    recalcitrant    tax-payer    will 
implead  one    another,    with   constitu- 
tional results  not  yet  foreseen. 


MACMILLAN'S    MAGAZINE. 


JUNE,  1885. 


MRS.  DYMOND. 


CHAPTEE  XIII. 
ABOUT     PHEAISIE. 

THE  sound  of  children's  footsteps 
pattering  about  the  house  is  perhaps 
the  sweetest  music  that  has  ever  fallen 
on  listening  mothers'  ears,  or  that 
their  hearts  have  ever  kept  time  to. 
When  Susanna  Dymond  first  heard 
her  little  Phraisie's  merry  heels  stump- 
ing overhead  her  first  waking  hours 
seemed  to  brim  over  with  happiness. 
The  thought  of  her  little  one  seemed 
to  shine  in  her  face,  to  beam  from  her 
eyes— some  indescribable  new  charm 
was  hers.  She  was  shy,  her  beauty 
used  to  fade  in  the  presence  of  strangers 
and  uncongenial  people  ;  it  shone  and 
gathered  and  brightened  for  those  of 
her  own  home,  for  her  husband,  her 
step-children,  her  own  little  one. 
Small  and  young  as  Phraisie  was,  she 
seemed  to  fill  the  whole  big  house  at 
Crowbeck  from  her  early  morning  to 
her  no  less  early  evening,  for  Phraisie 
set  with  the  sun  in  winter  and  went 
to  roost  in  summertime  with  her 
favourite  cocks  and  hens.  She  was 
a  friendly,  generous,  companionable 
little  soul.  As  soon  as  Phraisie  was 
able  to  walk  at  all,  it  was  her  pleasure 
to  trot  up  to  the  people  she  loved 
with  little  presents  of  her  own  contriv- 
ing, bits  of  string,  precious  crusts, 
portions  of  her  toys,  broken  off  for  the 
purposes  of  her  generosity. 
No.  308.— VOL.  ui. 


"Da,"  says  she,  stuffing  a  doll's  leg 
into  her  big  sister's  hand. 

Phraisie  was  rather  bored  when 
poor  Tempy  suddenly  caught  her  up, 
hugged  her  passionately,  kissed  her. 

"  A-da-da-dad ;  no,  no,"  cries  little 
sister,  objecting  and  tearing  out  a 
handful  of  Tempy's  red  locks  in  self- 
defence. 

Fayfay,  as  Phraisie  called  herself, 
was  certainly  one  of  the  round  pegs 
for  which  the  round  holes  are  wait- 
ing in  the  world — no  hard  sides,  no 
square  ill-fitting  corners,  but  kind, 
soft  nests,  already  lined  with  love 
and  welcome.  Miss  Phraisie,  perch- 
ing on  her  mother's  knee,  took  it  all 
as  a  matter  of  course.  How  could  she, 
little  baby  that  she  was,  guess  at 
the  tender  wild  love  which  throbbed 
in  her  mother's  heart,  at  the  wonder 
and  delight  her  father  felt  as  he  gazed 
at  his  pretty  shrine  of  home  and 
motherhood,  at  the  sweet  wife,  the 
round,  happy,  baby  face,  and  the  little 
legs  and  arms  struggling  with  jolly 
exuberance ;  and  even  old  and  wise 
and  experienced  as  we  are,  and  babies 
no  longer,  I  wonder  which  of  us  could 
count  up  all  the  love  which  has  been 
ours,  all  the  fond  looks,  the  tender, 
innocent  pride  which  has  been  given. 
So  Phraisie  went  her  way,  unem- 
barrassed by  false  humility. 

Tempy  was  devoted  to  the  child, 
and  seemed  to  find  her  best  companion- 
ship with  that  small  and  cheerful 

G 


82 


Mrs.  Dymond. 


person.  Tempy  used  to  carry  Fay- 
fay  about  in  her  arms  all  over  the 
place,  up  into  her  room,  oxit  into  the 
garden  again,  from  the  garden  to  the 
pigstye,  from  that  fascinating  spot  to 
the  poultry  yard,  where  the  chickens 
were  picketing  round  about  the  chalets 
where  their  Cochin  China  mothers  were 
confined,  or  to  the  stables  where  the 
puppies  were  squeaking  in  the  straw. 
It  would  be  hard  to  say,  when  the 
stable  door  opened,  letting  in  the  light 
and  the  crumbs  of  cake  and  Miss 
Phraisie  and  her  capers,  whether  the 
puppies  or  Phraisie  most  enjoyed 
each  other's  society ;  these  youthful 
denizens  of  Crowbeck  seemed  made  for 
one  another.  She  was  not  very  unlike 
a  little  curly  puppy  herself  in  her  ways, 
confident,  droll,  eager,  expecting  the 
whole  world,  from  her  father  down- 
ward, to  have  nothing  better  to  do 
than  to  play  with  her,  to  hide  behind 
doors  and  curtains,  to  go  down  on  all 
fours  if  need  be.  Josselin  was  almost 
as  devoted  to  her  as  Tempy,  but  for 
the  first  two  years  of  Miss  Phraisie's 
existence  he  was  very  little  at  home. 
The  first  year  and  a  half  after  his 
father's  marriage  he  spent  at  a  private 
tutor's  ;  then  came  Cambridge  and  new 
interests  and  new  life  for  the  young 
man,  while  Tempy  lived  on  still  in 
the  old  life,  and  among  the  old 
thoughts  and  prospects.  Phraisie  was 
the  one  new  life  and  interest  in  Crow- 
beck.  For  Tempy  time  did  not  efface 
old  feelings,  but  only  repeated  those 
of  the  past  more  vividly  each  time. 
Perhaps  her  father  took  it  for  granted 
that  because  she  was  silent  all  was  as 
he  wished,  and  that  she  had  ceased  to 
think  of  Charles  Bolsover,  indeed  one 
day  he  said  as  much  with  quiet  satisfac- 
tion to  Susanna,  who  looked  a  doubtful 
acquiescence.  But  Tempy  was  abso- 
lutely reserved  about  herself ;  neither 
to  her  inquiring  Aunt  Fanny,  nor  to 
her  step-mother  would  she  say  one 
word.  I  think  Phraisie  was  the  only 
person  to  whom  Tempy  Dyrnond  ever 
made  any  confidences. 

"  Don't  ty  To-to,"  said  Phraisie  one 
day.  "  toz  it's  vezzy  naughty."    . 


Tempy  laughed,  and  began  to  play 
bo-peep  behind  the  sheet  of  the  Times 
which  had  made  her  cry ;  it  was  a 
June  day  Times,  with  Oxford  and 
Cambridge  lists  in  its  columns. 
Phraisie  couldn't  read,  and  had  never 
heard  of  any  prize  poem,  except  per- 
haps "  See-Saw,  Margery  Daw,"  or  she 
might  have  seen  that  Charles  Bolsover 
of  St.  Boniface,  was  the  prize  poet  of 
the  year. 

It  was  later  in  the  afternoon  of  that 
same  summer's  day,  that  the  Dymond 
family,  tempted  out  by  the  beauty  of 
the  weather,  in  company  with  numer- 
ous other  families  of  the  earth  and  the 
air  and  the  water,  might  have  been 
seen  quietly  walking  by  the  field-way 
towards  Bolsover  Hall.  A  message 
had  come  up  from  Aunt  Fanny,  stat- 
ing that  signs  and  tokens  had  arrived 
from  the  roving  uncle,  from  the  travel- 
ler— Peregrine  Bolsover.  These  strange 
camphor-scented  treasures  used  to  ap- 
pear from  time  to  time,  giving  some  clue 
to  the  donor's  travels,  whereabouts  and 
mode  of  existence.  He  hated  writing 
and  preferred  this  means  of  communi- 
cation with  his  friends.  The  colonel, 
who  had  business  at  Countyside  and 
a  dinner  of  county  magnates  at  the 
Angel,  meant  to  proceed  thither  by 
train  after  his  visit  to  Bolsover,  and 
the  pony  carriage  had  been  ordered  to 
fetch  the  ladies  home  at  five  o'clock. 
Poor  Susy  dreaded  these  tea-drinkings 
at  Bolsover,  but  she  could  not  always 
escape  them. 

Tempy  was  even  more  silent  than 
usual,  as  she  walked  along  the 
slope  of  the  field,  leading  little 
Phraisie  by  the  hand.  At  every  step 
the  child  stooped  to  pick  the  heads  of 
the  delicate  flowers  that  were  sprink- 
ling the  turf  with  purple  and  white 
and  golden  dust. 

The  colonel  walked  on  with  Su- 
sanna. The  hour  was  full  of  ex- 
quisite peace  and  tranquillity,  a  sum- 
mer distance  of  gold  moors  and  lilac 
fells  was  heaping  against  the  pale  blue 
heavens.  As  they  cross  the  Crew- 
beck  meadows  (they  lead  by  a  short  cut 
to  the  garden  of  the  Hall),  the  soft 


Mrs.  Dymond. 


83 


wind  meets  them  blowing  from  across 
the   lake   and    tossing  the   fragrance 
which  still  hangs   from    every  hedge 
and  bank   and    neighbouring   cottage 
porch  into  their  faces  ;  white  roses  in 
sweet  clusters,  lilies  from  adjacent  cot- 
tage gardens   scent  the  highways ;    a 
little  stream   dashes  across  watering 
the  green  meadows  on  either  side,  and 
Phraisie    laughing    and    chattering  is 
lifted    over.       The    June    fields    are 
sumptuous  with  flowers  and  splendid 
weeds.     Foxgloves    stand    in    stately 
phalanx,  full   beds    of   meadow-sweet 
are  waving,  the  blue  heads  of  the  for- 
get-me-not cover  the  water's  edge.     A 
broad  plank  crosses  the  bubbling  rivu- 
let, and  leads  to  the  upslope  and  to 
the  Bolsover  farm  beyond,  where  the 
cows  are  browsing  or  looking  over  the 
low  walls  that  enclose  their  bounda- 
ries ;  a  colony  of  ducks  comes  down  to 
the  water  from  under  the  farm  gate, 
waddling, with  beautiful  white  breasts. 
"  Dook,    dook,    pity     'itty    quack- 
quacks,    papa,  ,/Jook,"    cries  Phraisie, 
setting   off   after    her   parents ;    and 
the  colonel  stops  and  looks  at  ducks 
with  an  interest  he  has  not  felt   for 
half  a   century,  while  Susy,   smiling, 
stands  gazing  at  her  little  blue- eyed 
naturalist. 

At  Bolsover  Hall  Miss  Phraisie  was 
a  no  less  important  member  of  the 
family  than  at  Orowbeck  Place.  The 
good-natured  squire  delighted  in  visits 
from  the  little  creature.  He  used  to 
waylay  her  as  she  was  walking  up  the 
avenue  to  the  hall  door,  and  bring  her 
by  the  back-way  into  his  private  room, 
where  he  used  to  detain  her  by  many 
interesting  and  rapidly  following  ex- 
periments—the click  of  pistols,  red 
balls  from  the  billiard  table,  whips, 
spurs,  shiny  noisy  whirling  objects  of 
every  possible  description,  until  pre- 
sently Mrs.  Bolsover  would  appear, 
followed  by  a  couple  of  Aunt  Fanny's 
dogs,  with  a  "  Baby,  baby,  don't  dis- 
turb your  uncle  ;  "  and  then  the  fickle 
Phraisie,  starting  off  in  pursuit, 
would  forget  her  uncle's  past  atten- 
tions, and  leave  him  panting,  but  tidy 
as  ever,  to  put  by  all  the  many  charm- 


ing objects  he  had  produced  for  her 
benefit. 

It  would  be  difficult  to  imagine  any- 
thing less  congruous  than  the  squire 
and  his  favourite  gun-room,  where  he 
spent   so  many   peaceful  hours.       It 
might    have    seemed   at  first  view  a 
terrific   apartment.       A  death's  head 
and  cross-bones  (stuck  up  by  Charlie 
Bolsover)  ornament  the  top  of  the  old- 
fashioned  clock.     Along  the  fire-place 
nothing  more  terrible  than  a  row  of 
pipes'  heads  might  be  seen    hanging 
from  pegs,  but  everywhere  upon  the 
walls  were  murderous  weapons  shining 
in    their     places,    revolvers,    crossed 
foils    and    fencing    implements.      A 
great    curling    sword,  all   over   orna- 
ments  and  flourishes,  hung  over  the 
comfortable    leather     sofa     cushions, 
where  Uncle  Bolsover  loved  to  doze 
away      the       hours.        The      colonel 
had    brought   the    sword   back    from 
India   as   a   gift  for  the  pacific  little 
squire. 

Day  after  day  Uncle  Bolsover  used 
to  go  peacefully  off  to  sleep  over  his 
Times,  among  all  these  trophies  and 
ruthless  weapons  of  destruction.  There 
he  lies  to-day  slumbering  tranquilly, 
with  a  pair  of  boxing  gloves  hanging 
just  over  his  round  bald  head ;  the 
tranquillity,  the  soothing  sunshine,  all 
contribute  to  his  happy  dreams.  The 
squire  has  earned  his  repose.  He 
has  been  all  the  morning  unpack- 
ing the  huge  case  which  has  come 
jogging  up  from  the  other  side  of  the 
world,  whence  Peregrine  Bolsover, 
having  heard  of  Colonel  Dymond's 
marriage,  has  despatched  an  extra 
crate  full  of  traveller's  gifts  to  his 
family  at  home.  He  had  heard  the 
news  from  his  sister  Fanny,  whose 
flowing  streams  of  correspondence 
contrived  to  reach  the  wanderer  even 
in  those  distant  countries  which  he 
frequented,  countries  so  far  away,  so 
little  known,  that  it  seemed  as  if  they 
had  been  expressly  created  for  his  use. 
The  gifts  are  of  a  generous,  incon 
venient,  and  semi- barbarous  character  : 
elephants'  tusks,  rude  strings  of  teeth, 
and  gold  beads  for  the  bride  ;  carved 

c  2 


Mrs.  Dymond. 


ostrich  eggs  for  the  colonel ;  a  price- 
less bamboo  strung  with  the  spine 
bones  of  some  royal  dynasty  for  Mrs. 
Bolsover  ;  various  daggers  wrapped  in 
rough  paper,  and  marked  "poison — 
very  dangerous,"  for  the  squire ;  a 
Spanish  leather  saddle  all  embroidered 
for  Charlie,  besides  several  gods  of 
various  religions  and  degrees  of  hide- 
ousness.  Gratitude,  natural  bewil- 
derment, and  hopeless  confusion  raise 
up  mixed  emotions  in  the  family  on 
receiving  these  tokens  of  their  absent 
member's  affection.  The  squire  having 
conscientiously  unpacked  the  chest, 
ranged  the  various  objects  round 
the  room,  and  put  the  daggers  safely 
in  the  cupboard  out  of  the  way,  feels 
that  he  has  earned  his  afternoon's 
siesta.  As  he  sleeps  the  idoor  opens 
gently,  and  a  pale  handsome  young 
man  comes  in  quietly.  By  his  rings,  by 
his  black  curls,  by  his  shiny  shoes  and 
red  silk  stockings,  it  is  easy  to  recog- 
nise Charlie  Bolsover  restored  to  his 
usual  health  and  spirits,  and  profiting 
by  his  newly-gained  honours  and  by 
the  first  days  of  his  long  vacation  to 
come  off  uninvited,  and  even  under 
prohibition,  to  the  place  where  he  is 
always  returning  in  spirit. 

"  Good  heavens !  Charlie,"  says 
Uncle  Bolsover,  waking  up  with  a 
start. 

"  Aunt  Fanny  sent  me  in  to  wake 
you  up,  Uncle  Bol,"  said  Charlie,  with 
a  smile.  "  She  says  I  may  stay." 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

UNDEE   THE    CEDAR   TREES. 

THE  colonel  and  his  wife  had  been 
met  at  the  door,  and  told  that  the 
ladies  were  at  tea  in  the  garden ;  and 
without  entering  the  house  or  visit- 
ing the  gun-room  on  their  way,  they 
passed  by  the  side-gate  that  led  to 
the  velvet  lawns,  so  greenly  spread 
beneath  the  shade  of  those  old  trees 
which  have  always  seemed  to  me  the 
rightful  owners  of  Bolsover  Hall.  The 
tea-table  stood  under  a  cedar  which 
had  sheltered  three  or  four  generations 


of  Bolsovers  in  turn,  and  which  had 
seen  grandparents  and  parents  at  play 
before  Fanny  Bolsover  and  her  sister 
and  her  brothers  had  grown  up  from 
children.  The  eldest  of  the  generation, 
Tempy's  mother,  the  first  Tempy,  who 
married  little  Jacky  Dymond,  as  the 
colonel  was  once  called,  was  long  since 
dead,  and  so  was  Charles,  the  youngest 
brother,  the  father  of  the  present 
Charles.  Peregrine,  who  came  next  to 
the  squire,  and  who  once  climbed  to 
the  rook's  nest  on  the  upper  boughs  of 
the  tallest  cedar,  was  far  away,  and 
had  returned  no  more  to  the  old  place. 
And  the  brilliant  Fanny,  the  lovely 
spoiled  girl  who  once  thought  all  man- 
kind, all  life  was  at  her  feet — was 
this  what  she  had  come  to,  this  garish, 
affected  woman,  with  her  disappointed 
ambitions,  her  limited  imaginations, 
her  ostentatious  cleverness,  and  domi- 
nating will.  As  for  the  good  squire, 
in  all  his  sixty  years  he  has  scarcely 
ever  travelled  beyond  the  shadow  of 
his  old  trees,  nor  changed  in  heart 
since  he  first  came  out  at  the  head  of 
the  brotherhood,  to  play  hide  and  seek 
upon  the  lawn. 

Miss  Bolsover  advanced  to  meet 
the  little  party — Susanna  and  Tempy, 
and  Phraisie,  running  ahead,  and 
Jacky  Dymond,  now  sobered,  sil- 
vered, settled,  and  no  more  like  the 
youth  she  could  remember  than  she 
resembled  the  Fanny  -  of  forty  years 
ago.  Aunt  Fanny  was  unusually 
gracious  (so  it, seemed  to  Susy).  She 
sent  the  servant  for  a  low  table  and 
a  baby -chair  for  Phraisie ;  she  in- 
sisted on  their  remaining  to  tea  ;  she 
stirred  and  mixed  milk  and  water, 
and  divided  sponge-cakes  and  straw- 
berries and  cream  with  extra  alacrity  ; 
she  would  not  hear  of  the  colonel  going 
into  the  house  to  look  for  the  squire. 

"  We  will  leave  poor  Frederick  to 
have  his  nap  out,"  says  Miss  Bolsover ; 
"  plenty  of  time,  John,  to  see  the 
presents.  Do  let  us  enjoy  this*lovely 
afternoon  in  peace  !  It  is  so  good  of 
poor  dear  Peregrine ;  but  I  can't  con- 
ceive what  we  are  to  do  with  all  the 
eggs  he  sends  home.  Do  look  at  that 


Mrs.  Dymond. 


85 


lovely  effect  of  light  upon  the  lake, 
Susanna  !  What  time  is  your  train 
to  Countyside,  John  ?  Shall  you 
call  in  on  your  way  back?  I  hear 
Lord  Neighborton  is  expected  to  speak. 
Poor  you,  you  will  have  to  propose 
his  health.  Little  mademoiselle  where 
are  you  going  to  1 "  in  a  high  staccato 
voice.  "  Do  keep  the  child  quietly 
here  and  amused,  Tempy  dear.  More 
strawberries,  anybody  ?  Ah !  here 
comes  Car  from  the  schools.  Well, 
Car,  tired  1  What  news  ?  When  is 
the  terrible  inspector  to  come  ?  " 

And  Aunt  Car  wearily  sinks  down 
upon  a  chair,  not  without  a  benevolent 
iron  grin  of  welcome  to  Phraisie,  who 
runs  straight  up  to  her  and  climbs 
upon  her  knee  and  begins  at  once  to 
pop  strawberries  into  her  mouth. 

Miss  Bolsover,  for  some  reason  or 
other,  seemed  absolutely  determined 
that  no  one  should  move  from  the  tea- 
table. 

"  Well !  have  you  seen  the  presents, 
Phraisie  1"  Mrs.  Bolsover  was  begin- 
ning. 

"  Car,  Car,  don't  talk  of  poor  clear 
Peregrine's  horrors  just  yet?"  cries 
Aunt  Fanny.  "  You  know  they  are 
always  the  same — claws,  and  teeth,  and 
fusty  bison-skins,"  and  as  she  spoke 
the  stable  clock,  soft  and  clear  and 
deliberate,  came  to  their  ears,  striking 
the  three-quarters. 

"A  quarter  -  to  six,"  says  the 
colonel. 

"  Car,"  says  Miss  Bolsover,  "  the 
man  was  here  this  morning  he  says 
the  clock  is  some  minutes  slow." 

"  It  is  all  right  by  my  watch,"  said 
the  colonel,  looking  down  at  his  gold 
repeater. 

"  I  nearly  missed  my  train  yester- 
day," Miss  Bolsover  remarked,  ab- 
sently stirring  her  tea  ;  "  but  most 
likely — of  course  your  watch  is  right, 
John." 

However,  to  the  punctual  colonel 
this  most  likely  was  not  to  be  en- 
dured. 

"I'll  make  sure  of  my  train,  any- 
how," says  he,  getting  up  leisurely. 
"  Phraisie,  will  you  give  papa  a  kiss  ? 


Goodbye,  Susy;  expect  me  after  dinner. 
Car,  tell  Bolsover  I'll  look  in  on  my 
way  home." 

As  the  colonel  was  walking  off 
across  the  grass  on  his  way  to  the 
station  the)  figures  of  Mr.  Bolsover 
himself  and  another  person  might 
have  been  seen  at  the  drawing-room 
window,  where  the  squire  stood  trying 
to  undo  the  hasp.  Aunt  Fanny,  who 
had  eyes  everywhere,  caught  sight  of 
the  two,  for  she  suddenly  seized  little 
scared  Phraisie  up  in  playful  arms  and 
went  flying,  and  rustling,  and  panting 
across  the  lawn  towards  the  house  in 
time  to  meet  her  brother-in-law  face 
to  face  on  the  step. 

"  Here  is  our  dear  little  Fayfay 
come  to  see  Uncle  Fred  and  all  the 
pitty  tings,"  says  Miss  Bolsover 
playfully,  thrusting  the  child  into 
her  brother's  arms.  "  Don't  come 
out,  Charlie  boy,  I  want  to  speak  to 
you,  dear,  most  particularly.  Come 
into  my  boudoir.  Frederick,  will  you 
take  the  child  into  the  gun-room  ? 
Auntie  will  come  for  her  directly." 

Presently  a  servant  came  out  from 
the  house  with  a  message  to  Tempy 
under  the  tree.  Miss  Bolsover  wanted 
to  speak  to  her.  Then  Miss  Bolsover 
herself  returned  again,  leading  little 
Phraisie  by  the  hand. 

"  Tempy  is  delighted  with  the  eggs 
and  things,"  says  Aunt  Fanny  to 
Aunt  Car.  Then  to  Susanna,  who 
was  preparing  to  come  into  the  house, 
"I  brought  the  little  one  back.  I 
don't  know  if  you  are  at  all  afraid  of 
keeping  her  out  too  late,  Susanna ; 
I  myself  know  nothing  about  it," 
says  Miss  Bolsover,  with  her  merry 
tinkle  of  earrings  and  laughter  ;  "  but 
if  you  would  like  to  go  we  will  send 
Tempy  home  in  the  t-cart  and  be  glad 
to  keep  her  a  little  longer." 

"  Tempy  said  she  wanted  to  get 
back  early,"  Susanna  answered,  quite 
unsuspiciously. 

"Oh!  we  will  see  to  that,"  cried 
Aunt  Fanny,  affectionately  conducting 
Mrs.  Dymond  to  the  side  gate  where 
the  pony- carriage  was  standing.  "  Dear 
me,  you  have  never  seen  your  beads 


86 


Mrs,  Dymond. 


after  all,  nor  the  scalps  either.     I'll 
send  them  back  to  you  by  Tempy." 

Then  Susy  nodded  and  smiled  and 
waved  good-bye  to  Mrs.  Bolsover,  and 
was  more  than  absorbed  in  making 
her  little  Phraisie  kiss  her  hand  and 
say  good-bye  too.  Phraisie  behaved 
beautifully  and  did  all  that  was  ex- 
pected of  her,  and  chattered  all  the 
way  home  on  her  mother's  knee. 

"  Nice  gentypan  in  dere,  mamma," 
said  little  Phraisie  as  they  drove  off. 
"  Gentypan  kissed  Fay  fay." 

Susy  did  not  quite  understand  what 
Phraisie  meant. 

"  No,  dear,"  she  said,  "  there  was 
no  gentleman  only  papa." 

"  Ozzer  ones,"  said  Phraisie,  per- 
sisting. 

Susy  waited  dinner,  but  no  Tempy 
came  home,  and  Mrs.  Dymond  finished 
her  meal  by  herself.  All  the  bright, 
dazzling  hours  of  the  day  seemed  pass- 
ing before  her  still,  shining,  crowding 
with  light  and  life — with  Phraisie's 
busy  little  life  most  of  all.  Susy  went 
up  stairs  on  her  way  to  her  own  room, 
and  stood  for  a  few  minutes  by  Phrai- 
sie's little  crib,  where  all  the  pretty 
capers  and  sweet  prattle  and  joy  and 
wonder  lay  in  a  soft  heap,  among  the 
pillows.  The  child's  peaceful  head 
lay  with  a  warm  flush  and  with 
tranquil,  resting  breath ;  the  little 
hand  hung  over  the  quilt,  half  drop- 
ping a  toy,  some  goggle-eyed,  wide- 
awake dolly,  staring  hard,  and  with 
loops  of  tow  and  gilt  ornaments,  and 
not  unlike  Miss  Bolsover,  herself, 
Susy  thought. 

For  once  Mrs.  Dymond  had  also 
enjoyed  her  visit  to  Bolsover  Hall. 
Aunt  Fanny  had  been  gracious.  She 
had  spared  those  thrusts  which  used 
to  sting,  for  all  Susy's  calm  impertur- 
bability. As  for  Mrs.  Bolsover,  Susy 
had  learnt  to  be  less  and  less  afraid 

of  her  grim  advances.    Little  Fayfay, 

i  i  J  . J 

asleep  or  awake,  was  an  ever-growing 

bond  between  the  two  women.  Susy 
had  brought  Fayfay  down  from  the 
upper  floor,  and  she  had  now  only  to 
cross  a  passage  from  the  nursery  to 
reach  her  own  sitting-room,  where  she 


found   a  green  lamp   burning   and  a 
fire   burning.     Even  in  summer-time 
they  used  to  light  fires  at  Crowbeck 
after  the  sun  was   set.     She  had  no 
other   company   than   that  of   Zillah 
lying  asleep  by  the   hearth,  but  she 
wanted  none  other.   She  settled  herself 
comfortably  in  her  sofa  corner,  where 
the  lamp  shed  its  pleasant  light,  and 
after  writing  a  long,  rambling  pencil 
letter  to  her  mother,  Susy  took  up  a 
novel  and  read  assiduously  for  a  time. 
Then  she  closed  the  book.     Her  little 
Phraisie's    eyes  and   looks,   and    her 
button  of  a  nose,  and  her  funny  sweet 
sayings,  seemed  to  come  between  her 
mother  and  the  print.     What  chance 
has  a  poor  author  with  such  a  rival  I 
"  Funny  gentypan,"  who  could  Phraisie 
mean    by    "funny    gentypan?"     her 
mother  wondered.  Then  suddenly,  as  the 
baby  herself  might  have  done,  Susanna, 
happy,  thankful,  resting  and  at  ease, 
dropped  off  into  a  sleep,   sound  and 
long  and  deep  as  these  illicit  slumbers 
are  apt  to  be.     I  do  not  know  how 
long  her  dreams  had  lasted  ;  the  nurse 
looked  in,  and  not  liking  to  disturb 
her  went  off  to  bed.    The  clock  struck 
ten  and   the  half-hour,  and  suddenly 
Mrs.  Dymond  started  up,  wide  awake  ; 
she  thought   she  had   heard  a   sound 
and  her   own  name    called,    and   she 
answered  as  she  sat  up  on  the  couch, 
bewildered.       Was    it    her   husband's 
voice  1     Was  it   Marney  come  home  1 
Where  was  her  mother  1    Susy  rubbed 
her  eyes.    All  seemed  silent  again,  but 
she  had  been  startled,  and  looking  at 
the  clock  she  flushed  up,  ashamed  of 
her  long  nap.     Then  she  crossed  the 
room  to  the  bell  and  rang  it,  but  no 
one  came,  for  the  maids  had  gone  to 
bed  and  the  men  were  in  a  different 
part  of  the  house.    I  don't  know  what 
nervous  terror  suddenly  seized  her,  but 
as   she   listened    still,  she  grew  more 
frightened.  Then  she  thought  of  calling 
the  nurse,  and  looked  into  the  nursery 
again  for  that   purpose,  but  gaining 
courage  from  the  calm  night-light  and 
the  peaceful  cradle,  she  came  quietly 
away  ;  only,  as  she  crossed  the  passage, 
she  now  distinctly  heard  a  low   con- 


Mrs.  Dymond. 


87 


tinuous  murmur  of  voices  going  on  in 
some  room  not  far  distant.  Then  Susy 
reflected  that  housebreakers  do  not 
start  long  audible  conversations  in  the 
dead  of  night,  and  summoning  up 
courage,  she  descended  the  broad 
flight  of  stairs  which  led  to  the  sit- 
ting-rooms below ;  the  voices  were 
not  loud,  but  every  now  and  then 
the  tones  rose  in  the  silence.  As 
she  came  to  the  half-open  drawing- 
room  door  (it  was  just  under  her 
dressing-room)  she  heard  a  man's  voice 
speaking  in  eager  tones,  and  then  the 
colour  rushed  up  into  her  face  and 
once  more  her  heart  began  to  beat, 
for  she  seemed  to  recognise  ITempy's 
low  answer.  She  opened  the  door. 
There  stood  Charlie,  who  seemed  to  be 
destined  to  disturb  the  slumbers  of 
his  family.  There  stood  Tempy  beside 
him,  in  the  glow  of  the  dying  embers 
— the  two  sadly,  happily  miserable, 
and  yet  together !  Susy  could  see 
poor  Tempy's  tears  glistening  in  the 
red  fire-light,  and  Charlie's  rings  and 
decorations,  as  they  stood  holding  each 
other's  hands  in  parting  grief. 

Mrs.  Dymond  came  in  like  a  beau- 
tiful fate,  in  her  long  white  dress 
floating  sternly  across  the  room.  She 
set  her  light  upon  the  table. 

"  Tempy  !  "  she  said.  "  Oh  !  Tempy, 
I  could  not  have  believed  it  of  you. 
And  how  can  you  come,"  Susanna  said, 
turning  to  Charlie  Bolsover,  "  how  dare 
you  come,"  she  repeated,  "disturbing 
us,  troubling  us  with  your  presence  ? 
Tempy  has  promised — has  promised 
not  to  see  you,"  she  went  on  excitedly, 
"  Why  don't  you  keep  away  ?  Do  you 
not  know  that  all  our  home  peace 
and  happiness  depend  upon  your 
absence  1  You  are  not,  you  will  never 
be,  her  husband.  Do  you  want  to 
part  her  for  ever  from  her  father?" 
cried  Susy,  passionately.  "As  for 
you,  Tempy,  I  thought  I  could  have 
trusted  you  as  I  trust  myself.  Was 
this  why  you  stayed  behind,  why  you 
deceived  me  ? " 

Susy  might  have  been  kinder,  she 
might  have  sympathised  more,  but  that 


her  own  youth  had  taught  her  so  sad, 
so  desperate  a  lesson ;  and  comfortable 
debonnair  vices,  easy-going  misdeeds 
and  insincerities,  seemed  to  her  worse 
and  more  terrible  than  the  bitterest 
and  most  cutting  truths,  the  sternest, 
baldest  realities.  That  Tempy  should 
deceive  her,  deceive  her  father,  should 
be  seeing  Charlie  by  secret  arrange- 
ment, seemed  to  Susy  unworthy  of 
them  all. 

Charlie  turned  round  upon  her  in 
a  sudden  fury.  Where  was  his  usual 
placid  indifference  now  ] 

"  If  you  knew  what  you  were  say- 
ing ;  if  you  had  ever  been  in  love,"  he 
said  in  a  rage,  speaking  bitterly,  in- 
dignantly, "  you  would  not  be  so  cruel 
to  her,  Mrs.  Dymond.  You  part  us 
for  no  reason  but  your  husband's 
fancy,  and  you  divide  us  as  if  we  were 
two  sacks  of  potatoes — '  Go,'  you  say, 
forget  each  other.'  You  don't  know 
what  you  say.  You  might  as  well  say, 
'  Do  not  exist  at  all,'  as  tell  us  not 
to  love  each  other.  It  may  be  easy 
enough  for  people  who  marry  not  for 
love  but  for  money,  or  because  they 
want  comfortable  homes  or  house- 
keepers, to  part,  but 

"Oh,  for  shame,  for  shame,  Charlie," 
cried  Tempy,  starting  away  and  pull- 
ing her  hand  from  her  lover. 

"Let  him  speak,  it  is  best  so,"  said 
Susanna  very  stern,  and  pale,  and  un- 
compromising. "  He  has  a  right  to 
speak." 

"  I  speak  because  I  feel,  while  you  all 
seem  to  me  stones  and  stocks,"  cried  the 
poor  fellow.  "  I  speak  because  I  love 
Tempy  with  all  my  heart,  and  you  are 
condemning  her  and  condemning  me 
unheard  to  sorrow  and  life -long 
separation." 

There  was  something,  some  utter 
truth  of  reality  in  the  young  man's 
voice,  something  which  haunted  Su- 
sanna long  after.  This  sharp  scene 
had  come  upon  her  suddenly,  unex- 
pectedly, but  not  for  the  first  time  did 
she  feel  uneasy,  impatient  with  her 
husband. 

A    sudden    indignant   protest   rose 


88 


Mrs.  Dymond. 


in  her  heart ;  for  the  first  time  since 
her  marriage  she  questioned  and 
denied  his  infallibility.  It  might  be 
true  that  Charlie  Bolsover  had  been 
foolish,  true  that  he  was  in  debt,  true 
that  Tempy  was  rich  and  young,  but 
was  it  not  also  true  that  these  two 
people  were  tenderly,  faithfully  attached 
to  each  other  1  It  seemed  a  terrible 
responsibility  for  the  father  to  divide 
them;  absolutely  to  say,  "Death  to 
their  love,  let  it  be  as  nothing,  let  it 
cease  for  ever."  Susy  thought  of  the 
boy's  sad  wild  looks  as  he  rushed 
past  her  in  the  passage  of  Eiderdown's 
Hotel. 

She  looked  at  him  again.  He  was 
changed  somehow ;  he  looked  older, 
stronger,  angrier,  less  desperate,  more 
of  a  man.  He  stood  fronting  Tempy, 
not  with  the  air  of  one  who  was 
ashamed  and  out  of  place,  but  as  if  he 
had  a  right  to  speak.  Susy,  Rhada- 
mantine  though  she  was,  covered  her 
face  with  her  two  hands  for  a  minute. 
She  could  not  meet  the  young  fellow's 
reproachful  look.  It  seemed  to  her 
that  it  had  all  happened  before,  that 
she  had  known  it  all  along,  known 
it  from  the  beginning,  even  when 
Charlie,  exasperated,  turned  from  her 
to  Tempy  saying, 

"  Tempy,  I  can't  bear  this  any 
longer,  you  must  decide  between  us. 
Send  me  away,  if  you  have  the  heart 
to  send  me  away." 

Still  Susy  seemed  to  know  it  all,  to 
know  that  Tempy  would  say,  "I  shall 
never  give  you  up,  Charlie,  all  my 
life ;  but  I  cannot  go  against  my  father's 
cruel  will." 

The  sound  of  wheels,  of   a  horse's 
hoofs    stopping    at    the    front    door,  . 
brought  the  situation  to  a  crisis. 

"Listen!  That  must  be  papa," 
said  Tempy,  starting  forward.  "  Go, 
Charlie,  go  !  there  is  still  time  !  You 
must  not  meet  him !  "  and  she,  all  in 
tears,  took  his  hand  into  both  hers, 
and  would  have  dragged  him  to  the 
window  through  which  they  had  entered 
together. 

"  Go  !  Why  should  I  go  ? "  cried  Char- 


lie, exasperated,  holding  his  ground. 
"  I  am  not  ashamed  of  being  here," 
and  as  he  spoke  Susy  heard  the  hall 
door  open. 

"He  is  right,  Tempy,"  she  cried, 
with  a  bright  look,  and  then  with  a 
sudden  impulse  Susanna  ran  to  the 
dining-room  door,  threw  it  open,  and 
called  her  husband  by  his  name  as  he 
came  into  his  house. 

"  John  !  come  here  !  Charles  Bol- 
sover is  here,"  said  Susy,  standing  in 
the  dining-room  door. 

Then  she  saw  that  her  husband  was 
looking  very  pale.  Instead  of  coming 
up  to  her  he  stood  by  the  staircase 
holding  to  the  bannister.  He  looked 
very  old  suddenly,  quite  different 
somehow. 

"  I  know  Charles  Bolsover  is  here," 
he  said,  looking  hard  at  his  wife.  "  I 
heard  it  just  now  before  you  told  me. 
Tell  him  I  will  not  see  him.  Tell  him 
and  Tempy  to  carry  on  their  plots  else- 
where. You  Susy,  I  can  trust,  thank 
God." 

"Dear  John,  what  is  it?"  Susy 
cried,  running  up  to  him.  "  Tempy, 
Tempy,  come  to  your  father  !  Come 
and  tell  him  he  can  trust  us  all !  "  Susy 
cried  in  despair  at  her  husband's 
strange  manner  and  looks,  and  Tempy 
hearing  Susy's  voice  also  came  out  with 
her  round  face  still  bathed  in  tears. 

"Oh!  papa,  what  is  it?"  she  said 
gently.  "  I  didn't  know  Charlie  was 
to  be  at  the  hall.  Indeed,  indeed,  I 
didn't,  though  perhaps  if  I  had,  I 
could  not  have  kept  away.  I  hadn't 
seen  him  for,  oh,  so  long ;  he  walked 
back  with  me  just  now,  that  is  all ! 
Are  you  very  angry  1 " 

The  poor  colonel's  face  altered, 
changed,  softened,  the  colour  seemed 
to  come  back  into  his  lips. 

"  I  am  not  angry  with  you,  my  poor 
child,"  he  said,  and  he  sighed,  and  held 
out  his  hand.  Tempy  felt  that  it  was 
cold  like  stone.  "  I  am  tired  ;  another 
time  I  will  speak  to  you.  I  cannot 
see  him.  I  thought — I  thought  you 
were  all  trying  to  deceive  me,"  he  re- 
peated, with  an  attempt  at  a  smile. 


Mrs.  Dymond. 


89 


Tempy  watched  him  step  by  step  till 
he  turned  the  corner  of  the  staircase, 
still  holding  by  the  bannisters.  Long, 
long  afterwards  she  seemed  to  see  him 
climbing  slowly  and  passing  on. 


CHAPTER  XV. 
"THE  COLONEL  GOES  HOME." 

SUSANNA  was  not  happy  about  her 
husband  next  morning.  He  seemed 
unlike  himself ;  though  he  said  he  was 
well,  he  looked  dull  and  out  of  spirits. 
Tempy's  heart,  too,  was  very  heavy, 
and  she  hung  her  head  over  her  sew- 
ing, setting  one  weary  stitch  after 
another  as  women  do.  Charlie  was 
gone,  she  knew  not  when  she  should 
see  him  again ;  and  her  father  was 
there,  and  yet  gone  too  in  a  way. 
She  could  not  bear  him  to  be  so  gentle, 
so  reserved,  so  absent  in  his  manner  ; 
she  was  longing  for  an  explanation 
with  him,  longing  to  speak  and  yet 
scarcely  knowing  how  to  begin.  When 
the  play  of  life  turns  to  earnest,  how 
strangely  one's  youthful  valiance  fails 
— that  courage  of  the  young,  armed 
from  head  to  foot  with  confident  in- 
experience of  failure  and  with  hope 
all  undimmed  as  yet. 

The  colonel  was  busy  all  the  morn- 
ing, and  closeted  in  his  study  with 
the  bailiff.  He  came  into  Susy's  room 
once  or  twice,  where  she  was  sitting 
with  Tempy,  and  with  little  Phraisie 
playing  at  her  knee,  Phraisie  was  the 
one  cheerful,  natural  person  in  the 
house  this  gloomy  morning.  The 
colonel's  silence  did  not  silence  her. 
Tempy's  depression  seemed  to  vanish 
suddenly  when  the  child  came  tumb- 
ling across  the  room  from  her  mother's 
knee^  Tempy's  black  looks  (so  curiously 
like  her  father's)  turned  into  some 
faint  semblance  of  a  smile  as  the  little 
sister  tugged  at  her  dress  to  make  her 
play. 

Susy  had  left  the  room  when  little 
Fayfay,  perching  at  the  window,  sud- 
denly began  to  exclaim  something 
about  "  papa  and  his  gee-gee,"  and 
Tempy,  who  had  hoped  that  the  mo- 


ment for  explanation  had  come,  found 
that  her  father  was  starting  for  his 
morning  ride,  and  now  explanation 
must  be  again  deferred.  The  explana- 
tion was  not  then,  but  it  was  very 
near  at  hand. 

Presently  Susy  looked  into  the  room, 
with  her  straw  hat  on.  "Your  father 
is  gone  to  Ambleside.  He  has  ordered 
James  to  meet  him  there  at  the  station 
with  the  dog-cart ;  they  will  bring 
Josselin  home.  Won't  you  come  out 
now,  Tempy  1  It  will  do  you  good  ; 
or  will  you  come  with  me  to  Miss 
Fletcher's  after  luncheon?" 

But  Tempy  shook  her  head.  She 
would  not  come,  neither  then  nor 
later.  She  sat  stitching  away  the 
morning,  moping  through  the  hours 
in  a  dreary,  unsatisfactory  sort  of 
way.  Susanna  hoped  that  Josselin's 
return  might  cheer  her  up. 

"  What  did  papa  say  to  you  last 
night  ? "  Tempy  suddenly  asked,  when 
she  saw  Susy  getting  up  after  luncheon 
to  prepare  for  her  walk. 

"  He  said  that  he  was  glad  that  we 
had  hidden  nothing  from  him — that 
we  had  told  him  Charlie  was  here. 
He  said  he  liked  to  feel  that  he  could 
trust  us,"  Susanna  answered,  and  as 
she  spoke  she  seemed  to  see  her  hus- 
band's kind  face  and  his  outstretched 
hand  again. 

•''Trust  us,  trust  you/"  said  Tempy. 
"Did  Aunt  Fanny  tell  him  Charlie 
was  here  ] " 

"  No,"  said  Susy,  blushing  up.  "  It 
was  Aunt  Car  who  told  him,  she  had 
gone  to  bed  when  your  father  reached 
the  Hall.  She  came  out  of  her  room 
in  her  dressing  gown,  hearing  his  voice. 
Miss  Bolsover  assured  your  father  it 
was  I  who  had  arranged  it  all,"  Susy 
went  on  :  and  as  she  spoke  two  in- 
dignant tears  flashed  into  her  eyes. 

"Don't !  don't !  don't !  "  cried  poor 
Tempy.  "  My  aunt  knows  how  un- 
happy I  am,"  and  she  turned  and  ran 
out  of  the  room. 

Susy,  solitary,  was  glad  to  meet 
Wilkins  and  her  little  Phraisie  at  the 
garden  gate  that  afternoon.  She  was 
starting  for  her  walk  before  the  travel- 


90 


Mrs.  Dymond. 


lers'  return.  Phraisie  was  armed  cap- 
d.-pie  and  helmed  in  quilted  white  and 
starch  as  a  baby  should  be  who  is 
meant  to  defy  the  sun.  She  had 
picked  a  bunch  of  flowers,  and  was 
hopping  along  the  path,  and  chatter- 
ing as  she  went  something  about  "De 
pussy  and  de  kitty  is  in  de  darden, 
and  de  kitty  is  eaten  de  petty  flowers, 
and  please,  mamma,  take  'ittle  Fayfay 
wid  dou." 

"  I  should  like  her  to  come  with  me, 
Wilkins,"  said  Mrs.  Dymond.  "  I  am 
going  to  call  at  the  Miss  Fletchers'." 

"  Oh !  very  well,  mem,"  says  Wil- 
kins, resigned.  She  prefers  her  own 
company  to  respectful  attendance  upon 
her  mistress,  but  she  is  a  good  creature, 
and  allows  Susy  to  see  a  great  deal  of 
Phraisie.  Perhaps  the  thought  of 
Miss  Fanny's  various  paragons  hang- 
ing by  hairs  over  her  head  inclines 
Wilkins  to  regard  her  mistress's  fail- 
ings with  leniency.  Susy  felt  so  sad 
and  so  much  depressed  that  it  was  a 
real  boon  and  comfort  to  be  led  along 
by  the  little  one  and  to  feel  her 
warm  hand  in  her  own.  Phraisie 
was  sturdy  on  her  legs,  and  thought 
nothing  of  the  expedition. 

Their  walk  ran  high  up  above  the 
roadside,  along  a  bank  cut  in  the 
shelving  slopes,  and  shaded  by  big 
trees,  of  which  the  stems  were  wreathed 
and  wrapped  with  ivy  leaves.  Beneath 
each  natural  arch  formed  by  the  spread 
of  the  great  branches,  lay  a  most 
lovely  and  placid  world  of  cool  waters 
and  gentle  mountain  mist,  of  valleys 
full  of  peaceful,  browsing  sheep.  A 
strange  cloud  hung  along  the  crest  of 
the  Old  Man  flashing  with  light. 
Susanna  remembered  it  long  after- 
wards ;  every  minute  of  that  day 
seemed  stamped  and  marked  upon  her 
mind.  Phraisie  went  first,  still  chat- 
tering to  her  mamma,  who  followed 
quietly,  looking  out  at  the  tranquil 
prospect ;  then  came  Wilkins.  Once 
the  nurse  stopped  short,  and  Susy,  who 
had  walked  a  little  ahead,  called  to 
her. 

"  I  thought  there  was  a  something 
on  the  other  side  of  the  lake,  mem," 


says  Wilkins.     "  There's  a  boat  and  a 
crowd." 

Susy  stopped,  looked,  moved  on 
again  after  an  instant's  pause.  "  I 
cannot  see  clearly  across  the  lake," 
she  said  ;  "  but  the  rain  is  coming,  we 
must  not  be  long,"  and  she  went  on 
her  way,  still  holding  Phraisie's  warm 
little  hand.  The  Fletchers  lived  in 
a  stone,  slated  cottage  high  up  on  the 
mountain  side ;  it  was  homely  enough, 
scanty,  but  exquisitely  clean  and  in 
perfect  order.  The  little  garden,  in- 
closed by  its  stone  walls,  flashed  lilac, 
gold,  and  crimson  with  the  cottage 
flowers  that  were  all  ablaze — con- 
volvulus, floxes,  sweet  william,  and 
nasturtium,  opening  to  the  raindrops 
that  were  already  beginning  to  fall. 

Martha  Fletcher,  the  younger 
sister  who  kept  the  school,  was 
standing  out  in  the  porch  as  her 
visitors  arrived  somewhat  breathless 
with  their  climb ;  and  she  came  for- 
ward to  welcome  them  with  her  smil- 
ing, peaceful  looks  and  voice,  and, 
calling  to  her  sister,  opened  the  cot- 
tage door  and  showed  them  in.  There 
were  two  rooms  on  the  ground  floor, 
leading  from  one  to  another — pleasant 
rooms,  scantily  furnished,  with  slated 
floors  and  lattice  windows  and  cross 
lights,  and  a  few  geraniums  in  pots ; 
they  both  opened  to  the  garden.  The 
first  was  a  sort  of  kitchen,  with  a 
kettle  boiling  on  the  hob ;  the  second 
was  a  parlour,  with  a  few  wooden 
chairs,  an  oak  chest,  and  a  quaint  old 
cupboard  that  would  have  made  the 
fortune  of  a  collector.  "It  is  old  ;  it 
were  never  very  much,"  said  Martha. 
In  front  of  the  cupboard,  Jane,  the 
elder  sister,  was  lying  back  in  her  big 
chair  knitting,  with  a  patchwork 
cushion  at  her  back.  She  looked  pale 
and  worn  by  ill  health,  but  she,  too, 
brightened  to  welcome  their  visitors. 
Both  these  sisters  had  the  calm  and 
well-bred  manners  of  people  who  live 
at  peace,  in  the  good  company  of  great 
and  lovely  things.  Susy  herself  had  not 
such  easy  and  dignified  greetings  for 
her  guests,  such  kindness  and  un- 
spoken courtesy  in  her  ways,  as  that 


Mrs.  Dymond. 


91 


with  which  these  two  women  now  met 
her. 

Mrs.  Dymond  had  come  only  intend- 
ing to  remain  a  few  minutes,  but  from 
behind  the  Old  Man  some  sudden 
storm  began  to  spread,  and  in  a  few 
minutes,  swiftly,  rapidly,  the  clouds 
had  gathered,  and  the  rain  had  begun 
to  pour  very  heavily  all  round 
about. 

Perhaps  half  an  hour  went  by — a 
strange  half-hour,  which  ever  after- 
wards Susy  looked  back  to  with  a  feel- 
ing half  of  longing,  half  of  miserable 
regret.  It  seemed  to  her  as  if  some 
other  Susanna  had  lived  it,  with  its 
troubled  apprehensions,  with  a  heart 
full  of  pain,  of  dull  excitement.  She 
could  not  bear  to  disagree  with  her 
husband,  but  the  sight  of  Tempy's  dull 
pain  stung  her.  So  long  as  it  had  been 
her  own  self  in  question,  she  had  felt 
no  disloyalty  in  suppressing  her  own 
wishes,  crushing  clown  the  instinctive 
protest  in  her  heart  against  the  family 
thraldom  and  traditional  subjection 
to  conventionality.  But  now  that 
Tempy's  happiness  and  honesty  of 
mind  were  concerned,  it  seemed  to 
Susy  that  the  time  had  come  to  speak. 
Ah  !  John  who  was  so  good,  so  gentle 
and  forbearing,  he  would  understand 
her,  he  would  yield  to  her  entreaties, 
to  Tempy's  pleading. 

Susy  sat  paying  her  visit  in  a 
curious,  double  state  of  mind.  The 
rain  had  ceased,  the  cottage  gar- 
den was  refreshed ;  the  floxes,  the 
zinias,  the  lupins,  the  marigolds,  the 
whole  array  of  cottage  finery  was 
refreshed  and  heavy  with  wet.  The 
birds  had  begun  to  fly  and  chirp  again  ; 
little  Phraisie  stood  at  the  door  peep- 
ing ovit  at  an  adventurous  kitten  which 
was  cautiously  advancing  along  the 
wooden  bench.  Martha  sat  erect  on 
the  well  rubbed  mahogany  settle,  Jane 
lay  back  in  her  big  chair  with  an 
invalid's  gentle  eyes  full  of  interest, 
fixed  on  their  young  visitor. 

"How  comely  Mrs.  Dymond  du  look," 
thinks  Jane  the  fanciful,  "  there  side- 
by-side  wi'  Martha  on  the  settle." 

Mrs.    Dymond     dressed    in     some 


soft  brown  pelisse  with  a  touch  of 
colour  in  it,  her  loose  country  gloves, 
her  lace  ruffles,  her  coquettish  brown 
felt  hat  with  the  shining  bird's  breast, 
all  seemed  to  make  up  a  pleasant  au- 
tumnal picture,  even  more  interesting 
to  Jane  than  that  baby-one  in  the 
door- way.  After  all,  a  tidy,  well- 
dressed  child  is  no  prettier  an  object 
than  any  one  of  the  little  ones  bare- 
legged and  rosy  and  tattered,  such  as 
those  Jane  and  Martha  were  used  to 
teach  and  have  up  to  play  in  the  garden 
But  a  well-dressed,  beautiful  lady  is  an 
interesting  sight  to  a  country  woman. 
Martha  from  habit,  perhaps,kept  watch 
over  Phraisie,  but  Jane's  eyes  rested 
gently  upon  the  young  mother. 

Susy  lingered  on.  There  was  a  sense 
of  peace  within  as  without  the  cottage, 
a  feeling  of  goodness,  of  quiet  duty  ful- 
filled, and  unpretending  refinement. 
A  thought  crossed  her  mind,  what  a 
happy  life  she  might  have  led  if  only 
these  women  could  have  been  her 
sisters — true  ladies  indeed  they  seemed 
to  be — tranquil,  courteous  in  their 
ways,  making  no  difference  between 
persons,  as  gentle  and  as  welcoming  to 
tl^e  shepherd's  wife,  who  came  drenched 
to  the  door  in  her  clogs,  to  report  of 
Mrs.  Barrow,  as  to  Susy  herself, 
the  lady  of  the  Place.  While  the 
neighbours  talked  on,  Susy,  girl-like 
began  to  picture  a  life  with  John,  in  a 
pleasant  cottage  with  a  garden  full 
of  flowers.  She  seemed  putting  off 
the  moment  of  return  and  expla- 
nation, and  trying  to  think  of  other 
things.  Susy  dreaded  going  home 
dreaded  the  explanation  before  her 
dreaded  the  pain  she  must  give  her 
husband  if  she  told  him  all  she  felt, 
and  that  his  decision  seemed  to  her 
unjust  and  arbitrary ;  dreaded  the 
concealment  if  she  hid  the  truth.  Some 
instinct  seemed  to  tell  her  that  Miss 
Bolsover,  whatever  happened,  would 
make  ill-will  between  them  all,  and 
that  trouble  was  at  hand ;  and  yet  the 
heavy  indefinable  sense  which  had 
haunted  her  all  the  morning,  was 
lighter  since  she  had  reached  that 
peaceful  home  and  seen  the  simple  and 


92 


Mrs,  Dymond. 


comforting  sight  of  two  contented 
souls. 

These  fancies  did  not  take  long,  a 
little  ray  of  light  came  straggling  by 
the  lattice.  Phraisie  leaped  and 
laughed  in  the  door- way  at  the  kitten's 
antics ;  suddenly  the  child  came  run- 
ing  back  to  her  mother's  knee,  and  hid 
her  face  in  her  lap  and  began  to  cry. 

"My  Phraisie,  what  is  it?"  said 
Susy,  stooping  and  lifting  her  up. 
"Did  the  kitty  scratch  you?"  but 
little  Phraisie  didn't  answer  at  first, 
then  looking  up  into  her  mother's  face, 

"  Papa,  Fay  fay  wants  papa,"  was 
all  she  said. 

"I  think  papa  must  be  home  by 
this,"  said  Susy,  going  to  the  door 
with  the  child  in  her  arms  ;  and  she 
felt  that  with  Phraisie  in  her  arms  she 
could  speak,  protest  for  Tempy's  future 
rights.  She  could  trust  that  kind  and 
generous  heart  which  had  ever  been  so 
true  to  her,  to  them  all.  The  rain  was 
gathering  again  ;  the  sisters  urged  her 
to  stay,  but  she  was  impatient — sud- 
denly impatient — to  get  back.  A 
feeling  which  seemed  strange,  in- 
describable, outside  every-day  things 
and  common  feelings,  had  fallen  on 
her  once  more ;  was  it  the  storm  in 
the  air  ?  As  she  looked  at  the  oppo- 
site hills,  she  felt  as  if  the  very  line 
of  the  clouds  against  the  sky  had  terror 
in  it.  No  tangible  impression  was  in 
her  mind,  but  a  restless  alarm  and 
discomfort.  •  Susy  wondered  if  she  was 
going  to  be  ill,  though  she  was  not 
given  to  fancies ;  her  one  desire  was 
to  get  home,  and  she  took  leave, 
hastily  gathering  up  her  skirts  with 
Wilkins's  help,  tucking  Phraisie  safe 
into  the  folds  of  her  pelisse.  Jane 
and  Martha  looked  gravely  at  her,  and 
did  not  attempt  to  detain  her.  •  "  Take 
care  of  ye'sell,"  they  said.  Martha 
came  with  them  to  the  garden-gate, 
and  stood  holding  it  open,  and  as  they 
were  starting,  they  heard  a  step  hurry- 
ing up  from  below.  It  was  one  of  the 
grooms  from  the  Place,  who,  not  seeing 
Susy,  exclaimed — 

"  Oh  !  Miss  Fletcher,  have  you  heard 
that  there's  been  a'  accident  across  the 


lake?  The  colonel  and  Mr.  Jo  have 
been  cast  out  of  t'  dog-cart.  I'm  seek- 
ing Mrs.  Dymond." 

11  An  accident !  "  said  Susy,  coming 
forward,  holding  Phraisie  very  tight. 
"  Are  they  hurt,  James  ?  Is  the 
colonel " 

"  Neither  o'  the  gentlemen  had 
spoke  when  I  came  away  to  seek  ye, 
mem,"  said  the  man,  with  a  pale  face ; 
and  some  wonder  at  seeing  her  so 
composed.  "  George  Tyson  brought 
them  across  in  t'  boat  wi'  doctor ; 
the  parson  is  there  wi'  Miss  Bolsover. 
We  have  been  looking  for  you, 
m'a'am,  a  long  while." 

CHAPTER  XVI. 

THE  DOCTOR  AND  THE  LADY. 

THE  train  came  in  in  the  early  morn- 
ing, and  the  great  London  doctor  got 
out ;  he  had  travelled  all  night  com- 
fortably enough  in  his  first-class  cor- 
ner ;  he  was  there  to  see  what  could 
be  done ;  he  had  a  confident,  cheerful 
aspect,  which  gave  hope  to  the  by- 
standers. The  porter  began  to  think 
the  colonel  might  recover  after  all ; 
the  station-master  also  seemed  to  re- 
gain confidence.  Mr.  Bolsover,  who 
had  come  to  meet  the  train,  and  who 
liked  to  take  things  pleasantly,  shook 
the  oracle  warmly  by  the  hand.  "  I'm 
afraid  you  will  find  things  as  bad  as 
can  be,"  he  said,  as  if  he  was  giving  a 
welcome  piece  of  news,  though  his 
pale  round  face  belied  his  cheery 
tones.  "  Jeffries  has  been  up  all 
night.  I  have  brought  the  carriage 
for  you.  We  telegraphed  to  you 
last  night  when  Jeffries  thought  so 
badly  of  him,  poor  fellow.  Get  in, 
please  ;  drive  hard,  George." 

"  Is  Mrs.  Dymond  aware  of  the 
danger?"  said  the  doctor,  as  he  got 
into  the  carriage,  after  seeing  that  his 
bag  was  safely  stowed  on  the  box. 

"  She  is  anxious,  very  anxious," 
said  Mr.  Bolsover ;  "  so  are  my  wife 
and  sister,  who  are  nursing  them  all 
most  devotedly.  "  You  know  the  boy 
is  hurt  too;  broken  rib — concussion. 
They  were  driving  home  together ; 


Mrs.  Dymond. 


93 


they  think  poor  Dymond  fainted  and 
fell,  the  horse  was  startled,  the  car- 
riage upset  just  by  the  forge.  Luckily 
one  of  Dymond's  own  men  was  stand- 
ing by  ;  the  poor  fellows  were  brought 
straight  home  across  the  lake  in  the 
ferry  boat.  Mrs.  Dymond  was  from 
home  at  the  time.  The  boy  recovered 
consciousness  almost  immediately,  but 
my  poor  brother-in-law  seems  very  ill, 
very  bad  indeed,"  said  Mr.  Bolsover 
with  an  odd  chirruping  quake  in  his 
voice ;  then  recovering,  and  trying  to 
quiet  himself.  "  Do  you  dislike  this  ?  " 
and  he  pulled  a  cigar-case  out  of  his 
pocket. 

"  Not  at  all — not  at  all,"  said  the 
doctor,  looking  out  of  the  window. 
"What  a  delightful  place  you  have 
here  ! " 

"  It  is  almost  all  my  brother-in- 
law's  property,"  said  Mr.  Bolsover ; 
"  all  entailed  upon  my  nephew.  We 
married  sisters,  you  know." 

"  Oh,  indeed  !  "  said  the  doctor.  "  I 
did  not  know." 

"  I  was  not  speaking  of  the  present 
Mrs.  Dymond,"  says  Mr.  Bolsover, 
hastily.  "  The  second  wife  is  quite  a 
girl ;  some  of  us  thought  it  a  pity  at 
the  time.  Poor  child,  it  will  be  easier 
for  her  now,  perhaps,  than  if  they  had 
been  longer  married." 

The  horses  hurried  on,  the  gates 
were  reached,  the  neat  sweep,  the 
pleasant  shade  of  trees ;  the  doors  of 
the  house  flew  open,  and  the  servants 
appeared,  as  on  that  day  when  the 
colonel  had  brought  Susy  home  as  a 
bride.  The  doctor  was  shown  into 
the  colonel's  study,  where  a  fire  had 
been  lighted  and  some  breakfast  set 
out.  The  master  was  lying  scarcely 
conscious  on  his  bed  up  stairs,  but  his 
daily  life  seemed  still  to  go  on  in  the 
room  below.  The  whips  and  sticks  were 
neatly  stacked  against  the  walls,  his 
sword  was  slung  up,  his  belt,  his  mili- 
tary cap,  everything  curiously  tidy  and 
well-ordered.  The  Army  List  and  Direc- 
tory, the  Bradshaws  and  Whitaker, 
were  each  in  their  due  place  on  the 
table  in  a  sort  of  pattern.  The  book- 
cases were  filled,  and  every  shelf  was 


complete ;  the  writing  apparatus  was 
in  order,  with  good  pens  and  fresh 
ink,  for  Dr.  Mayfair  to  write  the  pre- 
scriptions with.  They  could  do  little 
good  now,  for  all  the  good  pens  and 
paper.  The  neat  packets  of  letters, 
answered  and  unanswered,  with  broad 
elastic  straps,  lay  on  the  right  and 
left  of  the  writing-book  ;  the  post-bag 
was  hanging  on  a  nail,  with  a  brass 
plate  fixed  above,  on  which  the  hours 
of  the  post  were  engraved.  Every- 
thing spoke  of  a  leisurely,  well-ordered 
existence,  from  the  shining  spurs  on 
their  stands,  to  the  keys  in  the 
despatch-box.  The  doctor  had  not 
long  to  wait ;  the  door  opened,  and  a 
lady  came  in — a  fat,  florid  lady,  who 
seemed  to  have  performed  a  hasty 
toilette,  not  without  care.  She  was 
wrapped  in  a  flowing,  flowery  tea- 
gown,  a  lace  hood  covered  her  many 
curls  and  plaits ;  she  had  gold  slip- 
pers, emerald  and  turquoise  rings; 
she  advanced  with  many  agitated 
motions. 

"  Oh,  doctor ! — oh,  how  we  have 
looked  for  you !  You  may  imagine 
what  this  night  has  been.  How  am 
I  to  tell  you  all  1  A  chair.  Thank 
yo.i.  Yes — oh,  yes  ! — our  darling  boy 
scarcely  conscious — his  father  in  this 
most  alarming  condition,"  and  she  laid 
her  jewelled  fingers  on  the  doctor's 
sleeve.  "  Mr.  Bolsover  will  have  told 
you  something,  but  he  has  no  concep- 
tion of  what  we  have  suffered,  what 
anxiety  we  have  endured.  My  brain 
seems  crushed,"  said  the  lady.  "If 
you  felt  my  pulse,  doctor,  you  would 
see  that  the  heart's  action  is  scarcely 
perceptible." 

"  You  are  very  anxious  of  course," 
said  the  doctor,  rather  perplexed, 
''  shall  I  come  up  stairs  at  once  ?  Is 
Mr.  Jeffries  up  stairs  ?  " 

"  He  will  be  here  in  a  minute,  if  you 
will  kindly  wait,  and  you  must  be 
wanting  some  refreshment,"  said  the 
lady,  "  Doctor  Mayfair,  do  you  prefer 
tea  or  coffee?  Here  are  both  as  I 
ordered.  One  requires  all  one's  nerve, 
all  one's  strength  for  the  sad  scene 
up  stairs — the  strong  man  cast  down 


Mrs.  Dymond. 


in  his  prime— let  me  pour  out  the 
tea." 

The  doctor  somewhat  bored  by  the 
lady's  attentions,  stood  before  the  fire 
waiting  for  the  arrival  of  Mr.  Jeffries, 
and  asking  various  details  of  the 
illness,  of  the  accident,  to  which  his 
hostess  gave  vague  and  agitated 
answers.  "  I  was  resting  in  my  room 
before  dressing  to  drive  out,  when  my 
maid  brought  me  word  of  the  dreadful 
report.  I  lost  not  a  moment,  I  told 
them  to  bring  me  a  cloak,  a  hat,  any- 
thing, the  first  come,  to  order  the 
carriage,  to  send  a  messenger  to  say 
that  I  was  on  the  way.  But  one  has 
to  pay  for  such  efforts,  nature  will 
not  be  defrauded  of  her  rights.  You, 
doctor,  know  that  better  than  I  do." 

"  Oh,  of  course,  no,  yes,"  says  the 
doctor  with  a  vacant  eye  drinking  his 
tea  and  looking  round  :  was  this  the 
enthusiastic  young  girl  disapproved  of 
by  the  poor  colonel's  relations  !  "  Mr. 
Jeffries  has  been  sent  for,  you  tell  me," 
said  the  great  man,  politely  interrupt- 
ing. 

"I  hear  him  now,"  said  Miss 
Bolsover  excitedly,  and  rushing  to  the 
door  she  opened  it  wide.  "  Here,  come 
in  here,  Doctor  Mayfair  is  expecting 
you,"  said  the  lady  in  a  loud  whisper. 
"  Oh,  Mr.  Jeffries  you  can  tell  him 
what  we  have  all  endured,  you  can  tell 
him  what  a  life-long  tie  it  has  been 
between  us.  How  unlike  that  of  a 
few  short  months  ;  how  much  deeper, 
how  much."  .  .  .  Mr.  Jeffries  looked 
round  uneasily,  he  was  followed 
by  Susanna,  still  strangely  quiet, 
scarcely  uttering  a  word  but  with 
anxious,  dark  encircled  eyes  trying  to 
read  from  their  faces  what  was  written 
there.  She  heard  Miss  Bolsover' s 
speech,  and  crimsoned  up  as  she  turned 
a  quick,  reproachful  glance  upon  her ; 
even  at  such  terrible  moments  people 
are  themselves,  alas !  and  their  daily 
failings  do  not  die  when  those  they 
love  lie  down  for  the  last  time,  but 
assert  themselves,  bitter,  exaggerated. 
To  reproach  her  at  such  a  time  !  Oh, 
it  was  cruel,  Susy  thought,  and  then 
she  forgot  it  all — Miss  Bolsover's 


sneers,  and  the  petty  pangs  and  smarts 
of  daily  jealousies ;  she  caught  sight  of 
a  glance  which  passed  between  Mr. 
Jeffries  and  Dr.  Mayfair,  and  all  her 
strength  and  courage  seemed  suddenly 
to  go,  and  she  sat  down  for  a  moment 
in  the  nearest  chair,  while  Miss  Bol- 
sover followed  the  doctors  out  of  the 
room.  Susy  herself  had  no  hope, 
Jeffries'  deprecating  look  answered  her 
most  anxious  fears,  she  had  watched 
all  through  the  night  and  each  hour 
as  it  passed  seemed  to  weigh  more 
heavily  upon  her  heart.  Now  for 
a  moment  the  load  seemed  so  great 
that  she  could  scarcely  bear  it,  she 
seemed  suddenly  choking,  and  she 
opened  the  window  and  went  out  into 
the  open  air  to  breathe.  There — he 
was  dying  and  all  the  garden  was  so 
sweet,  so  full  of  early  green  and  flow- 
ers. He  was  doomed,  she  knew  it,  and 
a  new  day  had  dawned,  and  nothing 
was  changed  from  yesterday ;  only  the 
beauty  of  it  all  seemed  aching  and 
stinging  instead  of  delighting  her,  its 
very  sweetness  turned  to  grief,  its 
peace  jarred  like  misery,  a  great  flash 
of  brilliant  pain  seemed  spread  out 
before  her.  Why  had  they  ever  come 
there,  Susanna  thought.  Oh,  why. 
How  happy  she  had  been  alone  with 
him  in  London.  How  unhappy  she 
had  been  among  these  cruel  people. 
How  dear  and  how  kind  he  had  been  ; 
how  little  they  knew  her.  All  the  spite- 
ful things  Miss  Bolsover  had  ever  said 
came  into  her  mind  with  a  passionate 
exaggeration.  Ah !  she  was  not 
ungrateful,  she  was  not  mercenary, 
she  had  not  married  for  money  and 
mean  things.  Her  husband  had  been 
her  kindest,  tenderest  friend,  he  had 
helped  her  in  her  sorest  trouble,  and 
she  had  come  to  him  gratefully  and 
with  trust.  And  now  all  was  over ; 
and  they  would  no  longer  molest  her. 
Poor  Susy  wrung  her  hands  in  a 
miserable  impatience.  She  was  a  young 
creature  still,  exaggerated  and  uncharit- 
able as  young  warm-hearted  people  are. 
The  lovely  sweetness  of  the  morning, 
the  tender  light  upon  the  sky  only 
seemed  to  sting  her  to  fresh  pain. 


Mrs.  Dymond. 


95 


Then  she  thought  of  his  dear  pale  face 
upon  the  bed  up  stairs — of  his  look 
of  wistful  love  with  some  sad  terror 
of  conviction.  She  had  meant  to  speak 
to  him  that  very  day,  to  tell  him  all 
her  heart,  and  now  it  was  too  late,  it 
was  over  now.  All  was  coming  to  an 
end  for  ever  and  she  had  not  half 
loved  him,  half  told  him  how  she  felt 
his  goodness.  Reader,  forgive  her  if 
she  with  the  rest  of  us  is  selfish  in  her 
great  grief,  so  keen,  so  fierce,  distort- 
ing and  maddening  every  passing 
mood  and  natural  experience.  She 
could  not  stand.  She  fell  on  her 
knees,  poor  child,  with  a  sudden  over- 
powering burst  of  sobbing  pain.  There 
was  an  iron  roller  somewhere  by  the 
wall  and  she  laid  her  poor  head  upon 
the  iron  with  incoherent  sobs  and 
prayers  for  his  life,  for  strength  to 
love  him  as  she  ought,  for  forgiveness 
for  the  secret  rancour  which  had 
poisoned  her  life.  As  she  knelt 


there  two  kind,  warm  arms  were  flung 
round  her,  "  Dear  Susy,  don't,  don't," 
sobs  Tempy,  who  had  come  to  look  for 
her,  "  don't,  don't,  don't,"  was  all  the 
girl  could  say ;  "  be  good,  be  brave,  I've 
come  to  fetch  you."  Susy  started  up, 
quiet  again,  ruling  herself  with  a  great 
effort.  Mr.  Jeffries  had  also  come 
down  hurriedly  into  the  drawing-room 
to  look  for  her,  and  as  the  two  women 
entered  through  the  open  casement, 
pale  and  shaking  still,  he  looked  very 
grave,  and  beckoned  them  up  stairs. 
"  He  is  come  to  himself,  he  is  asking 
for  you,"  he  said  to  Susy ;  "  you  must 
be  very  calm,  dear  Mrs.  Dymond." 
Tempy  was  now  sobbing  in  her  turn, 
Susy  was  white,  quiet,  composed.  Her 
husband  knew  her  to  the  last,  and 
looked  up  with  a  very  sweet  smile  as 
she  came  to  his  side. 

An  hour  afterwards  she  was  a 
widow,  and  the  grand  London  doctor 
went  back  to  town. 


To  be  continued. 


96 


FROM  MONTEVIDEO  TO  PARAGUAY. 


IT  was  a  clear,  mild  spring  evening  in 
the  latter  part  of  the  month  designated 
in  almanacks  as  October,  but  in 
Nature's  annuary  the  April  of  this 
inverted  antarctic  world,  when  the 
Brazilian  mail  steamer  Rio  Apa  was 
making  her  way  cautiously  up  against 
the  shallow  and  turbid  waters  of  the 
River  Plate,  bound  with  cargo  and  a 
full  complement  of  passengers,  mostly 
Brazilians,  some  Argentines  or  Uru- 
guayans, a  few  Germans — where  are 
not  Germans  to  be  met  now? — and 
myself  as  a  solitary  specimen  of  the 
British  sub-variety,  from  Montevideo 
to  Asuncion,  capital  of  Paraguay,  and, 
indeed,  further  north  yet,  to  the  Bra- 
zilian capital  of  Mata-Grosso ;  but 
with  that  ultimate  destination  the 
present  narrative  has  no  concern. 
Viewed  from  anywhere  the  prospect 
of  Montevideo  is  a  lovely  one,  but 
most  so  from  the  sea.  However  ill- 
advised  the  old  Spaniards  may  gene- 
rally have  shown  themselves  in  their 
selection  of  sites  for  towns  or  sea- 
ports in  South  America,  they,  or  their 
great  captain,  Don  Bruno  Mauricio  de 
Zabala,  chose  well,  could  not,  indeed, 
have  chosen  better,  when,  in!726,  they 
laid,  after  two  centuries  of  inexplicable 
neglect,  the  first  foundations  of  Monte- 
video. As  a  town  it  is  perfect ;  as  a 
harbour  nearly  so.  With  the  lofty 
conical  hill  and  the  adjoining  high 
lands  of  the  "cerro"  on  the  west,  and 
the  bold  jutting  promontory — itself  a 
ridge  of  no  inconsiderable  elevation — 
on  which  the  bulk  of  the  town  is  built, 
to  the  east,  the  noble  semicircular  bay, 
deeply  recessed  in  the  rising  grounds 
on  the  north,  is  well  sheltered  from 
every  wind  and  sea,  the  south  and  the 
.south-west — this  last,  unluckily,  the 
worst  "of  a'  the  airts,"  being  none 
other  than  the  dreaded  "pampero," 


or    pampas-wind    of    these   regions — 
excepted ;  at  least  until  the  long-pro- 
jected breakwater,   which  is  to  keep 
out  this  enemy  also,  be  constructed. 
But  pamperos,  like  most  other  ills  of 
this  best  of   all  possible   worlds,  are 
exceptions,  and  for  most  days  of  the 
year  few  harbours  afford  a  safer  or 
a   more  commodious  anchorage   than 
Montevideo  ;  while  landward  a  prettier 
sight  than  that  presented  by  the  white 
houses  of  the  smokeless  town,  covering 
the  entire  eastern   promontory  down 
to  the  water's  edge  on  either  side,  in- 
termixed with  large  warehouses,  public 
buildings,  and  theatres,  and  crowned 
by  the  conspicuous  dome  and  towers 
of    the    massive    and,    pace    Captain 
Burton,  fairly  well-proportioned  cathe- 
dral, would  be  hard  to  find  anywhere 
else.    Beyond,  and  all  round  the  curve 
of  the  bay,  countless  villas  of  Hispano- 
Italian   construction,  one-storied    the 
majority,    and    recalling    in    general 
form  and  arrangement  the  Baian  or 
Pompeian  pleasure  residences   of  the 
Augustan  age,  but  not  unfrequently 
distinguished  by  lofty  "  miradores,"  or 
look-outs,   gleam  many-coloured  from 
between  thickly  planted  orchards  and 
gardens,  in  which  the  orange-tree,  the 
lemon,  the  acacia,  the  peach,  the  fig, 
the  cherry-tree,  the  medlar,  the  vine, 
blend  with  the  Australian  eucalyptus, 
the   bamboo,   the   banana,   the   palm, 
and   other  imported    growths    of   the 
outer  world,  and  shelter  a  perennial 
profusion  of  lovely  flowers,  and  pre- 
eminently of  luxuriant  roses,  worthy 
of  the  gardens  of  ancient  Paestum  and 
modern  Damascus  or  Salerno.     Ship- 
ping of  every  calibre  and  flag,  steam 
and  sail,  make  an  apt  foreground  to 
the   prosperous   life   implied    by    the 
landward  prospect ;  and  a  bright  sky, 
stainless  sunlight,  and  pure,  healthful 


From  Montevideo  to  Paraguay. 


air,  supply  those  conditions  of  enjoy- 
ment so  essential,  yet  so  often  want- 
ing, one  or  all,  from  the  nebulous 
sea-side  of  northern  Europe,  or  the 
treacherous  beauty  of  equatorial 
coasts. 

But  Montevideo  and  the  "  Banda 
Oriental,"  to  give  the  vigorous  little 
republic  of  which  it  is  the  capital  its 
prsedilect  name,  must  not  detain  us 
now.  Already  the  intervening  mass 
of  the  "cerro"  has  hid  them  from 
our  view,  and  we  are  far  out  on  the 
monotonous  waters  of  the  sea-like 
Plate  estuary.  Night  sets  in  calm 
and  clear  ;  and  I  look  for  the  four-fold 
stars,  first  visioned  to  the  Florentine 
seer,  when 

"  Coder  pareva  '1  ciel  di  lor  fiamelle. 

0  settentrional  vedovo  sito, 
Poiche  private  se'  di  mirar  quelle  !  " 

But  the  Cross,  partly  veiled,  is  just 
skirting  the  southern  horizon,  and 
will  not  be  visible  in  its  full  beauty  till 
near  midnight ;  so  that  those  strange, 
uncanny-looking  nebulae,  known,  I 
believe,  to  British  seafaring  vulgarity 
as  the  "  Coal-sacks,"  but  more  truly 
resembling,  if  anything,  gigantic  glow- 
worms, alone  denote,  by  their  prox- 
imity, the  starless  pole  of  the  Austral 
heavens.  Truly,  in  more  senses  than 
one,  a  pole-star  is  yet  to  seek  in  the 
southern  hemisphere,  west  or  east — a 
fixed  fulcrum,  a  central  idea,  a  con- 
trolling and  co-ordinating  force.  Yet 
the  slow  precession  of  the  equinoxes 
may  in  time  supply  it  to  the  courses 
of  the  concave  above ;  but  who  or 
what  shall  give  it  to  the  seething, 
over-restless  convex  below  ?  South 
America  has  her  'Bucolics,  nor  least 
the  First ;  but  the  Fourth  Eclogue  is 
wanting  from  among  the  chaunted 
lays  of  Mantin  Fierro  and  his  peers. 
Does  it  bide  a  future  date  ]  Let  us 
be  content  with  the  present ;  and 
trust,  but  not  "feebly,"  the  "larger 
hope." 

And  now,  after  ten  hours,  or  there- 
abouts, of  upward  course,  morning 
dawns  for  us  on  the  world-famed 
New  York  of  South  America,  the 

No.  308.— VOL.  LII. 


memorial  and    honour    of   Don  Juan 
de  Garay — the  residence  for  more  than 
two  centuries  of  Spanish  vice-royalty, 
and  now  the  political  and,  to  a  great 
extent,    commercial    capital    of    that 
southern  reflex  of  the  Northern  Union, 
the  vast  Argentine  Confederation,  the 
city  of   Buenos  Ayres.     I   remember 
how  an  Irish  mate,  when  questioned 
on  board   a   China-bound   steamer,  on 
which  I  happened  to  be  a  passenger, 
as   to   what   was   the   first   land    we 
should   sight    of    the   Chinese    coast, 
answering — and    he   could    not    have 
answered    more    appositely — "  Faith  ! 
the  first  land  ye  will  sight  is  a  junk  ! " 
Were  he  now  replying  to   a  similar 
inquiry   on    board    the    Rio   Apa,   he 
might  not  less  aptly  say,  "Faith!  the 
first  ye  will  see  of  Buenos  Ayres  is 
that  ye  will  not  see  it  at  all ! "     So 
low  is  the  coast,  so  great  the  distance 
from  shore  at  which  the  shallowness 
of    the    river-waters    compels    us    to 
anchor,  that   a  long  low  line  of  con- 
fused buildings,  and  behind  them  the 
summits,  no  more,  of  cupolas,  turrets, 
and  towers,  seen  at  intervals  over  the 
warehouse  fronts   along   the   edge,  is 
all  Buenos  Ayres  presents  to  our  eyes 
on  first  beholding.     The  view,  or  non- 
view,    of    Venice    herself    when    ap- 
proached by  rail  from  Padua  is  not 
more  unsatisfactory.     I  long  to  land, 
and  resolve  the  illusion  in  the  oppo- 
site sense    to    that  by  which  earth's 
illusions   generally    are    dispelled,   by 
finding,  as  I  know  I  shall,  the  reality 
of  the  Argentine  capital  better  than 
its  introductory  show.     But  the  earli- 
ness  of  the  hour,  and  the  shortness  of 
the  time  allotted  for  stay,  do  not  for 
this  occasion  permit  a  nearer  acquaint- 
ance   with    the    most   populous,    the 
wealthiest,  and  in  many  or  most  ways 
the  most  important  city  of  Republican 
South  America.     And,  in  fact,  what 
knowledge  worth  the  having  could  be 
acquired  by  an  hour  of  hurried  driving 
through  square  and  street  ?     So  I  re- 
sign myself  to  circumstances,  and  defer 
the  accomplishment  of  my  desires  till 
the  promised  opportunity  of  the  return 
voyage  ; — though  the  courtesy  of   the 


From  Montevideo  to  Paraguay. 


Argentine  "  Capitan  del  Puerto,"  or 
harbour  master,  has  hastened  to  place 
at  my  disposal  the  means  of  convenient 
landing,  moved  thereto  by  the  sight 
of  the  distinctive  flag  that  notifies  the 
presence  of  a  British  official — rank  and 
name,  of  course,  unknown,  nor  to  my 
readers  worth  the  knowing — on  board 
the  Rio  Apa.  It  is  a  courtesy  which 
will  be  repeated,  with  scarce  even  a 
casual  exception,  at  every  Argentine 
or  Paraguayan  river  station  we  halt 
at  during  the  seven  days  of  up-stream 
voyage  yet  before  us. 

There  exists  widely  diffused  in  the 
Old  "World,  nor  least  in  England,  an 
opinion,  the  origin  of  which,  correctly 
estimated  or  otherwise,  is  not  per- 
haps far  to  seek,  that  a  distinct  want 
or  even  refusal  of  every-day  courtesy, 
an  ostentatious  "  I  am  as  good  as  you, 
and  better,"  bearing,  a  disregard  of 
the  social  claims,  or  what  are  held  to 
be  such,  of  rank,  office,  station,  age, 
and  the  like,  are  the  habitual  cha- 
racteristics of  the  citizens  of  non- 
monarchical  states ;  that,  e.g.  a  re- 
publican boatman  is  more  rudely 
extortionate,  a  republican  porter 
more  importunately  aggressive,  a  re- 
publican official  more  neglectful  of 
politeness  than  their  counterparts 
elsewhere ;  and  so  on  to  the  end  of 
the  chapter.  How  far  this  may 
really  be  the  case  in  some  repub- 
lics, the  United  States  for  instance, 
I  cannot  say,  never  having  had  the 
fortune  to  visit  them,  nor  trusting 
much  to  "  Notes "  where  accounts 
vary  so  >  widely.  Thus  much  I  can 
say,  that,  in  my  own  limited  experi- 
ence of  men  and  things,  when  a 
traveller  loudly  and  habitually  com- 
plains of  incivility  met  with  on  his 
wanderings,  the  probability'  is  that 
the  traveller  himself  has  been,  at  the 
least,  deficient  in  courtesy  towards 
those  he  has  come  across.  In  Repub- 
lican South  America  my  own  witness 
in  these  regards  is,  so  far  as  it  goes, 
of  the  most  favourable  kind.  Cer- 
tainly I  had  much  sooner,  if  desirous 
of  obliging  civility,  have  to  do  with 
an  Uruguayan  or  Argentine,  not 


boatman  or  porter  merely,  but  police- 
man, official,  or  any  chance  acquaint- 
ance whatever,  low  or  high,  than  with 
his  like  in  many  a  European  land  that 
I  could,  but  will  not  name. 

Again   we   are    on    our    up-stream 
way,  but  now  obliquely  crossing  over 
towards  the  north  side  of  the  mighty 
estuary,  till  what  seems  at  first  sight 
a  continuous  shore-line  of  swamp  and 
brushwood,  but  what  is  in  reality  an 
aggregate  of  island  banks,  only  just 
raised    above     the     water-level,    and 
covered  with   scrub,   stretches  across 
our  path.     These  islands  are,  in  fact, 
the  secular   bar  at  the  mouth  of  the 
Parana  River,  before  it  broadens  into 
the  wider  Plate.  We  shape  our  course 
to  the  right,  where,  at  a  little  distance 
from  the  mainland  shore  of  Uruguay — 
here  a  continuous  succession  of  undu- 
lating downs,  grazing-ground  the  most 
— the  little  granite  island-rock  known, 
like  Cape  Palinurus  of  Yirgilian  fame, 
by  the  name  of  a  pilot,  Martin  Garcia, 
guards  the  only  available  entry  from 
Rio  de   la   Plata  and  the   sea,  to  the 
all- important  navigation  of  the  Parana 
and    Uruguay  rivers.     Itself   geogra- 
phically, no  less  than  geologically,  a 
fragment     of    Uruguay,    it     belongs 
territorially    to    the   Argentine    Con- 
federation   by     right     of — well — the 
right   of    the    stronger;    a   right   too 
generally    admitted     for     dispute    or 
appeal.     The  channel  on  either  side  of 
it,    deep   enough    for    all    mercantile 
navigation  is  sufficiently   commanded 
by  the  guns  and  forts  of  the  place  to 
make  a  hostile  passage  no  easy  matter. 
As  we  leave  Martin  Garcia  behind 
us,  a  broad  wedge-like  streak  of  darker 
colour,  driven    far  '  into    the    nwiddy 
waters  of  the  Plata,  from  its  left  or 
eastern  bank,  tells  where  the  Uruguay, 
itself  a  mighty  stream,  merges  in  the 
great   estuary,    and   marks   the   limit 
between  the  Argentine  Confederation, 
between  whose  lands  more  than  eight 
hundred  miles  of  river-navigation  lie 
before   us,    and    the    Banda  Oriental, 
or  east   shore,  of  which  we  now  take 
our   definite   leave.      Soon    we    have 
entered    the    Guazu,     or    great    pas- 


From  Montevideo  to  Paraguay. 


sage,  one  of  the  many  that  thread 
between  shoal  and  island,  the  Parana 
delta,  and  are  by  nightfall  on  the 
main  river,  here  often  whole  miles  in 
width ;  though  its  real  breadth  can 
rarely  be  taken  in  by  the  eye,  partly 
owing  to  the  general  lowness  of  its 
reedy  banks,  partly  to  the  countless 
islands,  which,  for  its  entire  course,  line 
at  brief  intervals  now  one  shore,  now 
the  other.  They,  and  the  shores  too, 
often  disappear  for  weeks  together 
during  the  yearly  floods,  and,  thus 
veiled,  add  not  a  little  to  the  difficul- 
ties and  dangers  of  the  route.  At 
present  the  water  is  at  its  lowest ; 
but  even  now  the  stream  is  rapid  and 
strong ;  its  colour  is  turbid  yellow ; 
its  surface  often  specked  with  masses 
of  tangled  weed  and  floating  drift- 
wood from  forests  yet  far  away. 

For  five  days  more  we  journey  up 
the  Parana  ;  passing,  and  occasionally 
stopping  for  cargo  or  passengers  at 
many  places  of  South  American  note — 
each  one  the  outcome  of  some  special 
activity  or  enterprise  proper  to  the 
young  and  vigorous  Confederation, 
between  whose  provinces  the  river 
flows.  And  first,  Rosario,  the  city- 
capital,  if  fact  fill  up  the  outlines  of 
forecast,  of  the  Argentine  commercial 
future ;  and  already  the  principal 
focus  and  dividing  point  of  the  widest- 
spread  railroad  system  existent  south 
of  the  Isthmus  of  Panama.  Next  we 
salute  the  memory  of  the  able  but 
ill-fated  Urquiza,  deliverer  of  his 
country  from  the  tyrant  Rosas,  to  fall 
himself  a  victim  to  treachery  base  as 
any  imbedded  in  the  ice  of  Dante's 
Tolommea ;  as  we  sight  the  city  of 
Parana,  conspicuous  by  the  ambitious 
dimensions  of  its  public  buildings, 
and  the  nine-years'  memory  of  its 
dignity,  as  Urquiza' s  choice  as  capital 
of  the  entire  Argentine  Confederation. 
Further  up  "Bella  Vista,"  or  "Fair 
Prospect,"  shines  out  on  us  worthy  of 
its  name,  where  its  white  houses  crown 
the  high  white  cliffs  that  overlook  the 
mighty  river ;  and  many  other  are  the 
places  of  provincial  or  even  national 
note,  till  we  reach  the  confluents 


or  Corrientes  of  the  Argentine- 
Paraguayan  frontier.  But  it  may, 
indeed  must,  be  here  enough  for  us  to 
note  that  during  these  nine  hundred 
miles  of  up-stream  voyage,  south  to 
north,  the  scenery  of  either  bank, 
while  remaining  essentially  the  same 
in  its  main  geographical  features  all 
the  way,  is  yet  gradually  modified  by 
the  progressive  approach  to  the  tropics 
into  ever-increasing  beauty  and  inter- 
est. The  eastern  length  of  shore, 
along  the  fertile  provinces  of  Entre- 
Rios  and  Corrientes,  gently  rising 
from  the  river  level  into  a  succession 
of  green  uplands,  studded  with  tree 
clumps,  and  brightened  by  white 
groups  of  cottages  and  farmhouses, 
with  a  tall  church  tower  here  and 
there,  passes  by  degrees  from  pasture- 
land  into  agriculture,  fields  of  maize, 
orange  -  groves,  tobacco  -  plantations, 
and  even  sugar-cane ;  a  landscape 
which,  allowance  made  for  brighter 
colour  and  glossier  vegetation,  not 
without  dwarf  palms  and  Japanese- 
looking  bamboo  clusters  here  and 
there,  often  reminded  me  in  its  gene- 
ral, and  even  in  its  detailed,  features 
of  the  noble  backgrounds  painted  by 
Rubens,  of  which  an  example  may  be 
seen  in  the  Judgment  of  Paris  in  our 
own  National  Gallery.  There  is  some- 
thing Flemish,  almost  English,  in 
their  fertile  repose ;  but  here  the 
scale  is  grander.  In  this  southern 
Mesopotamia — as  "  Entre-Rios  "  may 
be  literally  translated — nature  has 
bestowed  without  stint  whatever  goes 
to  make  up  those  two  solid  and 
enduring  bases  of  national  prosperity 
— agriculture,  and  pasture ;  the  third 
foundation,  indicated  by  our  Laureate 
in  his  exquisite  landscape  scene, 
"  Ancient  Peace,"  is  wanting  here  as 
yet.  A  few  years,  indeed,  of  com- 
parative security  and  quiet  have 
already  done  much,  as  the  glimpses 
of  cattle-stocked  meadows,  and  the 
dark  green  patches  of  Indian  corn 
show  us,  as  our  steamer  rapidly  glides 
past  the  gully-indented  banks ;  but 
the  peaceful  years  that  have  given 
these  good  things  are,  as  yet,  of  recent 

H  2 


100 


From  Montevideo  to  Paraguay. 


date ;  a  very  different  condition  of 
tumult,  insecurity,  and  not  infrequent 
war  prevailed  here  at  a  very  short 
distance  back  from  the  present  epoch. 
These  evils  are  past,  yet  not  so  wholly 
as  absolutely  to  bar  the  danger  of 
their  possible  renewal,  or  to  grant 
the  desirable  immunity  from  the 
agitations  and  vicissitudes  consequent 
on  the  frequent  and  abrupt  political 
changes  of  Buenos  Ayres  itself — com- 
municated thence  like  earthquake 
waves  to  the  furthest  provinces  of  the 
Confederation.  Still,  enough  advance 
on  the  path  of  law  and  order  has  been 
made  to  give  reasonable  assurance 
that  the  days  of  Oribe  and  Rosas,  of 
gaucho-leaders,  and  partisan  plunders 
are,  year  by  year — as  the  settled  popu- 
lation of  the  land  increases  steadily 
in  numbers,  wealth,  and  strength — 
less,  and  ever  less,  likely  to  recur ;  while 
the  tale  of  those  who  have  a  vested 
interest  in  the  tranquillity  of  the 
country  continues  to  grow,  and  with 
it  grows  the  best  probability  and 
pledge  of  that  tranquillity  itself. 
Meanwhile,  many  detail  inventions, 
some  of  them  undoubted  improve- 
ments, of  recent  introduction,  such  as 
the  increased  use  of  machinery  on  the 
farms,  the  net-work  of  strong  wire 
fences,  now  spread  over  the  face  of  the 
pasture-land  ;  the  extension  of  railway 
lines,  and  whatever  other  appliances 
tend  to  the  facilitation  of  orderly 
communication,  to  the  safe-guarding  of 
property,  and  to  the  substitution  of 
methodised  labour  for  the  once  over- 
numerous  troops  of  half-wild  horse- 
men and  cattle-drivers — ready  allies  in 
the  cause  of  riot  and  plunder — all  lead 
up  to  the  same  result.  It  would  be 
difficult  now  for  a  "  caudillo,"  or 
an  adventurer-chief,  however  popular 
his  name  or  cause — to  gather  round 
his  standard  the  formidable  gaucho 
bands,  all  ready  armed  and  mounted 
for  march  or  fray,  that  were,  scarce 
a  quarter  of  a  century  ago,  the  terror 
of  farmers  and  proprietors,  of  land- 
owners and  peasants,  nay,  even  of 
townsmen  and  towns,  of  place-holding 
professionals  and  city  officials  through 


the  regions  of  La  Plata  and  La  Banda 
Oriental.  But  the  surest  guarantee  of 
national  stability  is  to  be  sought  and 
found  in  the  extension  of  agriculture, 
and  in  the  yearly  encroachment  of 
peasant,  or  small  farmer,  proprietorship 
on  the  scantily  peopled  pasture-grounds 
and  cattle-breeding  lands. 

Thus  much  for  the  east  bank  of  the 
river.  But  on  its  western  side  a  very 
different  range  of  scenery,  little  modi- 
fied by  man  and  his  works,  shows  the 
gradual  transition  from  cool  to  almost 
tropical  climes.  For  here  stretches 
back  for  hundreds  of  miles  from  the 
water's  edge,  up  to  the  first  outlying 
bulwarks  of  the  great  Andes  Cor- 
dillera, the  vast  plain,  level  as  the 
sea,  of  which  it  must  have  been  the 
bed  in  times  almost  recent  by  geolo- 
gical computation,  and  known  for  the 
"  Grand  Chaco,"  the  "  Sahara  "  or  Flat 
of  South  America,  like  in  relative 
position  and  telluric  formation  to  its 
African  counterpart,  yet  most  unlike 
in  the  all-important  attributes  of 
moisture  and  fertility.  For  this,  the 
Chaco,  is  a  land  of  streams  and  springs, 
of  marsh  even  and  swamp,  with  abund- 
ant growth  of  grass,  plant,  and  tree, 
especially  to  the  north ;  its  total  ex- 
tent is  roughly  estimated  as  that  of 
the  British  islands  fourfold.  Nomin- 
ally included,  though  not  without  rival 
claims  on  the  part  of  Paraguay  and 
of  Bolivia,  in  the  Argentine  Con- 
federation, it  is  practically  indepen- 
dent of  all  these,  or  of  any  other 
European-founded  rule,  being  still,  as 
of  old  times,  the  territory  and  dwelling- 
place  of  native  Indian  tribes,  war- 
like the  most  part,  tenaciously  at- 
tached— and  small  blame — to  their 
own  autonomous  existence,  and  re- 
sistent  to  the  last — a  "  last "  which 
can  hardly  now  be  far  distant — against 
every  Argentine  attempt  at  civilis- 
ing —  that  is,  in  plain  language, 
subjugating  and  ultimately  effacing 
them.  Passively  strong  in  their  unin- 
cumbered  activity  for  escape  even 
more  than  for  attack,  and  protected 
by  the  vastness  of  the  open  space  over 
which  they  wander  at  will,  they  have 


From  Montevideo  to  Paraguay. 


101 


thus  far  not  only  succeeded  in  baffling 
the  organised  military  expeditions, 
successively  directed  against  them  by 
the  Buenos  Ay  res  Government,  but 
have  even  baffled  all  but  the  narrowest 
encroachments  of  settlement  and  colo- 
nial proprietorship  on  their  borders. 
Known,  or  rather  designated  by  vari- 
ous names — Tobas,  Mbayas,  Lenguas, 
Abipones,  Payaguas,  and  others — the 
tribes,  with  a  certain  general  simili- 
tude of  features  and  habits,  much  like 
that  existing,  say,  between  the  various 
subdivisions  of  Teutonic  or  Slavonic 
origins  in  Europe,  yet  differ  widely  in 
character,  dispositions,  and  language  ; 
some  are  pacific,  and  not  unacquainted 
with  agriculture  and  settled  life ; 
others,  more  warlike,  subsist,  it  is 
said,  almost  wholly  on  the  chase  and 
foray ;  some  are  almost  exclusively 
fishermen,  others  herdsmen  or  shep- 
herds. Their  dialects,  equally  diver- 
sified, for  each  tribe  has  its  own,  can 
all,  it  seems,  be  without  exception  re- 
ferred to  the  two  great  mother  tongues 
of  South  America,  the  Quichna,  lan- 
guage of  Peru  and  Bolivia,  and  the 
Guarani,  spoken  in  one  form  or  other 
over  the  entire  eastern  half  of  the 
continent,  and  of  which  more  anon. 

Such  are,  summarily  taken,  the  in- 
habitants of  the  Chaco.  Extending 
from  the  populous  province  of  Santa 
Fe\  opposite  to  that  of  Entre-Rios 
northward,  up  to  and  beyond  the 
furthest  limits  of  Paraguay,  its  level 
surface,  seldom  modified,  however 
slightly,  by  difference  of  elevation  or 
by  the  hand  of  man,  presents  in  its 
changing  vegetation  a  kind  of  scale 
by  which  to  measure,  not  incorrectly, 
the  ever-ascending  range  of  its  ther- 
mometric  temperature.  The  solitary, 
oak- like  ombu-tree,  and  the  dwarfish 
willow  and  light- leaved  poplar  of  the 
neighbourhood  of  Rosario  and  Santa 
Fe,  gradually  associate  themselves 
further  up  with  more  varied  and 
vigorous  South-American  growths,  and 
the  tall  outlines  of  forest-trees,  worthy 
the  name,  trace  themselves  more  and 
more  frequently  on  the  low  sky-line, 
till,  as  we  approach  about  half-way  to 


Corrientes,  palms,  at  first  sparse  and 
stunted  in  structure,  then  loftier  and 
grouped  in  clusters  and  groves,  give 
evidence  of  a  more  genial  tempera- 
ture ;  while  the  bamboo,  not,  indeed, 
the  feathery  giant  of  the  Philippines 
or  Siam,  but  liker  in  size  and  fashion  to 
the  Chinese  or  Japanese  variety,  bends 
over  the  doubtful  margin  of  river  and 
swamp,  often  tangled  with  large-leaved 
water-plants  and  creepers,  the  shelter 
and  perch  of  gay  kingfishers  and  flocks 
of  parti-coloured  aquatic  birds,  the 
only  visible  inhabitants  of  this  lone 
region,  for  the  Indian  tribes,  shy,  nor 
unreasonably  so,  of  contact  with  the 
white  races,  keep  aloof  from  the  river 
coast,  or,  if  they  visit  it,  leave  no 
trace  of  their  having  been  there. 

At  last,  on  the  sixth  noon  since  we 
left  Montevideo,  we  are  off  the  shelv- 
ing banks  and  scattered  houses  of 
Corrientes,  a  large  town,  whose  im- 
portance and  future  growth  are 
sufficiently  assured  by  its  position 
close  to  the  junction  of  the  two 
chief est  rivers  of  central  and  eastern 
South  America,  the  Parana  and  the 
Paraguay^  Of  these  the  former — now 
subdividing  itself  into  a  network  of 
countless  and  ever-shifting  channels 
and  islands,  now  united  in  one  mighty 
stream  of  turbid  yellow,  here,  a  few 
miles  north  of  the  town — makes  a 
stately  bend,  that  half  surrounds  the 
fertile  grazing-lands  of  Corrientes,  and 
passes  upwards  to  the  north-east,  where 
the  eye  loses  sight  of  it  among  the 
dense  forests  of  either  bank ;  while 
from  the  north,  exactly  on  the  line 
thus  far  occupied  by  the  Parana,  de- 
scend the  darker-coloured  waters  of  the 
Paraguay,  itself  a  noble  river,  here 
over  half  a  mile  in  width,  with  an 
open,  well-defined  channel,  few  islands, 
and  a  current  strong  even  now,  at  the 
lowest  water-time  of  the  year.  At 
this  junction  of  the  three  great  streams, 
a  scene  surpassing  in  beauty  and  calm 
grandeur  any  other  of  the  kind  that  it 
has  been  my  lot  to  look  on  elsewhere, 
we  reach  the  southernmost  limits  of 
the  Paraguayan  territory,  separated 
from  the  Argentine,  and  in  great  part 


102 


From  Montevideo  to  Paraguay. 


from  the  Brazilian,  to  the  south  and 
east  by  the  Parana,  while  on  the  west 
the  Paraguay  divides  it  from  the  Grand 
Chaco,  and  northward  the  Apa,  itself 
a  tributary  stream  of  the  Paraguay, 
forms  the  boundary  of  the  little  but 
compact  dominion.  Thus  surrounded, 
the  land  of  Paraguay  enjoys  the  ad- 
vantages of  an  almost  insular  position, 
a  circumstance  which  has,  no  doubt, 
considerably  influenced  alike  its  his- 
tory and  the  character  of  its  inha- 
bitants in  all  times. 

Seen  under  the  dazzling  brilliancy  of 
a    South   American    sun,    an   adjunct 
rarely  wanting  here  to  the  landscape, 
whatever    the    season    of    the    year, 
Corrientes  and  its  surroundings  make 
up  a  panorama  of  rare  loveliness  and 
interest.     To  the  east  of  us  the  glitter- 
ing slope  rises  from  the  water  upwards, 
with  a  foreground  of  small  steamers, 
sailing-vessels,    and    countless     boats 
moored  along  its  margin,  and  above,  a 
long   succession   of    white,  flat-roofed 
buildings,  varied  by  tall  church  towers 
and  the  high  fronts  of  public  edifices — 
among  them  the  spacious  government 
house,   once  a   Jesuit   college ;  mixed 
with  these  are  bright  flower-gardens, 
dark   green   orange-groves   and   over- 
topping    palms ;     beyond     lie     long 
ranges  of  tilled  land  and  rich  pasture 
meadows,     bordered     by     strips     and 
patches  of  forest ;  till,  north-east,  the 
majestic   curve   of   the  shining  river, 
reaching  miles  and  miles  away  into  the 
distance,  rests  on  and  blends  with  the 
white  horizon  line.     North  the  sight 
rests    on    the   cool,    dense   forests   of 
Paraguay,  and,    breaking  forth  from 
among  them,  the  mighty  river  of  that 
land,  sweeping  down  to  merge  its  name 
and    itself     in    the    Parana ;     while 
eastward  extends  the  boundless  green 
of  the  fertile  though  scarce  tenanted 
Chaco.      And   to   the  south  flow  and 
mingle  the  wide-spread  meshes  of  the 
Argentine  River,  a  net  of  silver  cast 
over  a  plain  of  emerald.     A  region  as 
yet  only  the  cradle  of  nations  ;  worthy 
to  be  one  day  their  abode  and  palace. 
Already,    signs   are   not   wanting    of 
hopeful  meaning  for  the  future ;  such 


are  the   crowds   of   boatmen,    sailors,, 
cattle-drivers,     waggoners,     peasants, 
townsmen,    who     give    life     to     the 
wharves.     The    ceaseless  loading  and 
unloading  as  cargoes  of  hides,   wool, 
maize,    flour,    wood,    fruits,    &c.,    are 
shipped  or  transferred  from  one  hold 
to  another ;  the  herds  of  large,  sleek, 
long-horned  cattle  grazing ;   the   rich 
pasture-lands  by  the  river ;  the  troops 
of    half-tamed  horses,  a   spirited  and 
enduring  breed,  excellent  for  all  kindsof 
work  ;  the  many  specks  and  patches  of 
shining  white,  that  tell  of  farm-houses 
and     dwellings,    scattered     frequent, 
over  the  uplands  beyond ;    these  and 
much  more  denote  at  once  the  energy 
and     the     rising     fortunes     of     the 
"  Corrientinos,"  as  the  inhabitants  of 
the  land  are  called,  and  who,  though 
yearly  recruited  more  and  more  with 
immigrants  of  various  nationalities,  yet 
form  the  bulk  of  the  resident  popula- 
tion and  give  their  tone  to  the  rest. 
A  tall,  sinewy,  hard-featured,   manly 
race,  of  north  Spanish  origin  mostly, 
but  with  a  frequent  dash  of  Indian  or 
"  Guarani  "    blood — evidenced  by  the 
darkness    of    their    hair,    their   com- 
plexion, and  their  eyes  ;    they  make  a 
good,  not  unpicturesque,  appearance  in 
their  striped  ponchos — how    it  comes 
that  these  most  convenient  articles  of 
out-of-door    dress,    manufactured    the 
most  nowadays  in  England,  are  not  a 
general  European  dress  is  a  riddle  to  me 
— their  slouched,  broad-brimm  ed  hats  of 
felt  or  straw,   and  their  wide   boots, 
often   adorned,    after   the  traditional 
South    American   fashion   with    huge 
silver-plated  spurs,  though  these  last 
are    falling   into  gradual  disuse,  and 
bearing   similarly    adorned    whips  of 
cowhide  in  their  hands.     Hardy  and 
enterprising   in   no    ordinary   degree, 
they  are  not  always  amenable  to  the 
restraints   of    law   and   government ; 
yet     not    of     themselves     wantonly 
turbulent     or    disposed     to    acts     of 
violence ;  they  make  up  an  excellent 
substratum  and  material  for  a  state 
that  cannot  fail   to   hold    high   rank 
among  those  of  the  south  equatorial 
world,  whether  it  remain  a  component 


From  Montevideo  to  Paraguay. 


103 


factor  of  the  over-composite  Argentine 
Confederation,  or  claim,  as  it  is  not 
wholly  improbableit  may,  independence 
on  its  own  account.  The  prevalent  or, 
so  to  call  it,  official  language  through- 
out Corrientes  is  Spanish,  but  in  the 
interior  of  the  household,  and  out  in 
the  fields  Guarani  is  widely  spoken  ;  a 
link,  among  many  others,  of  unity 
between  these  provincials  and  the 
neighbouring  Paraguayans.  The  Chaco 
opposite  is  also,  as  to  the  tribes  that 
roam  over  it  and  the  dialects  they 
employ,  in  great  measure  a  Guarani 
country ;  and,  in  spite  of  an  expedi- 
tion, actually  sent  thither  in  view  of 
subjugation  by  the  central  Argentine 
Government,  whose  transports  were 
lying  moored  alongside  of  the  right 
bank  as  we  passed — likely  to  remain  so 
for  years  to  come ;  nor  have  even  the 
narrow  encroachments  of  settlement 
and  colonial  proprietorship  on  its 
borders  much  success  to  boast  of  as 
yet. 

"Here  it  was,"  said  an  Argentine 
passenger  to  me,  as  we  stood  together 
on  the  paddle-box  of  our  steamer, 
gazing  on  the  magnificent  view  before 
us,  "  here  it  was  that  the  main  army 
of  the  allies  forced  an  entrance  into 
Paraguay."  He  pointed  to  a  strip  of 
slightly  rising  ground  on  the  northern 
bank  of  the  Parana,  just  beyond  its 
easterly  bend  ;  the  spot  he  indicated 
was  backed  seemingly  by  dense  forest, 
and  flanked  by  swamp  and  morass  on 
either  side.  This  was  in  fact  Paso  la 
Patria,  the  only  available  landing 
point  for  troops  crossing  the  stream 
from  Corrientes ;  and  here  it  was  that 
a  united  army  of  Brazilians,  Argen- 
tines, and  Uruguayans,  more  than 
60,000  men  in  all,  well  -  trained 
soldiers  and  supplied  with  the  best  of 
modern  artillery,  arms,  and  ammuni- 
tion, and  commanded  by  the  best 
generals  their  respective  countries 
could  supply,  were  held  for  six  long 
months  at  bay  by  considerably  less 
than  half  their  number  of  badly-armed, 
badly-clothed,  worse  fed  Paraguayan 
recruits;  and  only  at  last  succeeded 
in  forcing  the  river  passage  at  an 


immense  loss,  thanks  not  so  much  to 
their  own  courage  or  skill  as  to  the 
rash  over-daring  of  the  Paraguayans 
themselves,  who,  again  and  again, 
abandoned  the  shelter  of  their  defences 
to  assume  an  offensive  action,  for 
which  neither  their  number  nor  their 
means  were  in  any  degree  sufficient. 

There  is  no  need  here  to  recount, 
even  in  abstract,  the  tragic  story  of 
the  great  Paraguayan  war  of  1865-70. 
Six  disastrous  years,  which  so  nearly 
accomplished  the  avowed  aim  of 
Paraguay's  bitterest  enemy,  Brazil — 
for  the  Argentine  and  the  Oriental 
Republics  were  merely  the  instruments 
of  Brazilian  policy  throughout,  and 
shared  less  in  the  intentions  than  in 
the  acts  of  the  empire — that,  namely, 
of  wiping  out  of  existence  the  most 
heroic,  and,  in  many  respects,  the 
most  hope-affording  nationality  of 
South  America.  Nor  shall  I  recapitu- 
late the  almost  incredible  follies  and 
crimes  of  the  selfish  and  parricidal 
madman,  on  whose  behalf,  simply 
because  he  was  their  lord  and  chief, 
the  Paraguayans  poured  out  their 
blood  like  water  on  the  battle  field, 
while  their  wives  and  children  perished 
by  thousands  in  the  mountains  and 
forests,  till  scarce  a  third  of  what  had 
been  so  lately  a  prosperous  and  rapidly 
increasing  population  was  left,  naked, 
starving,  houseless,  within  the  dimin- 
ished limits  of  a  land  six  years  before 
a  garden  of  Eden — now  a  desolate 
wilderness.  Whoever  wishes  to  know 
the  details  of  that  ruin  may  find  them 
told,  clumsily  indeed  and  in  writings 
devoid  of  literary  merit,  yet  bearing 
sufficient  evidence  of  general  truth,  by 
Thomson,  Masterman,  and  others  of 
their  class,  actors  themselves  or 
sufferers  in  what  they  describe. 
Enough  at  present  to  say  that  from 
the  Paraguayan  officer,  who,  borne 
wounded  and  senseless  from  the  mad 
fray  on  board  a  Brazilian  steamer, 
only  regained  consciousness  to  tear  off 
the  bandages,  applied  by  pitying 
enemies  to  his  wounds,  and  chose  to 
bleed  to  death  then  and  there  rather 
than  live  an  hour  as  a  prisoner,  down 


104 


From  Montevideo  to  Paraguay. 


to  the  meanest  private  who,  lying 
mangled  and  helpless  on  the  field,  had 
no  answer  for  the  offered  quarter  but 
a  defiance  or  an  attempted  blow,  one 
spirit  only,  that  of  devoted,  all-ab- 
sorbing patriotism,  of  a  determination 
to  dare  everything  in  the  country's 
defence,  and  an  equally  firm  resolution 
not  to  survive  its  downfall,  was  the 
spirit  of  the  entire  Paraguayan  nation  ; 
the  spirit  of  Saguntum  and  Numantia, 
of  Spartan  Thermopylae  and  Theban 
Chseronea  in  one 

But  not  the  Paraguay  of  the  past — if 
indeed  events  that  occurred  within  the 
last  twenty  years  only  can  historically 
be  termed  past — but  the  Paraguay  of 
the  present  is  our  theme.  Keeping 
straight  on  to  the  north  we  have  left 
the  wide  expanse  of  the  deflected 
Parana  behind  us  on  our  right,  and 
are  now  between  the  comparatively 
high  and  densely  wooded  banks  of  the 
Paraguay  River,  hereabouts  turbid  and 
swollen  by  the  discoloured  waters  of 
the  Vermejo,  or  "Red"  River,  its 
tributary  from  the  Western  Chaco, 
and  the  Bolivian  hills  far  away.  With 
a  stream  seldom  subdivided,  and  a 
width  equalling  on  an  average  that  of 
the  Lower  Danube  at  Widdin  or 
Roustchouk,  the  Paraguay  has,  at 
least  to  a  European  eye,  much  more  of 
the  appearance  of  a  river  than  the 
seemingly  shoreless  Plata,  or  the  in- 
definitely ramified  Parana.  The  banks 
too  are  much  more  varied  in  character 
than  those  of  the  last-named  stream  : 
clay,  rock,  sandstone,  limestone,  basalt, 
succeeding  each  other  in  abrupt  alter- 
nation ;  the  vegetation  is  also  more 
abundant  and  diversified  ;  forest  trees 
of  great  height  and  extent  of  branch, 
attesting  the  toughness  of  their  wood 
fibre,  and  among  them  palms  of  every 
kind,  some  feathery,  as  the  coco,  some 
fan-leafed,  some  densely  tufted,  tall 
bamboos,tree  ferns,  resembling  those  of 
the  Antilles,  and  a  close  undergrowth 
of  shrub  and  plant,  now  starred  with 
spring  flowers,  among  which  the  white 
and  pink  predominate,  as  the  yellow 
in  many  districts  of  China  and  the 
blue  in  European  uplands.  Along 


the  banks,  among  weed  and  drift- 
wood, half  in,  half  out  of  the  water, 
He  huge,  mud-coloured  alligators.  I  am 
told  that  they  are  not  alligators  but 
crocodiles ;  it  may  be  so,  though  in 
what  precisely  an  alligator  differs 
from  a  crocodile  I  do  not  know ;  any- 
how these  amphibia  of  the  Paraguay 
are,  in  outward  appearance  the  very 
counterparts  of  their  congeners  in  Siam. 
They  watch  us  with  dull,  heavy  eyes  ; 
every  now  and  then  a  pig-like  "  car- 
pincho,"  a  sort  of  would-be-hippopota- 
mus, dives  out  of  sight  at  our 
approach  ;  and  we  hear  much  of  tigers, 
or  rather  panthers,  said  to  abound 
hereabouts  and  to  be  good  swimmers, 
but  we  do  not  meet  any.  To  make  up 
we  see  abundance  of  water-snakes, 
ugly  speckled  things,  said  to  be  poison- 
ous ;  and  birds  of  every  size,  descrip- 
tion, and  colour.  Frequent  too,  on 
either  side  of  the  river,  but  most  so  on 
the  eastern,  are  the  signs  of  human 
habitation ;  pot-herb  gardens,  where 
gourds  abound,  fruit-trees,  orange 
groves,  now  more  golden  than  green  in 
the  lavish  abundance  of  their  sweet 
fruit ;  little,  almost  country- English 
looking,  cottages,  singly  or  in  small 
groups,  with  neighbouring  inclosures 
for  cattle,  perched  on  the  upper  banks 
at  safe  distance  from  the  yearly  water- 
rise,  while,  moored  under  the  shade  of 
over-hanging  brush- wood  and  creepers 
lie  boats  with  mast  or  oar  ;  canoes  too 
with  paddles,  Indian  fashion,  are  not 
rare.  Such  for  a  hundred  miles  and 
more  upward  from  its  junction  with 
the  Parana  is  the  general  aspect  of  the 
Paraguay  and  its  shores.  Of  the  war 
that  raged  so  fiercely  over  and  along 
this  very  river  district  in  1866-68,  of 
the  terrible  combat  of  Bellaco,  when 
the  flower  of  the  Paraguayan  nation- 
ality, and  indeed,  whatever  was  yet 
available  of  the  Paraguayan  army, 
pitted  in  utter  defiance,  alike  of  strategy 
and  of  tactics,  against  an  enemy  thrice 
over  their  superior  in  numbers,  and 
ten  times  so  in  arms  and  every  appli- 
ance of  war,  with  all  the  advantages 
too  of  a  strongly  intrenched  position, 
perished  in  its  reckless  daring — refus- 


From  Montevideo  to  Paraguay. 


105 


ing  quarter  or  surrender  almost  to  a 
man.  Of  the  battle  of  Curupati,  a  little 
higher  up,  and  the  fierce  onslaught 
of  Tuyuti,  where  some  eight  thousand 
Paraguayan  recruits,  the  half  of  them 
mere  boys  of  twelve  to  sixteen  years, 
drove  before  them,  panic-stricken,  the 
best  of  the  allied  armies,  burnt  and 
sacked  their  camp,  and  reduced  them 
to  an  inaction  of  months  before  they 
ventured  on  further  advance,  and  of 
the  countless  skirmishes,  ambuscades, 
surprises,  bombardments,  land-fights, 
river- fights,  which,  in  league  with 
famine,  fire,  and  plague,  made  of  these 
fair  valleys  one  vast  charnel  house  for 
at  least  a  hundred  and  fifty  thousand 
corpses,  not  a  visible  trace  now  re- 
mains. 

"  A  thousand  battles  have  assailed  thy  banks, 
But  these  and  half  their  fame  have  passed 

away  ; 
And  slaughter  heaped  on  high  his  weltering 

ranks  ; 
Their  very  graves  are  gone,  and  what  are 

they  ? 

Thy  tide  washed  down  the  blood  of  yesterday, 
And  all  was  stainless,  and  on  thy  clear 

stream 

Glassed  with  its  dancing  light  the  sunny 
ray. " 

So  sang  Byron  of  the  Rhine  ;  so  might 
he,  with  scarce  the  change  of  a  word, 
have  sung  of  the  lower  Paraguay. 
Nature's  "  work  of  gladness,"  an  hour 
interrupted  by  man's  equally  appro- 
priate work  of  destruction  and  misery, 
is  soon  resumed ;  with  real  or  feigned 
indifference  the  mother-Sphinx  smiles 
on,  whatever  betide  the  wayfarers  of 
her  domain. 

Soon,  however,  we  come  on  a  break 
in  the  scene.  The  river,  hemmed  in 
to  narrowness  by  high  banks  on  either 
side,  makes  a  sharp  bend,  or,  rather, 
folds  round  upon  itself,  changing  its 
direction  from  north  to  south-east, 
then  south,  then  due  east,  then  by 
west  to  the  north  again  ;  and  amid 
these  windings  each  shore,  but  prin- 
cipally the  Paraguayan,  is  scarred  by 
the  traces  of  ruined  batteries,  range 
above  range ;  while  some  ruins  of 
broken  walls,  that  once  were  barracks 
and  storehouses,  amid  dismantled  field- 


lines  and  earthworks,  are  overtopped 
by  the  tall  ruins  of  a  stately  church — 
now  a  shattered  shell  of  brick  and 
stone.  This  is  all  that  remains  of 
Humaita,  the  important  river-position 
fortified  by  Lopez  to  be  the  Cronstadt 
or  Chatham  of  Paraguay,  the  outer- 
most and  strongest  bulwark  of  the 
interior  and  its  capital,  Asuncion. 
Nor  could  a  better  site  have  been 
chosen,  had  the  means  of  defence  been 
proportionate  by  land  or  water  to  the 
natural  advantages  of  the  position 
itself.  Here,  in  1868,  a  native  garrison, 
scarce  three  thousand  strong,  held  out, 
not  by  the  strength  of  the  outworks, 
which  they  were  numerically  insuffi- 
cient to  man,  nor  by  strength  of 
artillery,  of  which,  as  of  ammunition, 
they  had  little  at  command,  and  that 
of  the  worst  quality,  but  by  sheer 
dogged  resolution  and  hand-to-hand 
fighting  for  four  months  of  continual 
bombardment ;  carried  on  by  a  besieg- 
ing force  of  at  least  twenty  thousand 
men,  backed  from  the  river  by  'a 
numerous  fleet  of  iron-clads  and  moni- 
tors, Brazilian  and  Argentine,  well 
supplied  with  whatever  modern  inge- 
nuity has  supplied  to  destructiveness, 
nor  yielded  till  starvation  compelled 
the  surrender  of  the  survivors,  now 
less  than  a  third  of  their  original 
number,  and  who,  at  the  time  of  their 
capitulation,  had  been  four  days  with- 
out food  of  any  sort. 

Never  was  a  ruler,  a  chief,  better 
served  by  his  subjects  than  Solano 
Francisco  Lopez,  second  of  the  family 
name ;  and  never  did  any  one  per- 
sonally less  deserve  such  devotedness, 
and  fidelity.  While  the  Paraguayans, 
whom  his  reckless  and  disproportioned 
ambition,  or  vanity,  alone  had  involved 
in  a  war  with  half,  and  more  than  half, 
the  South  American  continent,  a  war 
of  one  to  twenty,  in  which  defeat  and 
ruin  might  well  from  the  outset  have 
seemed  foregone  conclusions,  were 
perishing  for  him  by  battalions  in  the 
field,  or  starving  in  the  forest  ;  men 
women  and  children,  during  the  six 
long  years  of  a  nation's  agony,  pre- 
ferring death  in  its  worst  forms  to 


106 


From.  Montevideo  to  Paraguay. 


foreign  rule,  or  to  any  conditions  of 
peace  with  the  invaders  of  their  land  ; 
Lopez  himself,  sole  cause  and  origi- 
nator of  the  war,  well  provided  not 
merely  with  the  necessaries,  but  even 
with  the  luxuries  of  'life,  lay  hid 
behind  the  securest  defences,  or  re- 
mained absent  at  safe  distance  from 
the  scene  of  actual  combat :  nay,  worse 
yet,  exercised  on  those  within  his 
immediate  reach,  on  the  best  and  most 
faithful  of  his  own  officers  and  ser- 
vants, and  ultimately  on  his  nearest 
kinsmen,  on  his  brothers,  his  sisters, 
his  very  mother,  cruelties  to  which 
history,  fortunately,  supplies  few  paral- 
lels— I  might  almost  say,  taken  in  their 
totality,  none.  And  yet  it  was  for 
this  man,  sensualist,  coward,  tyrant, 
fratricide,  matricide,  that  Paraguay 
lavished  with  scarce  a  murmur  three- 
fourths  of  her  life-blood  ;  saw  her  men, 
women,  and  children  exterminated  by 
war,  by  disease,  by  famine,  by  misery 
of  every  kind,  or  carried  off  as  slaves 
into  distant  bondage ;  saw  her  towns 
destroyed,  her  villages  and  fields 
wasted,  her  cattle  harried,  her  wealth 
plundered  to  absolute  bareness,  nor 
even  then  submitted ;  only  ceased  to 
strive  when  she  had  practically,  and 
for  all  national  purposes,  ceased  to 
exist.  More  yet,  were  Lopez  himself, 
in  the  worst  anger  of  the  infernal 
gods,  to  revive  to-morrow  on  Para- 
guayan territory,  his  reappearance 
would,  there  is  every  reason  to  believe, 
at  once  rally  round  him  the  obedience 
and  the  devotion  of  a  vast  majority 
among  the  yet  surviving  inhabitants 
of  the  land. 

Rare  even  in  Asia,  rarer  in  Europe, 
rarest  of  all  in  the  loosely-constituted, 
half-cemented  societies  of  the  New 
World,  such  fidelity  as  that  of  the 
Paraguayans  stands  out  in  history  as  a 
phenomenon  hard  to  explain,  an  in- 
soluble riddle,  an  enigma,  almost  a 
scandal  to  those  around.  Many  and 
far-fetched  enough  in  all  conscience 
have  been  the  conjectures.  Thus,  for 
instance,  I  have  heard  Paraguayan 
loyalty  to  this  last  and  most  unworthy 
of  chiefs,  no  less  than  the  submission 


shown    to    his    far   better  and    abler 
father,  Carlo  Lopez,  and  to  the  talented 
but    half    insane    Francia    of    earlier 
years,  attributed  to — stupete  gentes  ! — 
Jesuit  training ;    and  referred  to  an- 
cestral education  in  the  celebrated  but 
greatly  exaggerated    "  missions,"  situ- 
ated, for  the  most  part,  outside  of  the 
Paraguayan    territory,    of    the     sons 
of     Loyola,    long     since    overthrown 
by    Spanish   jealousy,   dead  for   more 
than  half  a  century  before   the   first 
appearance  of  Francia,  and  buried  be- 
neath the  ponderous  verse  of  Southey, 
and  the  "  Tale  of  Paraguay."     A  sup- 
position, betraying  no  small  ignorance 
as  of  the  merits,  so  also  of  the  defects 
of  Jesuit  teaching,  and  a  yet  greater 
ignorance  of    chronology  and  of   the 
local    facts    themselves.      The    much 
talked-of  "  missions,"  or  "reductions," 
were  almost  wholly  either  in    extra- 
Paraguay  territory,  that  namely  yet 
entitled    "  Misiones,"     south    of    the 
Parana,  or  in  Uruguay,  or,  further  off 
yet,  in  Patagonia ;   and  numbered  at 
the   most,    taken   conjointly,    170,000 
souls.     Besides,  the  disciples   of    the 
Jesuit  Fathers  were  wholly  and  solely 
Indian,  of    Guarani   race   indeed   the 
most,  and  so  far  identical   with   the 
Aborigines  of   Paraguay  proper,  but 
absolutely   without,    indeed    carefully 
kept  apart  from,  the  Spanish  element, 
which  not  only  blends  with  but  greatly 
preponderates  over  the    "  native,"  or 
Guarani  in  the  Paraguay  of  later  his- 
tory and  of  our  own  times.     True  the 
order  of  the  Jesuits  had,  like   other 
religious  orders,  its  representatives  in 
Spanish  Paraguay,  that    is,   down    to 
the  suppression  of  1767  ;  but  their  in- 
fluence there,  as  elsewhere,  could  have 
been  at  the  most  corrective,  not  for- 
mative of  the  national  character. 

Other  theorists  again,  somewhat 
better,  perhaps,  acquainted  with  the 
history  of  these  lands,  "  account  for  ' 
Paraguayan  patriotism  and  loyalty, 
by  attributing  them  to  a  kind  of 
brutalisation  supposed  to  have  been 
induced  by  the  tyranny  of  Francia 
and  of  the  Lopez  family ;  a  psycho- 
logical paradox  that  Godwin's  self 


From  Montevideo  to  Paraguay. 


107 


might  have  admired,  but  hardly  sur- 
passed :  to  state  is  to  refute  it.  Be- 
sides, the  form  of  government  volun- 
tarily adopted  by  an  independent 
state,  such  as  was  the  Republic  of 
Paraguay  ever  since  its  final  emanci- 
pation from  the  Buenos  Ayres  yoke 
in  1811,  is  not  nor  can,  of  its  very 
nature,  be  an  extraneous  influence,  a 
moulding  force  introduced  from  with- 
out, but,  on  the  contrary,  a  self-con- 
sistent development,  an  expression  of 
the  national  idea  from  within.  It  is 
the  nation  that  creates  the  govern- 
ment, not  the  government  the  nation. 
The  follies,  the  crimes  of  a  Francia,  a 
Solano  Lopez  are  personal  and  their 
own ;  the  position  they  hold,  the 
power  they  use  or  abuse,  the  honour 
paid,  the  obedience  are  the  people's. 
Patriotism,  loyalty,  devotion  to  a 
cause,  to  a  leader,  may  indeed  be 
fostered,  be  encouraged,  they  cannot 
be  given  by  others,  however  skilful, 
far  less  can  they  be  enforced,  they  are 
not  things  taught,  but  innate,  not 
acquired,  but  connatural  to  the  race. 

And  thus  it  was  with  the  Para- 
guayan nation.  Half  Basque,  for  such 
was  the  greater  part  of  the  original 
Spanish  immigration  in  these  regions, 
half  Guarani-Indian,  it  united  in  it- 
self the  tenacious  courage,  the  uncon- 
querable fidelity  of  the  countrymen  of 
Pelazo,  to  the  indifference  to  life,  the 
dread  of  dishonour,  and  the  unhesita- 
ting obedience  to  their  chief  that  have 
at  all  times  and  in  all  lands  distin- 
guished the  Turanian,  and,  among  the 
many  off-shoots  of  that  great  stock, 
the  Guarani  race.  And  when,  during 
the  September  of  1877,  at  the  distance 
of  half  the  globe,  the  Japanese  Saigo, 
and  his  five  hundred  warriors  of 
Satzuma,  defended  the  heights  of 
Shira-yama  against  fifteen  thousand 
men,  nor  surrendered  till  death,  they 
did  but  reproduce  the  heroism  of  their 
far-off  Paraguayan  half-cousins,  alike 
out-numbered,  alike  unyielding  to  the 
last,  at  Humaita,  at  Yoati,  at  Cerro- 
Cora,  eight  years  before.  Nor  is 
there  any  need  to  search  further  after 
the  causes,  the  origin  of  that  indomit- 


able, more  than  Spartan,  spirit :  it  is 
the  undoubted  heritage  of  a  twofold 
race  moulded  into  one,  nor  to  be  extin- 
guished but  with  the  race  itself. 

Enough  of  this  ;  pleasanter  scenes, 
suggestive  of  more  cheerful  thoughts 
and  anticipations,  await  us  in  Para- 
guay. The  Humaita  ruins  are  already 
lost  to  sight  among  the  graceful  palms 
and  dense  orange-groves  of  the  country 
around  ;  the  narrow  river-bend  widens 
out  again  into  a  broad  and  easy  water- 
way, with  abundant  evidence  of  re- 
viving happiness  and  prosperity  along 
the  green  banks  and  meadows  by  its 
margin.  Our  next  anchorage,  for  a 
few  hours  only,  is  off  the  nourishing 
little  town  of  Pilar,  the  "  neembuin," 
or  "  loud  voice  "  of  Guarani  nomen- 
clature, prettily  situated  on  its  small 
hill,  yet  almost  hid  from  river  view  by 
the  dense  orchard  screen  intervening  : 
it  numbers,  with  its  outlying  hamlets, 
over  10,000  inhabitants,  many  of 
them  settlers  from  not-distant  Cor- 
rientes,  and  gives  us,  in  the  aspect  of 
its  cottage-like  houses  and  clean-kept 
streets  and  square,  a  foretaste  of  the 
neatness  proper  to  Paraguayan  vil- 
lages and  homes.  No  South  American 
race  has  cleanlier  instincts  in  person, 
dress,  and  dwelling  than  the  Para- 
guayan ;  so  far  as  my  experience  goes, 
cleanliness  is  the  rule,  not  the  excep- 
tion, throughout  South  America,  Brazil, 
perhaps,  in  part,  excepted.  Pilar,  at 
present  the  entrance  harbour  and 
commerce-gate  of  the  Republic,  was, 
in  days  not  very  far  back,  the  only 
point  of  immediate  contact  between 
Paraguay  and  the  outer  world  per- 
mitted by  the  jealous  policy  of  Fran- 
cia ;  and  is  even  now,  when  the 
navigation  and  traffic  of  the  Paraguay 
river  are  free  from  any  exceptional 
restraints,  an  important  wharf,  thanks 
to  its  excellent  position. 

Doctor  Francia's  prohibitory  sys- 
tem, by  which  he  for  many  years  iso- 
lated Paraguayan  territory  from  what 
Carlyle  has,  graphically  enough,  move, 
suo,  if  not  exhaustively,  designated  as 
a  "  bewildered  gaucho  world,"  has 
been  made  a  favourite  theme  for  wordy 


108 


From  Montevideo  to  Paraguay. 


abuse  by  a  troop  of  superficial  soi- 
disant  liberal  writers  and  interested 
assailants,  from  the  Robertsons  down- 
wards. Nor  would  I  for  a  moment 
wish  even  to  palliate,  much  less  to 
defend,  the  arbitrary  and  often  cruel 
measures  by  which  he  carried  out  or 
supplemented  his  design.  Yet  in  the 
main,  and  considering  the  isolation  of 
the  country  as  merely  a  temporary 
measure  of  protection  against  the 
fatal  disintegration  which  must  neces- 
sarily have  ensued  had  Paraguay, 
with  its  yet  unconsolidated  and  de- 
fenceless nationality,  been  left  open  to 
the  irruption  of  the  seething  and 
surging  deluge  around,  the  Francian 
policy  was  right,  and  found  ample 
justification  in  the  astonishing  vigour 
and  concentrated  patriotism  of  the  little 
state,  as  displayed  in  the  following 
generation ;  a  vigour  not  even  yet, 
after  the  unparalleled  disasters  of  the 
late  war,  wholly  exhausted. 

For  about  one  hundred  and  fifty 
miles  more  we  continue  our  upstream 
way  by  the  noble  river,  somewhat 
lessened  in  bulk  above  the  confluence 
of  the  Vermejo,  and  now  in  breadth 
and  volume  of  water  equalling,  in  its 
yearly  average  of  fulness,  the  Danube 
at  Orsova ;  while  in  beauty  of  banks 
and  scenery  it  much  resembles  the 
same  river  in  its  course  from  Regens- 
werth  to  Vienna,  only  that  here  the 
sub-tropical  luxuriance  of  palms,  bam- 
boos, cacti,  ferns,  and  broad-leaved 
undergrowths  of  glossy  green — for  here 
the  predominance  of  leaf  over  flower, 
so  correctly  noted  by  A.  Wallace,  as 
characteristic  of  the  tropics,  begins  to 
make  itself  felt — impart  to  the  Guarani 
landscape  a  special  charm  denied  to 
the  land  of  the  southern  Teutons. 
Several  small  towns,  each  with  its 
nucleus  of  thirty  or  forty  houses,  the 
remaining  dwellings  being  widely 
scattered  around  among  gardens  and 
orchards,  peep,  at  safe  distance  from 
the  annual  floods,  over  the  wooded 
banks.  Of  all  these  centres  of  reviving 
life  none  is  prettier  or  livelier  t.han 
Villeta,  not  far  below  the  capital, 
Asuncion,  and  famous  for  its  orange- 


groves,  whose  produce  suffices  for  the 
markets  of  Buenos  Ayres  and  Monte- 
video both.  It  is  a  pleasant  sight 
to  see  the  fruit  brought  on  board,  as 
it  always  is,  by  long  files  of  women, 
talking,  laughing,  singing  as  they 
trip  along  the  planks  that  lead  a  con- 
siderable distance  from  the  shore  to 
the  steamer,  in  their  longwhite  sacques, 
girt  round  the  waist,  and  white 
cloths  arranged  mantilla-fashion  over 
their  heads — the  invariable  dress  of 
the  village  daughters  of  the  land.  I 
had  the  good  luck  to  be  witness  of 
the  scene  by  torchlight,  when  dropping 
down  the  river  on  my  return  several 
weeks  later. 

Above  Yilletu  the  east  bank  sinks 
to  the  water-level  and  opens  out  a 
scene  of  exquisite  loveliness.  Far  in- 
land, across  the  plains,  that  here 
stretch  to  twenty  and  thirty  miles 
distant  from  the  river,  field  and 
orchard,  farmhouse  and  cottage,  with 
silvery  glimpses  of  countless  streams, 
tributaries  of  the  Paraguay,  and 
darker  patches  of  forest :  beyond,  the 
blue  serrated  ranges  of  Mount  Akai 
close  in  the  view  on  the  east ;  to  the 
north  the  quaint,  conical  hill  of  Lam- 
bari,  covered  with  bright^green  brush- 
wood from  base  to  summit,  rises  iso- 
lated from  the  water's  edge  and  hides 
from  view  the  town  of  Asuncion  close 
beyond  it.  This  region  is  described, 
some  years  before  the  war,  by  Com- 
mander Page,  of  the  well-known 
United  States'  expedition  up  these 
rivers,  as  one  densely  peopled  in  pro- 
portion to  its  fertility;  and  though 
terribly  wasted  during  the  later  years 
of  the  great  conflict  and  the  Brazilian 
occupation  that  followed,  it  gives,  in 
the  frequency  of  its  restored  cottages, 
and  the  wide  extent  of  its  cultivation, 
clear  evidence  of  returning  prosperity 
and,  if  not  wealth,  at  least  sufficiency. 
Hour  by  hour,  as  we  advance,  the 
dwellings  stand  more  frequent  among 
the  trees,  the  fruit  or  wood -laden 
boats  and  gliding  canoes  more  and 
more  enliven  the  river,  till,  rounding 
the  basalt  mass  of  Lambari,  we  come 
full  in  view  of  the  Paraguayan  capital ; 


From  Montevideo  to  Paraguay. 


109 


and,  making  our  way  with  caution — 
for  the  water  is  at  this  time  of  the 
year  at  its  lowest,  the  highest  being 
in  April  or  thereabouts — among  the 
shoals  that  here  beset  the  widened 
channel,  we  cast  anchor  opposite  the 
Custom-house  landing-place,  at  the 
western  extremity  of  the  town,  which, 
owing  to  a  sudden  bend  in  the  river, 
lies  west  and  east. 

The  scene  before  us  makes  a  strik- 
ing contrast  to  that  we  have  so 
lately  witnessed.  Nature  soon  re- 
pairs or  conceals  the  traces  of  evil 
done  by  the  wantonness  of  man ; 
fields,  corpse-strewn  and  blackened 
with  fire  one  year,  may  be  waving  in 
all  the  golden  luxuriance  of  harvest 
the  next ;  orchard  trees,  though  hewn 
and  shattered,  are  not  long  in  putting 
forth  new  boughs,  clothed  with  fresh 
foliage  and  fruit ;  more  yet,  peasant 
cottages  and  even  villages  are 
speedily  rebuilt ;  a  few  added  years 
of  peace,  and  the  deficiency  in  the 
rustic  population  will  have  made  it- 
self good  and  disappeared.  And 
thus  it  is  with  the  country  sur- 
roundings of  Asuncion.  Not  so 
the  town ;  its  spacious  edifices, 
churches,  or  public  buildings,  some 
disused  and  deserted  ;  others,  in  their 
half  neglect,  evidently  all  too  wide  for 
the  shrunken  requirements  of  a  di- 
minished state  and  people ;  others, 
sad  monuments  of  ambitious  and  pre- 
mature vanity,  now  shattered  and 
shamefully  defaced  ;  everywhere  empty 
shells  of  what  once  were  happy  dwell- 
ings, streets  broken  by  wide  gaps  of 
ruin,  and  every  token  of  havoc  and 
spoil — these  are  wounds  slow  to  heal, 
mutilations  not  easily  replaced  by 
fresh  growth.  But  saddest  of  all 
sights  in  Asuncion  is  the  very  first 
and  most  conspicuous  object  seen  from 
the  river :  the  enormous  palace  of  Fran- 
cisco Solano  Lopez,  barely  completed 
before  its  lord's  own  downfall,  now 
an  empty  shell,  fronting  the  stream  in 
long  rows  of  dismantled  portals  and 
windows,  black,  ragged  holes,  like  the 
eye-sockets  of  a  skull.  Its  shattered 
turrets,  shivered  cornices,  and  broken 


parapets  announce  only  too  faithfully 
the  absolute  devastation  of  the  lone 
and  dismantled  interior,  whence  the 
Brazilian  plunderers  carried  off  what- 
ever they  could  lay  hands  on,  even  to 
the  timber  of  the  floors  and  the  steps 
of  the  staircases,  besides  hacking  and 
defacing  whatever,  from  its  nature, 
could  not  be  carried  away.  Thus 
the  palace  has  remained  in  appearance 
and  condition,  much  resembling  the 
Tuileries  as  I  remember  "seeing  them 
as  late  as  '77,  and,  like  them,  the 
wretched  memorial  of  a  sham  Imperial- 
ism, cemented  by  immorality,  and 
based  on  violence  and  fraud.  For 
Lopez  was  one,  nor  the  least,  of  the 
many  foolish  moths,  lured  on  to  their 
destruction  by  the  false  glitter  of  the 
second  empire  ;  and  the  same  year  of 
1870  that  witnessed  the  overthrow  of 
that  colossal  imposture  at  Sedan,  wit- 
nessed, too,  its  new-world  copy,  Para- 
guayan pseudo-Imperialism,  laid  pros- 
trate with  its  dying  chief  on  the 
bloody  banks  of  the  Aquidaban ; 
more  fortunate  indeed  than  its  French 
prototype — because  illumined  at  least 
by  one  bright  ray  of  honour  in  the 
warrior-death  of  Lopez,  who,  in  that 
last  moment,  showed  himself  worthy  of 
the  hero-race  he  had  too  long  mis- 
governed, while  nothing  but  shame 
attends  on  the  memories  of  Sedan. 

Within  the  town  itself,  the  roofless 
•walls  of  a  spacious  but  unfinished 
theatre,  and  the  rough  sketch,  which, 
however,  it  would  be  a  pity  to  leave  as 
suchj  for  the  proportions  are  good,  of 
a  domed  oratory,  near  the  centre  of 
the  city,  are  also  memorials  of  the 
vaulting  ambition  that  o'erleapt  itself 
and  fell.  The  cathedral,  and  the  yet 
older  church  called  of  Encarnacion, 
where  Francia  sought  but  did  not  find 
a  final  resting-place,  are  heavy,  un- 
graceful constructions  of  Spanish 
times.  Nor  have  the  government 
buildings,  one  of  which  was  not  the 
but  a  house  of  the  terrible  Dictator, 
for  he  had  many,  and  continually 
shifted  from  one  to  another,  for  fear, 
it  is  said,  of  assassination,  any  preten- 
sion to  beauty,  hardly,  to  show.  Nor 


110 


From  Montevideo  to  Paraguay. 


are  the  remains  of  the  old  Jesuit 
college,  now  converted  into  barracks, 
any  way  remarkable.  The  streets, 
-wide  and  regular,  are  ill-paved  and 
deep  in  sand ;  the  public  squares  un- 
decorated  and  bare.  On  the  other 
hand,  the  dwelling  houses,  at  least 
such  of  them  as  are  constructed  on 
the  old  Hispano- American  plan,  so  ad- 
mirably adapted  to  the  requirements 
of  the  climate,  are  solidly  built  and 
not  devoid  of  that  beauty  which  do- 
mestic architecture  never  fails  to  have 
when  in  accordance  with  domestic 
feeling  and  life :  cool  courts,  thick 
walls,  deeply  recessed  doors  and  win- 
dows, projecting  eaves,  heavy  and  pro- 
tective roofs ;  the  furniture,  of  native 
woodwork,  solid  and  tastefully  carved, 
the  pavement  not  rarely  of  marble, 
local  or  imported.  I  may  here  re- 
mark, in  a  passing  way,  that  hard 
forest  woods,  often  ornamental,  and 
susceptible  of  high  polish  and  deli- 
cate work,  and  marbles  of  various 
kinds  and  colours,  some  not  inferior 
in  beauty  of  marking  to  any  that  Italy 
herself  can  boast,  will,  when  Paraguay 
is  herself  once  more,  take  high  place 
on  the  lists  of  her  productions  and 
merchandise.  Needless  to  say  that 
the  houses  are  all  of  them,  as  houses 
should  be,  in  a  healthy  but  hot  situa- 
tion, one-storied,  except  where  a  mania 
for  European  imitation,  encouraged  by 
Lopez,  among  other  shams  of  Parisian 
origin,  has  reared  a  few  uncomfortable 
and  ill-seeming  dwellings  of  two  or 
even  three  stories,  flimsy,  pretentious, 
and  at  variance  alike  with  the  climate 
and  the  habits  of  Paraguay.  To  these 
unlucky  anomalies  may  be  added  the 
huge,  ill-built,  unshapely  railway  sta- 
tion (the  railway  line  itself  runs  to  the 
town  of  Paraguari,  about  forty-five  miles 
south-east,  and  is  the  earliest  in  date 
among  South  American  lines)  at  the  east 
end  of  the  town  ;  though  this  construc- 
tion fortunately  possesses  one  good  qua- 
lity which  may  avail  to  remedy  all  its 
many  bad  ones — the  quality  of  evident 
non-durability.  As  to  the  railway  it- 
self, it  is,  like  most  things  involving 
complicated  machinery  and  large  capi- 


tal in  South  America,  a  foreign  under- 
taking, under  foreign  management ; 
with  what  benefit  to  the  managers 
themselves  and  the  shareholders  I 
know  not :  a  minimum  of  convenience 
and  utility  to  the  country  and  its  in- 
habitants is,  at  present,  anyhow,  the 
most  evident  result.  Nor  is  this  either 
new  or  strange.  "  You  must  scratch 
your  own  head  with  your  own  nails," 
says  the  homely  Arab  proverb  ;  and  if 
the  resources  of  a  land  do  not  sufiice 
to  its  public  enterprises,  even  the  most 
urgently  needed  ones  not  excepted, 
without  calling  in  the  capital  and  aid 
of  foreigners — well — it  had  better  wait 
till  they  do  sufiice.  In  this  particular 
instance,  however,  amendment  is  pro- 
mised ;  let  us  hope  it  will  be  effected. 

Pleasantest  and  cheerf  ullest  of  all 
out-door  sights  to  the  visitor  of  Asun- 
cion is  the  market-place,  situated,  as 
near  as  may  be,  in  the  centre  of  the 
town.  It  is  a  large  square  block  of 
open  arcades  and  pillared  roof,  whither 
the  villagers  from  around  daily  bring 
their  produce,  intermixed  with  other 
wares  of  cheap  price  and  habitual  con- 
sumption ;  the  vendors  are  almost  ex- 
clusively women.  Maize,  water-melons, 
gourds,  pumpkins,  oranges,  manioca 
flour,  sweet  potatoes,  and  with  these 
half-baked  bread,  cakes,  biscuits,  and 
sweets,  such  are  the  chief  comestibles ; 
tobacco,  of  dark  colour  and  strong 
flavour,  and  "yerva,"  the  dried  and 
pulverised  leaf  often  spoken  of  as 
"  Paraguayan  tea,"  may  be  added  to 
the  list.  Alongside  of  these  a  med- 
ley of  cheap  articles,  for  use  or  orna- 
ment, mostly  of  European  manufacture, 
matches,  combs,  cigarette  paper,  pots 
and  pans,  water-jars,  rope,  knives,  hat- 
chets, small  looking-glasses,  handker- 
chiefs, ponchos,  native  saddles,  much 
resembling  Turkish  ones,  and  very 
commodious  for  riding  in,  coarse  silver 
ornaments — I  might  fill  a  page  more 
at  least  with  the  list — are  exposed  for 
sale.  But  the  chief  interest  of  the 
scene  is  the  study  of  the  buyers  and 
sellers  themselves.  The  men,  who 
mostly  belong  to  the  former  class,  and 
are  from  the  villages  round  about, 


From  Montevideo  to  Paraguay. 


Ill 


arrive  mounted  on  small  rough-coated 
horses,  undipped  of  mane  or  tail.  The 
rider's  dress  consists  of  a  pair  of  loose 
cotton  drawers,  coarsely  embroidered, 
and  over  them  and  round  the  waist 
a  many-folded  loin-cloth,  generally 
white ;  or  else  in  a  pair  of  loose,  baggy 
trousers,  much  like  those  worn  by 
Turkish  peasants  in  Anatolia,  and 
girt  by  a  broad  leather  belt,  almost 
an  apron  for  width.  These,  with  a 
white  shirt,  and  over  all  a  striped  or 
flowered  poncho,  complete  the  dress ; 
boots  are  rarely  worn,  though  the 
bare  feet  are  sometimes,  but  rarely, 
equipped  with  silver-plated  spurs.  The 
features  and  build  of  the  riders  present 
every  gradation  of  type  from  the 
light-complexioned,  brown-haired,  red- 
bearded,  honest  manliness  of  the 
ancestral  Basque,  to  the  copper  hue, 
straight  black  hair,  narrow  dark  eyes, 
obliquely  set,  beardless  chin,  flattened 
nose,  and  small  wiry  frame  of  the 
aboriginal  Guarani.  But  it  is  not 
with  the  Spanish  as  with  the  Lusi- 
tanian  breeds.  For  while  the  latter 
when  crossed  with  Turanian,  Aryo- 
Asiatic,  or  African  blood  passes  at 
once  into  an  inferior  type  of  physical 
degeneration,  as  Goa,  Macao,  Timor, 
and  Brazil,  unfortunately  prove  beyond 
question,  the  Spanish  seems,  when 
similarly  blended,  to  result  generally 
in  a  progeny  noway  inferior  in  corporal 
strength  and  comeliness  to  the  Iberian 
stock,  and  occasionally  superior.  The 
fact  is  one  continually  noticed,  and 
much  commented  on ;  yet  I  have  never 
either  heard  or  been  able  myself  to 
supply  any  plausible  conjecture  of  its 
cause.  Nor  again  among  the  Creole 
descendants  of  Hispano-Indian  parents 
is  the  trite,  and,  in  too  many  other  in- 
stances, over-true  remark  that  the  "  mes- 
tizo" or  half-blood  generally  exhibits  in 


himself  the  good  of  neither  stock,  the 
evil  of  both,  in  the  least  verified ;  far 
more  often  the  exact  reverse,  as  here 
in  Paraguay,  where  "Vascon  honour, 
truthfulness,  daring,  and  generosity, 
have  blended  with  Guarani  gentleness, 
endurance,  and  unquestioning  loyalty, 
even  to  the  death,  into  a  type  that  is 
not  the  exception  but  the  rule. 

Such  are  the  Paraguayans  of  the 
country.  In  Asuncion  itself,  under 
the  combined  influence  of  a  large 
number  of  foreign  residents,  of  a  river- 
traflic  that  gives  the  town  somewhat 
of  the  character  of  a  sea-port,  and  of 
the  evils,  physical  and  social,  insepar- 
able, it  seems,  from  large  towns  and 
capitals,  the  national  type  is,  neces- 
sarily, not  so  uniform  or  pure.  In 
fact,  to  judge  of  Paraguay  in  general 
by  the  sights  and  experiences  of 
Asuncion,  would  be  no  less  unjust 
than  to  take  Southampton,  Liverpool, 
or  even  London,  whereupon  to  form 
an  exhaustive  estimate  of  England 
and  its  inhabitants.  Here,  too,  at  the 
capital,  the  depression,  or  prostration 
rather,  consequent  on  the  late  war, 
has  been  deepest,  and  is  even  now 
most  persistent.  Yet  of  the  courtesy, 
the  hospitality,  the  sociability,  the 
cheerfulness,  the  music,  the  dancing, 
for  all  which  Paraguay  has  long  been 
celebrated,  nor  wrongly  so,  the  visitor 
will  even  now  find  plenty  to  greet  him 
in  Asuncion,  where,  among  the  officials 
especially,  he  will  meet  the  most 
highly  endowed  by  birth  and  educa- 
tion that  the  nation  can  show.  Still, 
after  all,  it  is  not  here,  but  in  the 
country  districts  that  the  distinctive 
patterns  of  Paraguayan  life  are 
clearest  drawn ;  and  it  is  there  ac- 
cordingly that  my  readers,  if  they 
care  to  accompany  me,  must  seek 
them. 


To  be  concluded  in  the  next  Number. 


112 


A    HINT   TO   PEOPLE   WITH   MODEST   MEANS. 


THERE  are  some  classes  of  the  com- 
munity to  whom  it  ought  to  be  needless 
to  offer  advice  about  emigrating  to  the 
Antipodes.  The  man  who  is  not 
afraid  of  work,  and  who  can  handle 
pick,  or  spade,  or  an  axe,  must  be 
strangely  ignorant  if  he  does  not 
know  by  this  time  that  his  means  of 
supporting  a  family,  and  his  chances 
of  getting  on  will  be  increased  about 
four-fold  by  going  out  to  Australia. 
He  cannot  earn  less  than  5s.  a  day, 
and  is  not  unlikely  to  command  7s., 
even  for  rough  work,  while  if  he  be  a 
mason,  a  bricklayer,  or  a  skilled 
mechanic,  he  may  count  on  from  10s. 
to  12s.,  and  may,  in  certain  trades^and 
at  certain  times,  get  from  14s.  to  16s. 
for  the  eight  ^hours'  work.  Neither 
are  these  advantages  counterbalanced 
by  any  real  drawbacks.  Food  is 
cheaper  than  in  England ;  mutton 
selling  for  from  3d.  to  4|c?.  a  pound, 
beef  costing  from  6d.  to  Sd.,  bread 
ruling  a  little  less  than  in  England, 
and  tea  being  about  3d.  a  pound 
cheaper.  The  cost  of  fuel  differs  very 
much  according  to  locality,  but  it  is 
generally  about  as  cheap  to  burn  wood 
in  Australia  as  coal  in  England,  and 
the  days  when  a  fire  is  needed  for 
mere  warmth  are  incomparably  fewer. 
House  rent  is  apt  to  be  dear  for  work- 
ing men,  but  one  reason  of  this  is  that 
almost  every  man  spends  his  first 
savings  in  building  a  house  for  himself 
with  the  aid  of  a  building  society,  and 
the  demand  for  hired  houses  is  accord- 
ingly small  and  precarious.  Clothes 
are  nominally  at  English  prices,  but  it 
must  be  admitted  that  this  uniformity 
in  the  face  of  transport  charges  and 
sometimes  of  protective  duties  is  apt 
to  be  obtained  at  some  sacrifice  of 
quality.  Altogether,  however,  the 
cost  of  living  is  certainly  a  little  less 
than  in  England ;  and  in  Victoria, 
where  the  excellent  primary  schools 
are  absolutely  free,  the  father  of  a  large 


family  saves  a  heavy  sum  on  education. 
Then,  again,  the  working  man  in  the 
colonies  has  enormous  advantages  over 
his  brother  in  England  from  the  great 
ease  with  which  he  can  invest  his 
savings.  There  is  always  cheap  land 
in  the  market,  and  the  possession  of 
land  to  the  town  dweller  means  that 
he  can  speculate  in  building  allotments, 
while  to  the  countryman  it  means  that 
he  may  be  farmer,  carter,  or  grazier  on  a 
small  scale  as  suits  his  taste  and  his 
capital. 

On  the  other  hand,  it  is  very  desir- 
able   that   the   immemorial    and    con- 
venient custom  of  supposing  that  men 
who  are  not  good  enough  for  England 
will    be   good    enough   for   Australia, 
should  be  discontinued  with   all  pos- 
sible speed.     There  are  still  instances, 
from  time  to  time,  where  a  man  of  real 
ability    coming    out    with    first-class 
testimonials,  or  having  relatives  in  the 
colonies,  succeeds  in  establishing  him- 
self   as    a    professional    man    or    in 
commerce.       I    have    known    several 
cases  of  medical  men  who  have  done 
this,  and  one  where  a  banker's  clerk, 
highly  recommended,  was  able  to  get 
almost  as  good  a  place  as  he  had  left 
behind    him.       As   a    rule,    however, 
Englishmen  may  take  it  for  granted 
that    our    colonial     universities    and 
training  schools  have  been  turning  out 
good  men   for  years  past ;    and    that 
the  chances  are  enormously  in  favour 
of   the   native  against    the  emigrant. 
The    solicitor     sends    briefs     to     his 
university  friend ;  the  physician  hands 
over  work  to  his  old  pupil ;  and  the 
civil  service,  which  used  to  be  a  happy 
hunting  ground  for  young  gentlemen 
who   came    out   with  good   letters  of 
introduction,  is  now  closed,  or  likely  to 
be  closed,  in  every  colony  to  all  who 
have  not  passed  a  local  examination. 
The  scientific  man  who  has  come  out 
armed  with  two  or  three  kindly  letters, 
and    has   expected    to   find   Australia 


A  Hint  to  People  with  Modest  Means. 


113 


unprovided  with  chemists  or  geologists  ; 
the  young  engineer  who  has  not 
learned,  till  he  lands,  that  the  state 
constructs  all  engineering  works,  and 
that  it  employs  natives  by  preference ; 
the  architect,  whose  specialty  is  to 
build  poor-houses ;  the  governess  who 
has  excellent  private  testimonials  but 
no  certificate  from  a  public  body  ;  the 
clerk  wrho  speaks  a  little  bad  French, 
and  who  has  left  England  because  his 
employers  would  not  promote  him,  are 
all  familiar  types  of  the  most  credit- 
able class  of  unsuccessful  immigrants. 

Formerly  there  was,  no  doubt,  an 
opening  for  cadets  of  good  family  with 
a  taste  for  country  life,  who  found 
employment  on  country  stations  and 
gradually,  in  some  cases,  became 
wealthy  landowners.  Whether  the 
instances  of  good  fortune  in  this  line 
have  not  been  exaggerated  by  English 
tradition,  which  keeps  no  account  of 
its  failures,  may  perhaps  be  doubted. 
As  a  rule,  the  great  properties  in 
Australia  have  been  formed  by  men 
accustomed  from  their  youth  upwards 
to  hard  work,  who  never  quitted  the 
station  for  their  town  club,  and  who 
regulated  their  expenses  with  an  exact 
economy.  At  any  rate,  the  time  has 
long  passed  away  since  younger  sons 
with  small  means  and  without  local 
connection  could  do  anything  except 
on  a  small  scale.  Read  the  early 
books  about  settling  in  Australia, 
and  you  will  find  them  assuming  that 
the  young  sheep  farmer  begins  with 
500  or  1,000  sheep,  and  quickly 
doubles  them  year  by  year,  having 
within  reach  unlimited  land  which 
he  may  take  up.  Now  even  the  parts 
of  Australia  that  still  figure  in  Eng- 
lish maps  as  deserts  are  covered  with 
sheep,  or  at  the  least  are  held  on 
speculation  by  large  firms,  and  can 
only  be  taken  up  by  men  who  com- 
mand abundant  resources.  Twenty 
years  ago  a  wealthy  possessor  of  sheep- 
runs  to  whom  young  Englishmen  used 
to  be  consigned,  was  supposed  to  set 
apart  the  least  valuable  of  his  runs 
as  a  place  where  they  might  see  bush 
life  at  the  smallest  possible  cost  to 

No.  308.— VOL.  LII. 


himself.  At  present  it  would  need 
very  good  introductions  to  procure 
even  as  much  as  this  for  "  a  new 
chum."  There  is  still  some  unoccu- 
pied territory  in  the  north,  but,  as  a 
rule,  the  owner  of  a  squatting  pro- 
perty is  no  more  anxious  than  a 
London  banker  or  merchant  to  take 
strangers  into  partnership. 

It  is  only  right  to  close  this  list  of 
undesirable  emigrants  by  the  men- 
tion of  "  ne'er-do-weels."  We  get  only 
too  many  of  them,  and  it  may  be 
doubted  if  there  is  a  single  case  where 
a  man  addicted  to  drink  at  home  has 
abandoned  the  habit  when  he  found 
himself  in  a  colony,  removed  from  the 
restraining  influence  of  friends.  The 
isolation,  the  lower  companionship, 
the  fits  of  despondency  to  which  a 
comer  of  this  class  is  exposed  during 
his  first  struggles  to  achieve  a  posi- 
tion in  a  new  society,  are  all  terribly 
against  his  chances  of  reform.  Neither 
is  it  the  case,  as  a  rule,  that  a  man 
who  has  sunk  into  any  moral  depth 
at  home  has  the  vigour  to  begin  life 
anew  on  the  other  side  of  the  world  ; 
more  commonly  he  is  haunted  by  the 
sense  that  his  reputation  has  followed 
him,  and  prefers  to  decline  upon  a 
lower  level  of  life,  perhaps  with  a  sort 
of  feeling  that  in  this  way  he  may 
escape  more  completely  from  his  old 
self. 

Meanwhile  there  is  a  large  class 
who  seem  to  be  out  of  place  at  home, 
and  who  would  make  excellent  settlers 
in  the  British  colonies,  if  they  could 
only  be  induced  to  come  out.  The 
number  of  Englishmen  wTho  live  on 
the  Continent  because  they  cannot 
afford  to  live  in  England  is  to  be 
counted  literally  by  thousands.  A  man 
with  from  four  hundred  to  eight  hun- 
dred a  year  finds  that,  as  his  family 
increases,  he  cannot  keep  his  place  in 
society  in  London  or  Brighton  or 
Cheltenham.  He  does  not  care  to 
settle  in  the  country,  where  a  gentle- 
man not  a  landowner  is  a  very  second- 
ary person,  and  he  is  even  less  inclined 
to  migrate  into  a  cheap  suburb  of 
London  or  a  small  country  town.  He 


114 


A  Hint  to  People  with  Modest  Means. 


is,  in  many  cases,  a  retired  officer,  or 
a  barrister,  that  is  accustomed  to  work 
in  some  form,  and  he  does  not  at  first 
understand  how  completely  life  in  a 
Continental  town  will  shut  him  out 
from  his  old  interests  and  from  any 
possible  form  of  activity.  In  some  re- 
spects his  change  to  Tours  or  Dresden 
or  Florence  is  an  extremely  pleasant 
one.  His  income  does  a  great  deal 
more  than  it  did  ;  his  wife  is  a  little 
less  troubled  with  housekeeping;  his 
children  find  good  teachers  at  low 
rates ;  and  he  himself  has  the  English 
Club,  at  which  he  meets  his  country- 
men and  reads  the  papers.  Gradually, 
however,  he  discovers  that  time  hangs 
very  heavy  on  his  hands,  and  his  family 
find  out  that  an  idle  man  is  a  house- 
hold nuisance.  In  this  dearth  of  some 
healthy  excitement,  there  is  tolerably 
certain  to  be  a  quarrel  in  the  com- 
munity about  the  Church  principles  of 
the  chaplain,  or  the  social  pretensions 
or  the  morals  of  some  of  the  colony. 
When  the  boys  grow  up  and  ought  to 
be  entering  professions,  they  are  at  a 
disadvantage  from  their  foreign  train- 
ing. They  cannot  compete  on  even 
terms  with  the  English  public  school- 
boy for  scholarships  or  for  Civil  Ser- 
vice appointments.  They  are  not  of 
the  class  which  furnishes  merchant's 
clerks,  and  their  training  as  linguists 
serves  them  in  little  stead.  At  one  time 
not  a  few  of  this  class  used  to  drift  into 
foreign  armies  and  especially  into  the 
Austrian  service.  Now  even  this  door 
has  been  closed,  and  the  chances  are 
that  they  hang  about  for  years,  list- 
less and  demoralised,  till  an  opening 
presents  itself  or  till  they  make  up 
their  minds  to  emigrate.  Their  sisters 
are  scarcely  more  fortunate.  If  they 
are  entitled  to  a  little  property,  they 
are  marked  by  small  fortune-hunters 
of  the  countries  in  which  they  live, 
and  marry  to  change  their  faith,  to 
lose  their  nationality,  and  to  endure 
all  the  discomforts  of  settlement  for 
life  among  aliens.  Even  if  the  average 
Continental  husband  be  as  good  as  the 
average  Englishman,  his  relations  and 
friends  are  never  likely  to  be  quite  as 


cordial  to  the  foreign  wife  as  her  own 
countrymen  would  be. 

Now  the  Australian  colonies  at  this 
moment  offer  peculiar  advantages  to 
a  man  of  small  fortune.  Where  his 
capital  is  in  his  own  hands,  the  ten 
thousand  pounds  that  produce  him 
four  or  five  hundred  a  year  would 
yield  him  from  six  to  eight  hundred 
on  first  mortgages  at  the  Antipodes. 
Let  us  take,  however,  the  more  com- 
mon case,  where  the  English  settler 
on  the  Continent  is  poor  because  his 
money  is  tied  up,  under  settlements, 
in  investments  that  only  yield  three  or 
four  per  cent. ;  and  let  us  assume  that 
what  he  has  at  Florence  or  Dinan  will 
be  the  limit  of  his  Australian  income. 
Even  so,  he  may  live  in  the  country 
or  in  a  country  town  in  the  colonies 
as  cheaply  as  he  could  live  in  Germany 
or  Italy.  It  often  happens  that  a  good 
country  house  can  be  bought  or  rented 
cheap,  and  if  the  settler  prefers  to 
buy,  he  will  easily  be  able  to  get  the 
larger  part  of  the  purchase-money 
from  a  building  society,  or  to  arrange 
with  the  vendor  for  leaving  it  on  mort- 
gage. If  he  wishes  to  farm,  there  will 
commonly  be  no  difficulty  in  getting 
land.  Of  course,  to  make  farming  a, 
success,  except  in  very  exceptional 
years,  the  farmer,  especially  if  he 
grows  wheat,  must  concentrate  his 
whole  energy  and  time  upon  his 
fields,  and  must  live,  in  fact,  like 
the  working  farmers  around  him. 
Without  going  this  length,  however, 
a  man  may  add  a  good  deal  to  his 
comfort  and  a  little  to  his  income  by 
taking  a  few  acres  into  his  own  hands 
and  growing  the  hay  he  wants  for  his 
horses  and  cows,  while,  if  he  be  a 
good  judge  of  stock,  he  may  pick  up 
a  good  many  bargains  in  time  of 
drought.  The  occupation  that  this  will 
provide  for  him,  in  a  country  where  a 
man  may  work  with  his  hands  with- 
out being  disgraced  by  it  or  seeming 
odd,  will  not  be  its  least  advantage. 
Beyond  this,  however,  a  new  settler, 
being  a  citizen  from  the  day  he  enters 
the  country,  and  by  assumption  an 
educated  man  possessed  of  some  leisure, 


A  Hint  to  People  with  Modest  Means. 


115 


will  find  abundant  work  to  his  hands 
.as  soon  as  his  neighbours  get  to  know 
him.  He  may  serve  on  a  school-board, 
or  in  a  shire  or  municipal  council ;  or 
he  may  become  a  magistrate,  or,  if  he 
makes  himself  increasingly  useful  and 
popular,  a  member  of  parliament. 
Neither,  while  he  does  all  this,  will 
he  be  shut  out  from  society.  Our 
country  towns  are,  I  think,  better 
provided  in  this  respect  than  average 
English  towns  of  the  same  size.  The 
local  bankers,  the  police  magistrate, 
and  the  local  barristers  or  solicitors, 
the  doctors,  and  the  clergy,  with  a 
sprinkling  of  landowners  in  the  neigh- 
bourhood, make  up  very  much  the 
same  kind  of  social  circles  that  used 
to  be  found  in  an  English  county 
town  in  the  days  when  it  was  still 
possible  to  regard  life  out  of  London 
as  endurable. 

The  children  who  come  to  Australia 
will  run  a  risk  of  being  a  little  less 
well  educated  than  they  would  have 
been    in    France    or   Germany.     The 
excellence  of  our  primary  schools  has 
damaged  the  grammar-schools,  except 
in  such  large  towns  as  Melbourne  and 
Sydney,  and   girls  in  a  small  country 
town  cannot,  of  course,  expect  to  find 
good     music     or     drawing     masters. 
Neither  could  a   man   with    400?.,  or 
even  600?.  a  year  afford  to  send  his 
sons  to  a  first- class  Melbourne  grammar- 
school,  or  to  give  his  daughters  the 
advantage  of  the  best  teachers.  What 
happens  for  the  most  part  in  country 
districts  is  that  the  children  get  the 
first  part  of    their   education   at   the 
costless  and    excellent   state   primary 
schools,    after    which    the    boys    are 
roughly  finished  at  the  local  grammar- 
school,  and   the   girls,  perhaps,  by   a 
governess.     With  the  full  knowledge 
that    country   boys    now    and    again 
compete  very  successfully  at  the  Uni- 
versity examinations,  and  that  here  and 
there    a    country    grammar-school    is 
really  good,   I  admit   this   to  be  the 
weak  point  in  my  case,  and  can  only 
express  my   hope    that    it    may    soon 
cease  to  be  so.     New  South  Wales  has 
already  tried  the  experiment  of  found- 


ing State  High  Schools,  and  Yictoria 
will,  no  doubt,  follow  suit  when  the 
fierce  opposition  of  the  Catholic  clergy 
to  secular  education   shall  have  been 
abated  or  quelled.     Meantime  though 
the  education    the   children  get    will 
be  less  liberal  and  showy   than  they 
would    have    received    in    Europe,  it 
leads  to  something  which  can  hardly 
be  said   of    the   other.       In  Victoria 
every  Government  appointment  is  now 
given  by  competitive  examination,  and 
this  is  getting  to  be  the  rule  every- 
where.     Therefore     the     Australian 
school-boy  has  a  fair  chance  that  he 
will  win   one    out   of   many  hundred 
Government    appointments,   going  up 
from  60?.  a  year  to  1200?.,  by  seniority 
and  merit.     Let  him  fail  in  this,  and 
the  fact  that  he  has  passed  a  good  ex- 
amination will  recommend  him  for  work 
in  a  bank  or  a  merchant's  office.  Assume 
that  he  has  no  capacity  for  brain  work. 
Even  so,  he  will  find  a  good  eye  and  a 
strong  arm  more  useful  to  him  in  a 
new  country  than  they  would  be  in  an 
old  ;  and  by  the  time  his  family  has 
lived  three  or  four  years  in  their  new 
home,  will  be  much  more  likely  to  have 
secured  friends  and  made  an  opening  for 
himself,  than  if  he  was  sent  out  from 
England  with  letters  of  introduction, 
and  fifty,  or,  it  may  be,  a  few  hundred 
pounds,  in  his  pockets.      As  for  the 
girls,   their    choice    of    marriage  will 
certainly  be  no  worse  than  it    is  in 
England,   or  on  the  Continent,  and  if 
nationality  and  a  competence  count  for 
anything  in  domestic  happiness,  it  will 
be  an  advantage  that  they  marry  their 
own  countrymen,  and  that  the  struggle 
for  life  is  not  yet   as   severe  in  the 
colonies  as  at  home.    If  they  choose  to 
remain   single,  they   will    have    some 
rather  good  openings  for  work.     Not 
a   few  highly  educated   young  ladies 
prefer  being  state  school  teachers  in 
the  colonies  to   going  out   as   gover- 
nesses.    They  do  it  without  any  loss 
of  caste,   and   can    earn   as   much    as 
200?.  a  year  for  five  hours  work  a  day 
on  five  days  in  the  week.  Certain  other 
state  departments,   such  as   the  post- 
office  and  telegraph-office  are  open  to 

i  2 


116 


A  Hint  to  People  with  Modest  Means. 


women ;  and  the  degrees  of  art,  law, 
and  medicine  at  Melbourne  University 
are  now  conferred  without  distinction 
of  sex. 

It  is  the  mothers  of  families  on 
whom  the  discomforts  of  life  on  a 
small  income  in  the  colonies  will  press 
most  heavily.  They  know  best  what 
the  drawbacks  of  life  on  the  Conti- 
nent are.  What  they  will  suffer  from 
in  Australia  in  most  cases  will  be  a 
frequent  change  of  servants,  and  an 
obligation  to  be  able  now  and  again  to 
take  part  in  household  work  them- 
selves. The  native-born  Australian 
servants  are,  to  my  mind,  the  best  I 
have  known  anywhere ;  intelligent, 
hardy,  pleasant-mannered,  and  capable 
of  going  through  any  amount  of  work 
in  an  emergency.  Three  of  them,  as 
a  rule,  do  the  work  of  five  in  England, 
so  that  though  wages  are  nominally 
high,  servants  really  cost  less  to  pay, 
and  very  much  less  to  feed  than  at 
home.  Unhappily  their  fault  is  that 
there  are  so  few  of  them.  Some  of  them 
only  take  service  for  a  year,  that  they 
may  learn  household  economy  better 
than  they  could  do  at  home.  Others, 
and  these,  of  course,  are  apt  to  be  the 
most  pleasant-mannered  and  best,  get 
married  at  a  moment's  notice.  In  a 
country  where  places  are  so  easily 
found,  almost  any  servant  will  throw 
up  her  situation  if  she  dislikes  her 
fellow-servants.  Therefore,  the  ladies 
of  a  family  are  now  and  again  put  to 
great  shifts,  and  must  either  do  some 
of  the  household  work  themselves,  or 
take  the  first  bad  article  that  comes 
to  hand  in  the  shape  of  an  importation 
from  a  London  lodging-house,  or  a 
rough  creature  fresh  from  the  tradi- 
tions of  Connemara.  The  best  that 
can  be  said  about  this  difficulty  is  that 
it  is  less  formidable  in  the  country 
districts  than  in  the  large  towns. 
People  who  treat  their  servants  con- 
siderately and  kindly  can  generally 
get  supplied  with  the  best  class  of 
girls  from  the  small  farmers  in  their 
neighbourhood,  who  are  quite  willing 
that  their  daughters  should  go  to 
service,  but  very  wisely  prefer  to  keep 


them  within  easy  distance  of  home. 
It  may  be  well  to  add  that  the  Austra- 
lian servants  are  not  infected  with  any 
American  notions  of  equality,  see  no 
disgrace  in  blacking  boots,  and  do  not 
expect  to  sit  down  to  dinner  with  their 
employers.  Of  course,  when  the  facts 
that  households  are  small  and  that 
servants  do  not  remain  long  in  their 
places  are  remembered,  it  will  be 
understood  that  household  work  is  not 
often  carried  out  with  as  much  finish 
as  in  England,  and  that  the  mistress 
often  has  to  teach  a  good  deal.  The 
lady  who  is  a  chronic  invalid,  will  do 
better  perhaps  by  not  setting  up  house 
in  Australia. 

There  remains  the  question  of 
amusement.  Men  with  town  tastes 
will  certainly  lose  by  coming  to  Aus- 
tralia. The  average  colonial  town  is 
incomparably  better  built,  better 
drained,  and  better  paved  than  the 
average  Continental  town  of  the  same 
size;  but  everything  about  it  is  new 
and  garish  and  prosaic,  except  that 
gardens  are  many  and  quickly  formed. 
There  are  no  old  churches  or  frescoes 
or  quaint  bits  of  street  over  which  the 
lover  of  art  may  linger ;  no  collections 
of  bric-a-brac  in  which  the  virtuoso 
may  pick  up  imaginary  treasures  ;  the 
market-place  is  apt  to  be  supremely 
matter-of-fact;  and  though  holiday- 
makings  and  public  gatherings  are  a 
little  more  frequent  than  in  England, 
they  do  not  make  up  for  the  church 
processions  and  military  parades  and 
swarming  open-air  life  of  an  Italian 
town.  Englishmen  who  migrate  to 
the  colonies  must  undoubtedly  face 
the  fact  that  they  come  to  a  land 
where  art  is  really  unknown,  and 
where  it  would  be  much  better  for  the 
popular  taste  if  the  art  collections  that 
exist  had  never  been  formed.  Beyond 
the  local  club  and  a  tolerably  good 
lending  library  the  settler  will  find 
nothing  outside  the  society  of  his 
neighbourhood  to  occupy  those  idle 
hours  which  he  does  not  care  to  spend 
out  of  doors.  On  the  other  hand  he  will 
be  fairly  well  off  as  regards  the  amuse- 
ments that  Englishmen  mostly  affect. 


A  Hint  to  People  with  Modest  Means. 


117 


Hunting  has  not  been  really  natural- 
ised, though  there  are  packs  of  hounds 
here  and  there  ;  but  racing  is  so  popu- 
lar and  universal,  that  it  has  become  a 
nuisance ;  and  a  good  shot  can  do  a 
great  deal,  if  he  does  not  mind  travel- 
ling from  place  to  place.  There  are  no 
game  laws  of  the  English  type  in 
Australia,  but  there  is  a  close  season 
enforced  by  law,  and  the  land  owner 
has  the  right  to  forbid  trespass  upon 
his  land.  Practically,  it  is  very  easy 
at  present  to  get  permission  to  shoot 
anywhere ;  and  a  sportsman  who  did 
not  disdain  hare  or  rabbit  shooting 
would  find  himself  cordially  welcomed 
in  many  parts  of  the  colonies,  and 
might,  if  he  chose,  pay  his  expenses  in 
rabbit-infested  districts  by  selling  the 
skins.  It  has  not  been  found  possible 
thus  far  to  acclimatise  the  pheasant 
and  partridge.  The  Chinese  pheas- 
ant succeeded  for  some  time  in  New 
Zealand,  but  is  said  now  to  be  dying 
out  again.  However,  the  wild  turkey 
so-called,  in  reality  a  bustard,  is  excel- 
lent sport  and  good  eating  ;  quails  are 
numerous  at  times  and  in  certain 
parts ;  and  the  water-fowl  that  swarm 
in  many  of  the  rivers  and  lakes  are 
now  protected  in  Victoria  by  a  law 
forbidding  the  use  of  swivel  guns. 
Even  for  fox-hunting  there  is  a  good 
substitute  in  many  parts  of  the  bush, 
where  the  kangaroo  is  still  hunted  on 
horseback  and  run  down  like  the 
deer;  not  driven  in  mobs  into  inclo- 
sures  for  a  wholesale  massacre.  Ang- 
ling is  of  course  almost  unknown  in  the 
higher  sense  of  the  word  ;  but  as  trout 
and  salmon  are  being  rapidly  natural- 
ised, there  will  soon  be  occupation  for 
the  fisherman,  at  least  in  Tasmania 
and  Victoria. 

Of  athletic  sports  it  seems  almost 
needless  to  write.  If,  outside  commer- 
cial circles,  Australia  is  known  in  any 
way  it  is  by  the  excellence  of  the 
elevens  that  have  contested  the  cham- 
pionship of  English  cricket — not  quite 
successfully — upon  English  ground. 
An  attempt  has  been  made  to  depre- 
ciate this  success  by  a  statement  that 
cricket  can  be  practised  every  day  of 


the  year  in  Australia.  This  is  not 
really  the  case.  We  have  our  cricket 
season  and  our  foot-ball  season  like 
the  mother-country.  And  there  are 
many  days,  even  in  summer,  when 
cricket  is  only  pursued  under  difficul- 
ties, in  a  dust  storm  or  with  interrup- 
tions from  rain.  What  is  true  is  that 
our  climate  lends  itself  in  a  very 
remarkable  degree  to  open-air  exercise 
of  every  kind,  and  our  young  men 
have  thrown  themselves  upon  athleti 
cism  with  even  more  than  the  English 
ardour.  Besides  foot-ball  and  cricket, 
there  are  bicycle  clubs  and  lawn- 
tennis  clubs,  and  for  the  more  seri- 
ously-minded rifle  clubs  and  volunteer 
regiments.  As  for  boating,  Sydney 
just  now  possesses  the  champion  oar 
of  the  world,  and  the  contest  for  boat- 
ing honours  between  Sydney  and  Mel- 
bourne is  apt  to  be  a  very  close  one. 
The  young  men  of  our  communities 
are  as  well  off  in  all  these  respects  as 
their  English  cousins,  and  have  no 
occasion  to  take  refuge  from  ennui  in 
dominoes  or  absinthe  at  a  cafe. 

There  remains  the  question  of  cli- 
mate. In  a  general  way  it  is  tolerably 
exact  to  say,  that  the  climate  of 
Victoria  resembles  that  of  the  Riviera, 
that  the  climate  of  New  South  Wales 
in  the  best-peopled  parts  is  like  that 
of  Central  or  Southern  Italy,  and  that 
the  climate  of  South  Australia  is  that 
of  Spain.  No  general  description 
however  will  do  justice  to  countries 
that  even  where  the  wild  and  unsettled 
parts  are  excluded  are  about  as  big  as 
Europe  west  of  Poland.  In  South 
Australia,  for  instance,  the  resemblance 
to  Spain  is  completed  in  the  north  by 
the  fact  that  there  are  large  plateaus 
at  a  level  of  2,000  feet  above  the  sea, 
where  the  nights  are  very  cold  in 
winter  and  comparatively  cool  in  sum- 
mer. On  the  other  hand  Adelaide  is 
found  by  most  people  oppressively  hot 
in  summer ;  and  the  southern  parts  of 
the  colony  about  Mount  Gambier  and 
Naracoorte  are  in  the  opposite  ex- 
treme, being  cold  and  moist  to  the 
level  of  Devonshire.  So  again  in  Vic- 
toria, the  climate  of  Gippsland  is 


118 


A  Hint  to  People  with  Modest  Means. 


almost  English  from  its  coolness,  while 
the  north-western  plains  lying  north  of 
the  dividing  range  are  at  least  as  hot 
in  summer  as  the  country  about  Mar- 
seilles. In  New  South  Wales  there  is 
a  table-land  known  as  New  England, 
where  the  climate  is  temperate  and 
where  the  specially  English  fruits, 
such  as  the  gooseberry  and  the  currant, 
are  found  to  flourish.  In  Queensland 
the  contrast  between  the  elevated 
pastoral  downs  and  the  sugar-cane 
plantations  on  the  coast  represents  the 
difference  between  a  temperate  and  a 
tropical  climate.  Of  all  Australia, 
except  of  a  few  hill  regions,  which  are, 
thus  far,  scarcely  inhabited,  it  may  be 
said  that  snow  and  ice  are  practically 
unknown  ;  but  the  settler  may  choose 
for  himself  whether  he  will  live  under 
a  sky  not  much  warmer  than  that  of 
Devonshire  or  Cornwall,  or  in  a  region 
as  hot  as  Andalusia  and  Armenia. 

I  hope  I  have  made  it  clear  that  the 
life  to  which  I  invite  the  class  I  am 
addressing,  is  not  that  of  hardship  in 
the  bush — of  pine  shanties  for  houses, 
and  damper  and  interminable  mutton 
for  food — but  very  much  the  sort  of 
life  that  may  be  led  in  an  English 
county,  and  with  certain  advantages 
for  a  person  of  small  means  which  an 
English  county  does  not  possess.  The 
colonies  at  this  moment  are,  in  fact, 
quite  as  advanced  in  all  material  civilisa- 
tion as  Yorkshire  or  Devonshire,  and 
have  a  sense  of  manifest  destiny  which 
raises  their  politics  above  the  level  of 
county  interests  in  the  old  country. 
Even  twenty  years  ago  the  Australian 
legislatures  were  constantly  debating 
questions  of  the  highest  interest — a 
suffrage  system,  a  land  system,  or  a 
judicature  system,  by  the  lights  of 
Hare,  Mill,  and  Austen — in  a  way 
that  is  scarcely  possible  in  an  old 
country  with  highly  organised  institu- 
tions and  complicated  interests.  Now 
it  seems  as  if  we  were  being  drawn 
suddenly  into  the  vortex  of  European 
politics,  and  constrained  to  interest 


ourselves  in  German  plans  of  colonisa- 
tion and  Russian  designs  upon  India. 
We  are  English  by  connection  and 
interest ;  a  fair  portion  of  us  are 
English  by  birth ;  and  all  are  English 
in  the  best  sense  of  an  unbroken  tradi- 
tion of  English  breeding  and  association. 
Therefore  it  is,  perhaps,  allowable 
to  suggest,  that  those  who  may  elect 
to  come  amongst  us  for  the  future, 
should  make  up  their  minds  to  take  us 
for  what  they  find  us,  and  should  not 
assume  over  hastily  that  we  are  neces- 
sarily inferior  to  themselves,  or  at 
least  to  the  English  people  at  home. 
Mr.  Lowell's  admirable  disquisition 
"upon  a  certain  condescension  in 
foreigners "  has  a  wider  application 
than  to  the  United  States  ;  and  though 
it  is  not  a  matter  of  great  moment  to 
Australians,  whetherthe  British  tourist 
condemns  or  patronises  them  from  the 
observation  of  six  weeks  in  the  lead- 
ing clubs,  half  a  dozen  dinner  parties, 
and  two  or  three  picnics  in  the  bush, 
it  may  interfere  a  little  with  the 
happiness  and  success  of  intending 
colonists,  if  they  carry  a  sense  of 
magnificent  superiority  into  their  new 
homes. 

Nevertheless,  it  will  certainly  be  their 
own  faults  if  they  do  not  soon  settle 
down  into  lives  full  of  healthy  activity. 
That,  in  fact,  other  conditions  being 
fairly  equal,  is  the  great  advantage 
Australia  can  offer.  It  holds  out  the 
offer  of  work  and  citizenship  to  men 
who  are  shut  out  from  a  discharge  of 
the  commonest  civil  duties  while  they 
live  on  the  Continent.  It  offers 
partnership  in  a  new  world  to  their 
children.  Surely  for  a  few  hundreds, 
at  least,  of  those  who  are  now  living 
aimlessly  out  of  England,  it  is  worth 
while  to  consider  whether  the  change 
to  English  communities — so  highly 
favoured  as  the  Australian  and  New 
Zealand — may  not  be  profitable. 

CHARLES  H.  PEARSON. 


119 


UNEXPLAINED 

For  facts  are  stubborn  things." 

SMOLLETT. 


II. 


"A  GHOST,"  I  repeated,  holdicg  the 
poor  trembling  little  thing  more  closely. 
I  think  my  first  sensation  was  a  sort 
of  rage  at  whomever  or  whatever — 
ghost  or  living  being — had  frightened 
her  so  terribly.  "  Oh,  Nora  darling, 
it  couldn't  be  a  ghost.  Tell  me  about 
it,  and  I  will  try  to  find  out  what  it 
was.  Or  would  you  rather  try  to 
forget  about  it  just  now,  and  tell  me 
afterwards  ?  You  are  shivering  so 
dreadfully.  I  must  get  you  warm  first 
of  all." 

"  But  let  me  tell  you,  mamma — I 
must  tell  you,"  she  entreated  pite- 
ously.  "  If  you  could  explain  it,  I 
should  be  so  glad,  but  I  am  afraid  you 
can't,"  and  again  a  shudder  passed 
through  her. 

I  saw  it  was  better  to  let  her  tell  it. 
I  had  by  this  time  drawn  her  inside ; 
a  door  in  front  stood  open  and  a  bright 
fire  caught  my  eyes.  It  was  the 
kitchen,  and  the  most  inviting-looking 
room  in  the  house.  I  peeped  in — there 
was  no  one  there,  but  from  an  inner 
room  we  heard  the  voice  of  the  land- 
lady hushing  her  baby  to  sleep. 

"Come  to  the  fire,  Nora,"  I  said. 
Just  then  Reggie  came  clattering  down 
stairs,  followed  by  Lieschen,  the  taci- 
turn "maid  of  the  inn." 

"  She  has  taken  a  candle  up  stairs, 
mamma,  but  I've  not  taken  off  my 
boots,  for  there's  a  little  calf,  she 
says,  in  the  stable,  and  she's  going  to 
show  it  me.  May  I  go  ?  " 

"Yes,  but  don't  stay  long,"  I  said, 
my  opinion  of  the  sombre  Lieschen 
improving  considerably,  and  when  they 
were  out  of  hearing,  "  Now,  Nora 
dear,  tell  me  what  frightened  you 
so." 

"  Mamma,"  she  said,  a  little  less 
white  and  shivering  by  now,  but  still 
with  the  strange  strained  look  in  her 


eyes  that  I  could  not  bear  to  see,  "  it 
couldn't  have  been  a  real  man.  Listen, 
mamma.  When  you  and  Reggie  went, 
I  got  out  a  needle  and  thread — out  of 
your   little  bag— and  first  I  mended 
a  hole  in  my  glove,  and  then  I  took  off 
one  of    my  shoes — the  buttoning  up 
the   side   ones,  you   know — to  sew  a 
button   on.     I   soon   finished    it,  and 
then,  without  putting  my  shoe  on,  I  sat 
there,  looking  out  of  the  window  and 
wondering  if    you  and  Reggie  would 
soon  be  back.     Then  I  thought  per- 
haps I  could  see  if  you  were  coming 
better  from  the  window  of  the  place 
outside  our  room,  where  the  hay  and 
bags  of  flour  are."     (I  think  I  forgot 
to  say  that  to  get  to  our  room  we  had 
to  cross  at  the  top  of  the  stair  a  sort 
of  landing,   along  one   side  of  which, 
as  Nora  said,  great  bags  of  flour  or 
grain  and  trusses  of  hay  were  ranged  ; 
this    place     had     a    window    with    a 
somewhat   more   extended  view   than 
that  of    our   room.)     "  I   went  there, 
still  without  my  shoe,  and  I  knelt  in 
front  of  the  window  some  time,  look- 
ing up  the  rough  path,  and  wishing 
you  would  come.     But  I  was  not  the 
least   dull   or  lonely.     I   was   only  a 
little  tired.     At  last    I   got   tired    of 
watching  there,  and  I  thought  I  would 
come  back  to  our  room  and  look  for 
something  to  do.     The  door  was  not 
closed,  but  I  think  I  had  half  drawn 
it  to,  as  I  came  out.     I  pushed  it  open 
and  went  in,  and  then — I  seemed  to 
feel  there  was  something  that  had  not 
been  there  before,  and  I  looked  up ; 
and  just  beside  the  stove  —  the  door 
opens   against  the    stove,    you   know, 
and   so   it    had    hidden   it  for  a  mo- 
ment   as    it    were  —  there,    niamma, 
stood  a  man.     I  saw  him  as  plainly  as 
I  see  you.       He  was  staring  at  the 
stove,  afterwards  I  saw  it  must  have 


120 


Unexplained. 


been  at  your  little  blue  paper  parcel. 
He  was  a  gentleman,  mamma — quite 
young.  I  saw  his  coat,  it  was  cut  like 
George  Norman's.  I  think  he  must 
have  been  an  Englishman.  His  coat 
was  dark,  and  bound  with  a  little  very 
narrow  ribbon  binding.  I  have  seen 
coats  like  that.  He  had  a  dark  blue 
necktie,  his  dress  all  looked  neat  and 
careful— like  what  all  gentlemen  are  ; 
I  saw  all  that,  mamma,  before  I 
clearly  saw  his  face.  He  was  tall  and 
had  fair  hair — I  saw  that  at  once.  But 
I  was  not  frightened ;  just  at  first  I 
did  not  even  wonder  how  he  could 
have  got  into  the  room — now  I  see 
he  couldn't  without  my  knowing.  My 
first  thought,  it  seems  so  silly,"  and 
Nora  here  smiled  a  little,  "  my  first 
thought  was  '  Oh,  he  will  see  I  have 
no  shoe  on,'  " — which  was  very  charac- 
teristic of  the  child,  for  Nora  was  a 
very  "  proper  "  little  girl — "  and  just 
as  I  thought  that,  he  seemed  to  know 
I  was  there.  For  he  slowly  turned  his 
head  from  the  stove  and  looked  at  me, 
and  then  I  saw  his  face.  Oh  mamma  !  " 
"Was  there  anything  frightening 
about  it?"  I  said. 

"  I  don't  know,"  the  child  went  on. 
"  It  was  not  like  any  face  I  ever  saw, 
and  yet  it  does  not  sound  strange.    He 
had  nice,  rather  wavy  fair  hair,  and  I 
think  he  must  have  been  nice-looking. 
His  eyes  were  blue,  and  he  had  a  little 
fair  moustache.     But  he  was  so  fear- 
fully pale,  and  a  look  over  all  that  I 
can't  describe.     And  his  eyes  when  he 
looked  at  me  seemed  not  to  see  me,  and 
yet  they  turned  on  me.     They  looked 
dreadfully  sad,  and  though  they  were 
so  close  to  me,  as  if  they  were  miles 
and    miles     away.       Then     his     lips 
parted    slightly,    very  slightly,    as    if 
he  were  going  to  speak.     "  Mamma," 
Nora    went    on    impressively,    "they 
would    have    spoken    if    /    had    said 
the   least   word — I   felt   they  would. 
But  just  then — and  remember,  mamma, 
it  couldn't  have  been  yet  two  seconds 
since    I   came   in,   I   hadn't  yet   had 
time    to     get    frightened — just    then 
there  came  over  me  the  most  awful 
feeling.    I  knew  it  was  not  a  real  man, 


and  I  seemed  to  hear  myself  saying 
inside  my  mind,  '  It  is  a  ghost,'  and 
while  I  seemed  to  be  saying  it — I  had 
not  moved  my  eyes — while  I  looked 
at  him — 

"  He  disappeared  1 " 
"  No,  mamma.  He  <iid  not  even 
disappear.  He  was  just  no  longer 
there.  I  was  staring  at  nothing !  Then 
came  a  sort  of  wild  fear.  I  turned 
and  rushed  down  stairs,  even  without 
my  shoe,  and  all  the  way  the  horrible 
feeling  was  that  even  though  he  was 
no  longer  there  he  might  still  be 
coming  after  me.  I  should  not  have 
cared  if  there  had  been  twenty  tipsy 
peasants  down  stairs !  But  I  found 
Lieschen.  Of  course  I  said  nothing  to 
her ;  I  only  asked  her  to  come  up  with 
a  light  to  help  me  to  find  my  shoe,  and 
as  soon  as  I  had  put  it  on  I  came 
outside,  and  ran  up  and  down— it  was 
a  long  time,  I  think — till  you  and 
Reggie  came  at  last.  Mamma,  can 
you  explain  it1?" 

How  I  longed  to  be  able  to  do  so  ! 
But  I  would  not  deceive  the  child. 
Besides,  it  would  have  been  useless. 

"  No,  dear.  As  yet  I  cannot.  But 
I  will  try  to  understand  it.  There 
are  several  ways  it  may  be  explained. 
Have  you  ever  heard  of  optical 
delusions,  Nora  1 " 

"  I  am  not  sure.  You  must  tell 
me  ; "  and  she  looked  at  me  so  appeal- 
ingly,  and  with  such  readiness  to 
believe  whatever  I  told  her,  that  I  felt 
I  would  give  anything  to  restore  her 
to  her  former  happy  fearlessness. 

But  just  then  Reggie  came  in  from 
the  stable. 

"  We  must  go  up  stairs,"  I  said ; 
"  and  Lieschen,"  turning  to  her, 
"  bring  up  our  supper  at  once.  We 
are  leaving  very  early  to-morrow 
morning,  and  we  will  go  early  to 
bed." 

"Oh,  mamma,"  whispered  Nora, 
"  if  only  we  had  not  to  stay  all  night 
in  that  room  !  " 

But  there  was  no  help  for  it,  and 
she  was  thankful  to  hear  of  the 
success  of  our  expedition  to  the  post- 
office.  During  supper  we,  of  course, 


Unexplained. 


121 


on  Reggie's  account,  said  nothing  of 
Nora's  fright,  but  as  soon  as  it  was 
over,  Reggie  declaring  himself  very 
sleepy,  we  got  him  undressed  and  put 
to  bed  on  the  settee  originally  intended 
for  Nora.  He  was  asleep  in  five 
minutes,  and  then  Nora  and  I  did  our 
utmost  to  arrive  at  the  explanation 
we  so  longed  for.  We  thoroughly 
examined  the  room ;  there  was  no 
other  entrance,  no  cupboard  of  any 
kind  even.  I  tried  to  imagine  that 
some  of  our  travelling  cloaks  or 
shawls  hanging  on  the  back  of  a  chair 
might,  in  the  uncertain  light,  have 
taken  imaginary  proportions  ;  that  the 
stove  itself  might  have  cast  a  shadow 
we  had  not  before  observed ;  I  sug- 
gested everything,  but  in  vain.  No- 
thing shook  Nora's  conviction  that  she 
had  seen  something  not  to  be  ex- 
plained. 

"  For  the  light  was  not  uncertain 
just  then,"  she  maintained  ;  "the  mist 
had  gone  and  it  had  not  begun  to  get 
dark.  And  then  I  saw  him  so  plainly  ! 
If  it  had  been  a  fancy  ghost  it  wouldn't 
have  looked  like  that — it  would  have 
had  a  long  white  thing  floating  over  it, 
and  a  face  like  a  skeleton  perhaps. 
But  to  see  somebody  just  like  a 
regular  gentleman — I  could  never  have 
fancied  that ! " 

There  was  a  good  deal  in  what  she 
said.  I  had  to  give  up  my  suggestions, 
and  I  tried  to  give  Nora  some  idea  of 
what  are  called  "optical  delusions," 
though  my  own  comprehension  of  the 
theory  was  of  the  vaguest.  She  listened 
but  I  don't  think  my  words  had  much 
weight.  And  at  last  I  told  her  I 
thought  she  had  better  go  to  bed  and 
try  to  sleep.  I  saw  she  shrank  from 
the  idea,  but  it  had  to  be. 

"  We  can't  sit  up  all  night,  I  sup- 
pose," she  said,  "  but  I  wish  we  could. 
I  am  so  dreadfully  afraid  of  waking 
in  the  night,  and — and — seeing  him 
there  again." 

"Would  you  like  to  sleep  in  my 
bed — though  it  is  so  tiny,  I  could 
make  room  and  put  you  inside?"  I 
said. 

Nora  looked  wistfully  at  the  haven 


of  refuge,  but  her  good  sense  and 
considerateness  for  me  came  to  the 
front. 

"No,"  she  said,  "neither  of  us 
would  sleep,  and  you  would  be  so 
tired  to-morrow.  1  will  get  into  my 
own  bed,  and  I  will  try  to  sleep, 
mamma." 

"  And  listen,  Nora ;  if  you  are  the 
least  frightened  in  the  night,  or  if 
you  can't  sleep,  call  out  to  me  without 
hesitation.  I  am  sure  to  wake  often, 
and  I  will  speak  to  you  from  time  to 
time." 

That  was  the  longest  night  of  my 
life !  The  first  part  was  not  the  worst. 
By  what  I  really  thought  a  fortunate 
chance  it  was  a  club  night  of  some 
kind  at  Silberbach — a  musical  club, 
of  course ;  and  all  the  musically-gifted 
peasants  of  the  country  side  assembled 
in  the  sanded  parlour  of  the  Katze. 
The  noise  was  something  indescribable, 
for  though  there  may  have  been  some 
good  voices  among  them,  they  were 
drowned  in  the  din.  But  though  it 
prevented  us  from  sleeping,  it  also 
fairly  drove  away  all  ghostly  alarms. 
By  twelve  o'clock  or  thereabouts  the 
party  seemed  to  disperse,  and  all  grew 
still.  Then  came  some  hours  I  can 
never  forget.  There  was  faint  moon- 
light by  fits  and  starts,  and  I  not 
only  found  it  impossible  to  sleep,  I 
found  it  impossible  to  keep  my  eyes 
shut.  Some  irresistible  fascination 
seemed  to  force  them  open,  and 
obliged  me  ever  and  anon  to  turn 
in  the  direction  of  the  stove,  from 
which,  however,  before  going  to  bed, 
I  had  removed  the  blue  paper  parcel. 
And  each  time  I  did  so  I  said  to 
myself,  "Am  I  going  to  see  that 
figure  standing  there  as  Nora  saw 
it  ?  Shall  I  remain  sane  if  I  do  ? 
Shall  I  scream  out  ?  Will  it  look  at 
me  in  turn  with  its  sad  unearthly 
eyes?  Will  it  speak?  If  it  moves 
across  the  room  and  comes  near  me, 
or  if  I  see  it  going  towards  Nora,  or 
leaning  over  my  Reggie  sleeping  there 
in  his  innocence,  misdoubting  of  no 
fateful  presence  near,  what,  oh  !  what 
shall  I  do^" 


122 


Unexplained. 


For  in  my  heart  of  hearts,  though 
I  would  not  own  it  to  Nora,  I  felt 
convinced  that  what  she  had  seen  was 
no  living  human  being — whence  it  had 
come,  or  why,  I  could  not  tell.  But 
in  the  quiet  of  the  night  I  had  thought 
of  what  the  woman  at  the  china 
factory  had  told  us,  of  the  young 
Englishman  who  had  bought  the  other 
cup,  who  had  promised  to  write,  and 
never  done  so !  What  had  become  of 
him?  "If,"  I  said  to  myself,  "if  I 
had  the  slightest  reason  to  doubt  his 
being  at  this  moment  alive  and  well 
in  his  own  country,  as  he  pretty  cer- 
tainly is,  I  should  really  begin  to 
think  he  had  been  robbed  and  mur- 
dered by  our  surly  landlord,  and  that 
his  spirit  had  appeared  to  us — the  first 
compatriots  who  have  passed  this  way 
since,  most  likely — to  tell  the  story." 

I  really  think  I  must  have  been  a 
little  light-headed  some  part  of  that 
night.  My  poor  Nora,  I  am  certain, 
never  slept,  but  I  can  only  hope  her 
imagination  was  less  wildly  at  work 
than, mine.  From  time  to  time  I  spoke 
to  her.  and  every  time  she  was  awake, 
for  she  always  answered  without 
hesitation. 

"  I  am  quite  comfortable,  dear 
mamma.  And  I  don't  think  I  am 
very  frightened;"  or  else,  "I  have 
not  slept  much,  but  I  have  said  my 
prayers  a  great  many  times  and  all  the 
hymns  I  could  remember.  Don't  mind 
about  me,  mamma,  and  do  try  to 
sleep." 

I  fell  asleep  at  last,  though  not  for 
long.  When  I  woke  it  was  bright 
morning — fresher  and  brighter,  I  felt, 
jis  I  threw  open  the  window,  than  the 
day  before.  With  the  greatest  thank- 
fulness that  the  night  was  over  at 
last,  as  soon  as  I  was  dressed  1  began 
to  put  our  little  belongings  together, 
and  then  turned  to  awake  the  children. 
Nora  was  sleeping  quietly ;  it  seemed 
u  pity  to  arouse  her,  for  it  was  not 
much  past  six,  but  I  heard  the  people 
stirring  about  down  stairs,  and  I  had 
a  feverish  desire  to  get  away ;  for 
though  the  daylight  had  dispersed 
much  of  the  "eerie"  impression  of 


Nora's  fright,  there  was  a  feeling  of 
uneasiness,  almost  of  insecurity,  left 
in  my  mind  since  recalling  the  inci- 
dent of  the  young  man  who  had 
visited  the  china  factory.  How  did 
I  know  but  that  some  harm  had  really 
come  to  him  in  this  very  place  ?  There 
was  certainly  nothing  about  the  land- 
lord to  inspire  confidence.  At  best  it 
was  a  strange  and  unpleasant  coinci- 
dence. The  evening  before  I  had  half 
thought  of  inquiring  of  the  landlord 
or  his  wife,  or  even  of  Lieschen,  if 
any  English  had  ever  before  stayed  at 
the  Katze.  If  assured  by  them  that 
we  were  the  first,  or  at  least  the  first 
"  in  their  time,"  it  would,  I  thought, 
help  to  assure  Nora  that  the  ghost  had 
really  been  a  delusion  of  some  kind. 
But  then  again,  supposing  the  people 
of  the  inn  hesitated  to  reply — sup- 
posing the  landlord  to  be  really  in 
any  way  guilty,  and  my  inquiries  were 
to  rouse  his  suspicions,  would  I  not 
be  really  risking  dangerous  enmity, 
besides  strengthening  the  painful  im- 
pression left  on  my  own  mind — and 
this  corroboration  of  her  own  fear 
might  be  instinctively  suspected  by 
Nora,  even  if  I  told  her  nothing  ? 

"  No,"  I  decided,  "  better  leave  it  a 
mystery,  in  any  case  till  we  are  safely 
away  from  here.  For  allowing  that 
these  people  are  perfectly  innocent 
and  harmless,  their  even  telling  me 
simply,  like  the  woman  at  Gruenstein, 
that  such  a  person  had  been  here, 
that  he  had  fallen  ill,  possibly  died 
here — I  would  rather  not  know  it.  It 
is  certainly  not  probable  that  it  was 
so  ;  they  would  have  been  pretty  sure 
to  gossip  about  any  occurrence  of  the 
kind,  taciturn  though  they  are.  The 
wife  would  have  talked  of  it  to  me — 
she  is  more  genial  than  the  others,"  for 
I  had  had  a  little  kindly  chat  with  her 
the  day  before  a  propos  of  what  every 
mother,  of  her  class  at  least,  is  ready 
to  talk  about — the  baby  !  A  pretty 
baby  too,  though  the  last,  she  in- 
formed me  with  a  sort  of  melancholy 
pride,  of  four  she  had  "  buried " — 
using  the  same  expression  in  her 
rough  German  as  a  Lancashire  factory 


Unexplained. 


hand  or  an  Irish  peasant  woman — one 
after  the  other.  Certainly  Silberbach 
was  not  a  cheerful  or  cheering  spot. 
"No,  no."  I  made  up  my  mind,  "I 
would  rather  at  present  know  nothing, 
even  if  there  is  anything  to  know.  I 
can  the  more  honestly  endeavour  to 
remove  the  impression  left  on  Nora." 

The  little  girl  was  so  easily 
awakened  that  I  was  half  inclined  to 
doubt  if  she  had  not  been  "  shamming  " 
out  of  filial  devotion.  She  looked  ill 
still,  but  infinitely  better  than  the 
night  before,  and  she  so  eagerly 
agreed  with  me  in  my  wish  to  leave 
the  house  as  soon  as  possible  that  1 
felt  sure  it  was  the  best  thing  to  do. 
Reggie  woke  up  rosy  and  beaming — 
evidently  no  ghosts  had  troubled  his 
night's  repose.  There  was  something 
consoling  and  satisfactory  in  seeing 
him  quite  as  happy  and  hearty  as  in 
his  own  English  .nursery.  But  though 
he  had  no  uncanny  reasons  like  us 
for  disliking  Silberbach  he  was  quite 
as  cordial  in  his  readiness  to  leave  it. 
We  got  hold  of  Lieschen  and  asked  for 
our  breakfast  at  once.  As  I  had  told 
the  landlady  the  night  before  that  we 
were  leaving  very  early,  our  bill  came 
up  with  the  coffee.  It  was,  I  must 
say,  moderate  in  the  extreme — ten  or 
twelve  marks,  if  I  remember  rightly, 
for  two  nights'  lodging  and  almost  two 
days'  board  for  three  people.  And 
such  as  it  was,  they  had  given  us  of 
their  best.  I  felt  a  little  twinge  of 
conscience,  when  I  said  good-bye  to  the 
poor  woman,  for  having  harboured 
any  doubts  of  the  establishment.  But 
when  the  gruff  landlord,  standing 
outside  the  door,  smoking  of  course, 
nodded  a  surly  "  adieu  "  in  return  to 
our  parting  greeting,  my  feeling  of 
unutterable  thankfulness  that  we 
were  not  to  spend  another  night  under 
his  roof  recovered  the  ascendant. 

"  Perhaps  he  is  offended  at  my  not 
having  told  him  how  I  mean  to  get 
away,  notwithstanding  his  stupidity 
about  it,"  I  said  to  myself,  as  we 
passed  him.  But  no,  there  was  no 
look  of  vindictiveness,  of  malice,  of 
even  annoyance,  on  his  dark  face. 


Nay  more,  I  could  almost  have  fancied 
there  was  the  shadow  of  a  smile  as 
Reggie  tugged  at  his  Tarn  o'  Shanter 
by  way  of  a  final  salute.  That  land- 
lord was  really  one  of  the  most  incom- 
prehensible human  beings  it  has  ever 
been  my  fate  to  come  across  in  fact  or 
fiction. 

We  had  retained  Lieschen  to  carry 
our  modest  baggage  to  the  post-house, 
and  having  deposited  it  at  the  side  of 
the  road  just  where  the  coach  stopped, 
she  took  her  leave,  apparently  more 
than  satisfied  with  the  small  sum  of 
money  I  gave  her,  and  civilly  wishing 
us  a  pleasant  journey.  But  though 
less  gruff  she  was  quite  as  impassive 
as  the  landlord.  She  never  asked 
where  we  were  going,  if  we  were  likely 
ever  to  return  again,  and  like  her 
master,  as  I  said,  had  we  been  stay- 
ing there  still,  I  do  not  believe  she 
would  ever  have  made  an  inquiry  or  ex- 
pressed the  slightest  astonishment. 

"  There  is  really  something  very 
queer  about  Silberbach,"  I  could  not 
help  saying  to  Nora,  "  both  about 
the  place  and  the  people.  They  almost 
give  one  the  feeling  that  they  are 
half-witted,  and  yet  they  evidently  are 
not.  This  last  day  or  two  I  seem  to 
have  been  living  in  a  sort  of  dream,  or 
nightmare,  and  I  shall  not  get  over  it 
altogether  till  we  are  fairly  out  of  the 
place,"  and  though  she  said  little,  I 
felt  sure  the  child  understood  me. 

We  were  of  course  far,  far  too 
early  for  the  post.  The  old  man  came 
out  of  his  house  and  seemed  amused  at 
our  haste  to  be  gone. 

"  I  am  afraid  Silberbach  has  not 
taken  your  fancy,"  he  said.  "  Well, 
no  wonder.  I  think  it  is  the  dreariest 
place  I  ever  saw." 

"  Then  you  do  not  belong  to  it  ? 
Have  you  not  been  here  long  1 "  I 
asked. 

He  shook  his  head. 

"  Only  a  few  months,  and  I  hope  to 
get  removed  soon,"  he  said.  So  he 
could  have  told  me  nothing,  evidently  ! 
"  It  is  too  lonely  here.  There  is  not 
a  creature  in  the  place  who  ever 
touches  a  book — they  are  all  as  dull 


124 


Unexplained. 


-and  stupid  as  they  can  be.  But  then 
they  are  very  poor,  and  they  live  on 
here  from  year's  end  to  year's  end, 
barely  able  to  earn  their  daily  bread. 
Poverty  degrades — there  is  no  doubt 
of  it,  whatever  the  wise  men  may 
say.  A  few  generations  of  it  makes 
men  little  better  than — "  he  stopped. 
"  Than  ]  "  I  asked. 
"  Than,"  the  old  philosopher  of  the 
post-house  went  on,  "  pardon  the  ex- 
pression— than  pigs." 

There  were  two  or  three  of  the 
fraternity  grubbing  about  at  the  side  of 
the  road ;  they  may  have  suggested  the 
comparison.  I  could  hardly  help 
smiling. 

"  But  I  have  travelled  a  good  deal  in 
Germany,"  I  said,  "  and  I  have  never 
anywhere  found  the  people  so  stupid 
and  stolid  and  ungenial  as  here." 

"Perhaps  not,"  he  said.  "  Still 
there  are  many  places  like  this,  only 
naturally  they  are  not  the  places 
strangers  visit.  It  is  never  so  bad 
where  there  are  a  few  country  houses 
near,  for  nowadays  it  must  be 
allowed  it  is  seldom  but  that  the  gentry 
take  some  interest  in  the  people." 

"  It  is  a  pity  no  rich  man  takes  a 
fancy  to  Silberbach,"  I  said. 

"  That  day  will  never  come.  The 
best  thing  would  be  for  a  railway  to 
be  cut  through  the  place,  but  that 
too  is  not  likely." 

Then  the  old  postmaster  turned  into 
his  garden,  inviting  us  civilly  to  wait 
there  or  in  the  office  if  we  preferred. 
But  we  liked  better  to  stay  outside, 
for  just  above  the  post-house  there 
was  a  rather  tempting  little  wood, 
much  prettier  than  anything  to  be 
seen  on  the  other  side  of  the  village. 
And  Nora  and  I  sat  there  quietly  on 
the  stumps  of  some  old  trees,  while 
Heggie  found  a  pleasing  distraction  in 
alternately  chasing  and  making  friends 
with  a  party  of  ducks,  which  for 
reasons  best  known  to  themselves  had 
deserted  their  native  element  and  come 
for  a  stroll  in  the  woods. 

From  where  we  sat  we  looked  down 
on  our  late  habitation ;  we  could 
almost  distinguish  the  landlord's 


slouching  figure  and  poor  Lieschen 
with  a  pail  of  water  slung  at  each  side 
as  she  came  in  from  the  well. 

"What  a  life!"  I  could  not  help 
saying.  "  Day  after  day  nothing  but 
work.  I  suppose  it  is  not  to  be 
wondered  at  if  they  grow  dull  and 
stolid,  poor  things."  Then  my  thoughts 
reverted  to  what  up  here  in  the  sun- 
shine and  the  fresh  morning  air  and 
with  the  pleasant  excitement  of  going 
away  I  had  a  little  forgotten — the 
strange  experience  of  the  evening 
before.  It  was  difficult  for  me  now  to 
realise  that  I  had  been  so  affected  by 
it.  I  felt  now  as  if  I  wished  I  could 
see  the  poor  ghost  for  myself,  and  learn 
if  there  was  aught  we  could  do  to  serve 
or  satisfy  him !  For  in  the  old 
orthodox  ghost-stories  there  is  always 
some  reason  for  these  eerie  wanderers 
returning  to  the  world  they  have  left. 
But  when  I  turned  to  Nora  and  saw 
her  dear  little  face  still  white  and 
drawn,  and  with  an  expression  half 
subdued,  half  startled,  that  it  had  never 
worn  before,  I  felt  thankful  that  the 
unbidden  visitor  had  attempted  no 
communication. 

"  It  might  have  sent  her  out  of  her 
mind,"  I  thought.  "  Why,  if  he  had 
anything  to  say,  did  he  appear  to  her, 
poor  child,  and  not  to  me? — though 
after  all  I  am  not  at  all  sure  that  / 
should  not  go  out  of  my  mind  in  such 
a  case." 

Before  long  the  post-horn  made  itself 
heard  in  the  distance ;  we  hurried 
down,  our  hearts  beating  with  the  fear 
of  possible  disappointment.  It  was  all 
right,  however,  there  were  no  pas- 
sengers, and  nodding  adieu  to  our  old 
friend  we  joyfully  mounted  into  our 
places,  and  were  bowled  away  to 
Seeberg. 

There  and  at  other  spots  in  its  pretty 
neighbourhood  we  spent  pleasantly 
enough  two  or  three  weeks.  Nora  by 
degrees  recovered  her  roses  and  her 
good  spirits.  Still,  her  strange  ex- 
perience left  its  mark  on  her.  She 
was  never  again  quite  the  merry, 
thoughtless,  utterly  fearless  child  she 
had  been.  I  tried,  however,  to  take 


Unexplained. 


125 


the  good  with  the  ill,  remembering 
that  thorough- going  childhood  cannot 
last  for  ever,  that  the  shock  possibly 
helped  to  soften  and  modify  a  nature 
that  might  have  been  too  daring  for 
perfect  womanliness — still  more,  want- 
ing perhaps  in  tenderness  and  sympathy 
for  the  weaknesses  and  tremors  of 
feebler  temperaments. 

At  Kronberg,  on  our  return,  we 
found  that  Herr  von  "VValden  was  off 
on  a  tour  to  the  Italian  lakes,  Lutz  and 
young  Trachenfels  had  returned  to 
their  studies  at  Heidelberg,  George 
Norman  had  gone  home  to  England. 
All  the  members  of  our  little  party 
were  dispersed,  except  Frau  von 
Walden. 

To  her  and  to  Ottilia  I  told  the 
story,  sitting  together  one  afternoon 
over  our  coffee,  when  Nora  was  not 
with  us.  It  impressed  them  both. 
Ottilia  could  not  resist  an  "I  told 
you  so." 

"I  knew,  I  felt,"  she  said,  "that 
something  disagreeable  would  happen 
to  you  there.  I  never  will  forget," 
she  went  on  naively,  "  the  dreary,  dis- 
mal impression  the  place  left  on  me 
the  only  time  I  was  there — pouring 
rain  and  universal  gloom  and  discom- 
fort. We  had  to  wait  there  a  few 
hours  to  get  one  of  the  horses  shod, 
once  when  I  was  driving  with  my 
father  from  Seeberg  to  Marsfeldt." 

Frau  von  Walden  and  I  could  not 
help  smiling  at  her.  Still  there  was 
no  smiling  at  my  story,  though  both 
agreed  that,  viewed  in  the  light  of 
unexaggerated  common  sense,  it  was 
most  improbable  that  there  was  any 
tragedy  mixed  up  with  the  disappear- 
ance of  the  young  man  we  had  heard 
of  at  Gruenstein. 

"  And  indeed  why  we  should  speak 
of  his  '  disappearance  '  I  don't  know," 
said  Frau  von  Walden.  "  He  did  not 
write  to  send  the  order  he  had  spoken 
of — that  was  all.  No  doubt  he  is  very 
happy  at  his  own  home.  When  you 
are  back  in  England,  my  dear,  you 
must  try  to  find  him  out — perhaps  by 
means  of  the  cup.  And  then  when 
Nora  sees  him,  and  finds  he  is  not  at 


all  like  the  '  ghost,'  it  will  make  her 
the  more  ready  to  think  it  was  really 
only  some  very  strange,  I  must  admit, 
kind  of  optical  delusion." 

"  But  Nora  has  never  heard  the 
Gruenstein  story,  and  is  not  to  hear 
it,"  said  Ottilia. 

"  And  England  is  a  wide  place, 
small  as  it  is  in  one  sense,"  I  said. 
'•'  Still,  if  I  did  come  across  the  young 
man,  I  half  think  I  would  tell  Nora 
the  whole,  and  by  showing  her  how  my 
imagination  had  dressed  it  up,  I  think 
I  could  perhaps  lessen  the  effect  on 
her  of  what  she  thought  she  saw.  It 
would  prove  to  her  better  than  any- 
thing the  tricks  that  fancy  may  play 
us." 

"  And,  in  the  meantime,  if  you  take 
my  advice,  you  will  allude  to  it  as 
little  as  possible,"  said  practical 
Ottilia.  "  Don't  seem  to  avoid  the  sub- 
ject, but  manage  to  do  so  in  reality." 

"Shall  you  order  the  tea-service?" 
asked  Frau  von  Walden. 

"  I  hardly  think  so.  I  am  out  of 
conceit  of  it  somehow,"  I  said.  "  And 
it  might  remind  Nora  of  the  blue 
paper  parcel.  I  think  I  shall  give  th& 
cup  and  saucer  to  my  sister." 

And  on  my  return  to  England  I 
did  so. 

Two  years  later.  A  very  different 
scene  from  quaint  old  Kronberg,  or 
still  more  from  the  dreary  "  Katze  "  at 
Silberbach.  We  are  in  England  now, 
though  not  at  our  own  home.  We 
are  staying,  my  children  and  I — two 
older  girls  than  little  Nora,  and  Nora 
herself,  though  hardly  now  to  be  de- 
scribed as  "  little  " — with  my  sister. 
Reggie  is  there  too,  but  naturally  not 
much  heard  of,  for  it  is  the  summer 
holidays,  and  the  weather  is  delight- 
ful. It  is  August  again — a  typical 
August  afternoon — though  a  trifle  too 
hot  perhaps  for  some  people. 

"  This  time  two  years  ago,  mamma," 
said  Margaret,  my  eldest  girl,  "  you 
were  in  Germany  with  Nora  and 
Reggie.  What  a  long  summer  that 
seemed  !  It  is  so  much  nicer  to  be  all 
together." 


126 


Unexplained. 


"  I  should  like  to  go  to  Kronberg 
and  all  those  queer  places,"  said  Lily, 
the  second  girl ;  "  especially  to  the 
place  where  Nora  saw  the  ghost." 

"  I  am  quite  sure  you  would  not 
wish  to  stay  there,"  I  replied.  "  It  is 
curious  that  you  should  speak  of  it 
just  now.  I  was  thinking  of  it  this 
morning.  It  was  just  two  years 
yesterday  that  it  happened." 

We  were  sitting  at  afternoon  tea 
on  the  lawn  outside  the  drawing-room 
window — my  sister,  her  husband,  Mar- 
garet, Lily,  and  I.  Nora  was  with 
the  school-room  party  inside. 

"  How  queer  !  "  said  Lily. 

"  You  don't  think  Nora  has  thought 
of  it?"  I  asked. 

"  Oh,  no — I  am  sure  she  hasn't," 
said  Margaret.  "  I  think  it  has 
grown  vague  to  her  now. 

Just  then  a  servant  came  out  of 
;the  house,  and  said  something  to  my 
•brother-in-law.  He  got  up  at  once. 

"It  is  Mr.  Grenfell,"  he  said  to  his 
wife,  "  and  a  friend  with  him.  Shall 
I  bring  them  out  here  ?  " 

"  Yes,  it  would  really  be  a  pity  to 
go  into  the  house  again — it  is  so  nice 
out  here,"  she  replied.  And  her 
husband  went  to  meet  his  guests. 

He  appeared  again  in  a  minute  or 
two,  stepping  out  through  the  low 
window  of  the  drawing  room,  accom- 
panied by  the  two  gentlemen. 

Mr.  Grenfell  was  a  young  man 
living  in  the  neighbourhood  whom  we 
had  known  from  his  boyhood ;  the 
stranger  he  introduced  to  us  as  Sir 
Robert  Masters.  He  was  a  middle- 
aged  man,  with  a  quiet,  gentle  bearing 
and  expression. 

"You  will  have  some  tea?"  said 
my  sister,  after  the  first  few  words  of 
greeting  had  passed.  Mr.,  Grenfell 
declined.  His  friend  accepted. 

"  Go  into  the  drawing-room,  Lily, 
please,  and  ring  for  a  cup  and  saucer," 
said  her  aunt,  noting  the  deficiency. 
"  There  was  an  extra  one,  but  some 
one  has  poured  milk  into  the  saucer. 
It  surely  can't  have  been  you,  Mark, 
for  Tiny?"  she  went  on,  turning  to 
her  husband.  "  You  shouldn't  let  a 


dog  drink  out  of  anything  we  drink 
out  of  ourselves." 

My  brother-in  law  looked  rather 
comically  penitent ;  he  did  not  attempt 
to  deny  the  charge. 

"Only,  my  dear,  you  must  allow," 
he  pleaded,  "  that  we  do  not  drink 
our  tea  out  of  the  saucers." 

On  what  trifling  links  hang  some- 
times important  results  !  Had  it  not 
been  for  Mark's  transgressing  in  the 
matter  of  Tiny's  milk  we  should  never 
have  learnt  the  circumstances  which 
give  to  this  simple  relation  of  facts — 
valueless  in  itself  —  such  interest, 
speculative  and  suggestive  only,  I  am 
aware,  as  it  may  be  found  to  possess. 

Lily,  in  the  meantime,  had  disap- 
peared. But  more  quickly  than  it 
would  have  taken  her  to  ring  the 
bell,  and  await  the  servant's  response 
to  the  summons,  she  was  back  again, 
carrying  something  carefully  in  her 
hand. 

"Aunt,"  she  said,  "is  it  not  a  good 
idea?  As  you  have  a  tea-spoon — I 
don't  suppose  Tiny  used  the  spoon,  did 
he  1 — I  thought,  instead  of  ringing  for 
another,  I  would  bring  out  the  ghost- 
cup  for  Sir  Robert.  It  is  only  fair  to 
use  it  for  once,  poor  thing,  and  just  as 
we  have  been  speaking  about  it.  Oh,  I 
assure  you  it  is  not  dusty,"  as  my 
sister  regarded  it  dubiously.  "  It  was 
inside  the  cabinet." 

"  Still,  all  the  same,  a  little  hot 
water  will  do  it  no  harm,"  said  her 
aunt — "  provided,  that  is  to  say,  that 
Sir  Robert  has  no  objection  to  drink 
out  of  a  cup  with  such  a  name  attached 
to  it?" 

"  On  the  contrary,"  replied  he,  "  I 
shall  think  it  an  honour.  But  you 
will,  I  trust,  explain  the  meaning  of 
the  name  to  me  ?  It  puzzles  me  more 
than  if  it  were  a  piece  of  ancient 
china  —  a  great-great-grandmother's 
cup,  for  instance.  For  I  see  it  is  not 
old,  though  it  is  very  pretty,  and,  I 
suppose,  uncommon  ?  " 

There  was  a  slight  tone  of  hesita- 
tion about  the  last  word  which  struck 


me. 


"  I  have  no  doubt  my  sister  will  be 


Unexplained. 


127 


ready  to  tell  you  all  there  is  to  tell. 
It  was  she  who  gave  me  the  cup," 
replied  the  lady  of  the  house. 

Then  Sir  Robert  turned  to  me. 
Looking  at  him  full  in  the  face  I  saw 
that  there  was  a  thoughtful,  far-seeing 
look  in  his  eyes,  which  redeemed  his 
whole  appearance  from  the  somewhat 
commonplace  gentlemanlikeness  which 
was  all  I  had  before  observed  about 
him. 

"  I  am  greatly  interested  in  these 
subjects,"  he  said.  "  It  would  be  very 
kind  of  you  to  tell  me  the  whole." 

I  did  so,  more  rapidly  and  succinctly 
of  course  than  I  have  done  here.  It 
is  not  easy  to  play  the  part  of  narrator, 
with  five  or  six  pairs  of  eyes  fixed  upon 
you,  more  especially  when  the  owners 
of  several  of  them  have  heard  the  story 
a  good  many  times  before,  and  are 
quick  to  observe  the  slightest  discrep- 
ancy, however  unintentional.  "  There 
is,  you  see,  very  little  to  tell,"  I  said 
in  conclusion,  "  only  there  is  always  a 
certain  amount  of  impressiveness  about 
any  experience  of  the  kind  when  re- 
lated at  first  hand." 

"Undoubtedly  so,"  Sir  Robert 
replied.  "  Thank  you  very  much 
indeed  for  telling  it  me." 

He  spoke  with  perfect  courtesy,  but 
with  a  slight  absence  of  manner,  his 
eyes  fixed  rather  dreamily  on  the  cup 
in  his  hand.  He  seemed  as  if  trying  to 
recall  or  recollect  something. 

"  There  should  be  a  sequel  to  that 
story,"  said  Mr.  Grenfell. 

"  That's  what  I  say,"  said  Margaret, 
eagerly.  "  It  will  be  too  stupid  if  we 
never  hear  any  more.  But  that  is 
always  the  way  with  modern  ghost 
stories — there  is  no  sense  or  meaning 
in  them.  The  ghosts  appear  to  people 
who  never  knew  them,  who  take  no 
interest  in  them,  as  it  were,  and  then 
they  have  nothing  to  say — there  is  no 
denotiment,  it  is  all  purposeless." 

Sir  Robert  looked  at  her  thought- 
fully. 

"  There  is  a  good  deal  in  what  you 
say,"  he  replied.  "  But  I  think  there  is 
a  good  deal  r  Iso  to  be  deduced  from  the 
very  fact  you  speak  of,  for  it  is  a  fact. 


I  believe  what  you  call  the  meaning- 
lessness  and  purposelessness  —  the 
arbitrariness,  one  may  say,  of  modern 
experiences  of  the  kind  are  the  surest 
proofs  of  their  authenticity.  Long 
ago  people  mixed  up  fact  and  fiction, 
their  imaginations  ran  riot  and  on 
some  very  slight  foundation — of  ten,  no 
doubt  genuine,  though  slight — they 
built  up  a  very  complete  and  thrilling 
'  ghost  story.'  Nowadays  we  consider 
and  philosophise,  we  want  to  get  to  the 
root  and  reason  of  things,  and  we  are 
more  careful  to  beware  of  exaggeration. 
The  result  is  that  the  only  genuine 
ghosts  are  most  unsatisfactory  beings  , 
they  appear  without  purpose,  and  seem 
to  be  what,  in  fact,  I  believe  they  almost 
always  are,  irresponsible,  purposeless 
will-o'-the-wisps.  But  from  these  I 
would  separate  the  class  of  ghost 
stories  the  best  attested  and  most 
impressive — those  that  have  to  do  with 
the  moment  of  death  ;  any  vision  that 
appears  just  at  or  about  that  time  has 
generally  more  meaning  in  it,  I  think 
you  will  find.  Such  ghosts  appear  for 
a  reason,  if  no  other  than  that  of  in- 
tense affection,  which  draws  them  near 
those  from  whom  they  are  to  be 
separated." 

We  listened  attentively  to  this  long 
explanation,  though  by  no  means  fully 
understanding  it. 

"  I  have  often  heard,"  I  said,  "  that 
the  class  of  ghost  stories  you  speak  of 
are  the  only  thoroughly  authenticated 
ones,  and  I  think  one  is  naturally 
more  inclined  to  believe  in  them  than 
in  any  others.  But  I  confess  I  do  not 
in  the  least  understand  what  you  mean 
by  speaking  of  other  ghosts  as  'will- 
o'-the-wisps.'  You  don't  mean  that 
though  at  the  moment  of  death  there 
is  a  real  being — the  soul,  in  fact,  as 
distinct  from  the  body,  in  which  all 
but  materialists  believe — that  this  has 
no  permanent  existence,  but  melts 
away  by  degrees  till  it  becomes  an 
irresponsible,  purposeless  nothing — a 
will-o'-the-wisp  in  fact  1  I  think  I 
heard  of  some  theory  of  the  kind  lately 
in  a  French  book,  but  it  shocked  and 
repelled  me  so  that  I  tried  to  forget  it. 


128 


Unexplained. 


Just  as  well,  better,  believe  that  we  are 
nothing  but  our  bodies,  and  that  all  is 
over  when  we  die.  Surely  you  don't 
mean  what  I  say  ?  " 

"  God  forbid,"  said  Sir  Robert,  with 
a  fervency  which  startled  while  it 
reassured  me.  "It  is  my  profound 
belief  that  not  only  we  are  something 
more  than  our  bodies,  but  that  our 
bodies  are  the  merest  outer  dress  of 
our  real  selves.  It  is  also  my  pro- 
found belief  that  at  death  we — the 
real  we — either  enter  at  once  into  a 
state  of  rest  temporarily,  or,  in  some 
cases — for  I  do  not  believe  in  any  cut- 
and-dry  rule  independently  of  indivi- 
dual considerations — are  privileged  at 
once  to  enter  upon  a  sphere  of  nobler 
and  purer  labour,"  and  here  the 
speaker's  eyes  glowed  with  a  light  that 
was  not  of  this  world.  "  Is  it  then  the 
least  probable,  is  it  not  altogether  dis- 
cordant with  our  '  common  sense,' — a 
Divine  gift  which  we  may  employ 
fearlessly — to  suppose  that  these  real 
'  selves,'  freed  from  the  weight  of  their 
discarded  garments,  would  leave  either 
their  blissful  repose,  or,  still  less,  their 
new  activities,  to  come  back  to  wander 
about,  purposelessly  and  aimlessly  in 
this  world,  at  best  only  perplexing 
and  alarming  such  as  may  perceive 
them?  Is  it  not  contrary  to  all  we 
find  of  the  wisdom  and  reasonableness 
of  such  laws  as  we  do  know  something 
about  ?" 

"  I  have  often  thought  so,"  I  said, 
"and  hitherto  this  has  led  me  to  be 
very  sceptical  about  all  ghost  stories." 

"  But  they  are  often  true — so  far  as 
they  go,"  he  replied.  "  Our  natures 
are  much  more  complex  than  we  our- 
selves understand  or  realise.  I  cannot 
now  go  at  all  thoroughly  into  the  sub- 
ject, but  to  give  you  a  rough  idea  of 
my  will-o'-the-wisp  theory — can  you 
not  imagine  a  sort  of  shadow,  or  echo 
of  ourselves  lingering  about  the  scenes 
we  have  frequented  on  this  earth, 
which  under  certain  very  rare  condi- 
tions— the  state  of  the  atmosphere 
among  others — may  be  perceptible  to 
those  still  '  clothed  upon '  with  this 
present  body  1  To  attempt  a  simile,  I 


might  suggest  the  perfume  that  lingers 
when  the  flowers  are  thrown  away,  the 
smoke  that  gradually  dissolves  after 
the  lamp  is  extinguished  1  This  is, 
very,  very  loosely  and  roughly,  the 
sort  of  thing  I  mean  by  my  '  will-o'- 
the-wisps.'  ' 

"I  don't  like  it  at  all,"  said  Margaret, 
though  she  smiled  a  little.  "  I  think 
I  should  be  more  frightened  if  I  saw 
that  kind  of  ghost — I  mean  if  I 
thought  it  that  kind — than  by  a  good 
honest  old-fashioned  one,  who  knew 
what  it  was  about  and  meant  to  come." 

"  But  you  have  just  said,"  he 
objected,  "that  they  never  do  seem  to 
know  what  they  are  about.  Besides, 
why  should  you  be  frightened  1 — our 
fears,  ourselves  in  fact — are  the  only 
thing  we  really  need  be  frightened  of — 
our  weaknesses  and  ignorances  and 
folly.  There  was  great  truth  in  that 
rather  ghastly  story  of  Calderra's, 
allegory  though  it  is,  about  the  man 
whose  evil  genius  was  himself ;  have 
you^  read  it?" 

We  all  shook  our  heads. 

"  It  is  ignorance  that  frightens  us," 
he  said.  Just  then  his  eyes  fell  on  the 
table.  "  I  cannot  get  over  the  impres- 
sion that  I  have  seen  that  cup — no, 
not  that  cup,  but  one  just  like  it — be- 
fore. Not  long  ago,  I  fancy,"  he  said. 

"  Oh,  you  must  let  us  know  if  you 
find  out  anything,"  we  all  exclaimed. 

"  I  certainly  shall  do  so,"  he  said, 
and  a  few  minutes  afterwards  he  and 
Mr.  Grenfell  took  their  leave. 

I  have  never  seen  Sir  Robert  again. 
Still  I  have  by  no  means  arrived  yet 
at  the  end  of  my  so-called  ghost 
story. 

The  cup  and  saucer  were  carefully 
washed  and  replaced  in  the  glass- 
doored  cabinet.  The  summer  gradu- 
ally waned  and  we  all  returned  to  our 
own  home.  It  was  at  a  considerable 
distance  from  my  sister's,  and  we  met 
each  other  principally  in  the  summer- 
time. So,  though  I  did  not  forget 
Sir  Robert  Masters,  or  his  somewhat 
strange  conversation,  amid  the  crowd 
of  daily  interests  and  pleasures,  duties 
and  cares,  none  of  the  incidents  I 


Unexplained. 


129 


have  here  recorded  were  much  in  my 
mind,  and  but  that  I  had  while  still 
in  Germany  carefully  noted  the  details 
of  all  bearing  directly  or  indirectly  on 
"Nora's  ghost,"  as  we  had  come  to 
call  it — though  it  was  but  rarely  al- 
luded to  before  the  child  herself — I 
should  not  now  have  been  able  to  give 
them  with  circumstantiality. 

Fully  fifteen  months  after  the  visit 
to  my  sister,  during  which  we  had 
met  Sir  Robert,  the  whole  was  sud- 
denly and  unexpectedly  recalled  to  my 
memory.  Mark  and  Nora  the  elder, 
my  sister,  that  is,  were  in  their  turn 
staying  with  us,  when  one  morning  at 
breakfast  the  post  brought  for  the 
latter  an  unusually  bulky  and  im- 
portant-looking letter.  She  opened  it, 
glanced  at  an  outer  sheet  inclosing 
several  pages  in  a  different  hand- 
writing, and  passed  it  on  to  me. 

"We  must  read  the  rest  together," 
she  said  in  a  low  voice,  glancing  at 
the  children  who  were  at  the  table ; 
"  how  interesting  it  will  be  !  " 

The  sheet  she  had  handed  to  me 
was  a  short  note  from  Mr.  Grenfell. 
It  was  dated  from  some  place  in  Nor- 
way where  he  was  fishing,  and  from 
whence  he  had  addressed  the  whole 
packet  to  my  sister's  own  home,  not 
knowing  of  her  absence. 

"  MY  DEAR  MRS.  DAVENTRY, — "  it  be- 
gan— "  The  inclosed  will  have  been  a 
long  time  of  reaching  its  real  destina- 
tion, for  it  is,  as  you  will  see,  really  in- 
tended for  your  sister.  No  doubt  it 
will  interest  you  too,  as  it  has  done 
me,  though  I  am  too  matter-of-fact  and 
prosaic  to  enter  into  such  things 
much.  Still  it  is  curious.  Please 
keep  the  letter,  I  am  sure  my  friend 
intends  you  to  do  so. 

"  Yours  very  truly, 
"  RALPH  GRENFELL." 

The  manuscript  inclosed  was  of 
course  from  Sir  Robert  himself.  It 
was  in  the  form  of  a  letter  to  young 
Grenfell,  and  after  explaining  that  he 
thought  it  better  to  write  to  him,  not 
having  my  address,  he  plunged  into 
the  real  object  of  his  communication. 

No.  308.— VOL.  LIT. 


"  You  will  not,"  he  said,  "  have  for- 
gotten the  incident  of  the  '  ghost-cup  ' 
in  the  summer  of  last  year,  and  the 
curious  story  your  friend  was  so  good 
as  to  tell  us  about  it.     You  may  re- 
member— Mrs.  -      -  will,  I  am  sure, 
do  so — my  strong  impression  that  I 
had  recently  seen  one  like  it.     After 
I    left     you    I    could    not  get    this 
feeling  out  of  my  head.     It  is  always 
irritating  not  to  be  able,  figuratively 
speaking,   '  to   lay  your  hand,'  on   a 
recollection,  and    in   this   instance   I 
really  wanted  to  get  the  clue,  as  it  might 
lead  to  some  sort  of  '  explanation '  of 
the  little  girl's  strange  experience.     I 
cudgelled  my  brains,  but  all  to  no  pur- 
pose ;  I  went  over  in  memory  all  the 
houses  at  which  I  had  visited  within 
a  certain  space  of  time ;  I  made  lists 
of  all  the  people  I  knew  interested  in 
'  china,'  ancient  or  modern,  and  likely 
to  possess  specimens  of  it.     But  all  in 
vain.     All   I  got  for  my  pains    was 
that  people  began  to  think  I  was  de- 
veloping a  new  crotchet,  or,  as  I  heard 
one  lady  say  to  another,  not  knowing 
I  was  within  earshot,   '  the  poor  man 
must  be  a  little  off  his  head,  though 
till  now  I  have  always  denied  it.     But 
the  revulsion  from  benevolent  schemes 
to  china-collecting  shows  it  only  too 
plainly.'     So  I  thought  I  had  better 
leave  off    cross-questioning   my    '  col- 
lecting '   friends   about  porcelain  and 
faience,    German  ware  in   particular. 
And  after  a  while  I  thought  no  more 
about  it.     Two    months   ago   I.   had 
occasion   to    make  a   journey  to  the 
north — the  same  journey  and  to   stay 
at  the  same  house  where  I  have  been 
four  or   five    times   since  I  saw   the 
'ghost-cup.'     But  this  was  what  hap- 
pened this  time.     There  is  a  junction 
by    which    one    must    pass    on   this 
journey.     I  generally  manage  to  suit 
my  trains  so  as  to  avoid  waiting  there, 
but  this  is  not  always  feasible.     This 
time    I  found    that  an  hour  at    the 
junction  was   inevitable.     There  is  a 
very  good   refreshment    room    there, 
kept    by    very    civil,  decent    people. 
They  knew  me  by  sight,  and  after  I 
had  had  a  cup  of  tea  they  proposed  to 


130 


Unexplained. 


me,  as  they  have  done  before,  to  wait 
in  their  little  parlour  just  off  the  public 
room.  '  It  would  be  quieter  and  more 
comfortable,'  said  either  the  mother  or 
the  daughter  who  manage  the  concern. 
I  thanked  them,  and  settled  myself  in 
an  arm-chair  with  my  book,  when,  look- 
ing up — there  on  the  mantelpiece 
stood  the  fellow  cup — the  identical 
shape,  pattern,  and  colour !  It  all 
flashed  into  my  mind  then.  I  had 
made  this  journey  just  before  going 
into  your  neighbourhood  last  year, 
and  had  waited  in  this  little  parlour 
just  as  this  time. 

" '  Where  did  you  get  that  cup, 
Mrs.  Smith  ? '  I  asked. 

"  There  were  two  or  three  rather 
pretty  bits  of  china  about.  The  good 
woman  was  pleased  at  my  noticing  it. 

"  '  Yes,  sir.  Isn't  it  pretty  ?  I've 
rather  a  fancy  for  china.  That  cup 
was  sent  me  by  my  niece.  She  said 
she'd  picked  it  up  somewhere — at  a 
sale  I  think.  It's  foreign,  sir,  isn't 
it?' 

" '  Yes,  German.  But  can't  you 
find  out  where  your  niece  got  it,'  for 
at  the  word  "  sale  "  my  hopes  fell. 

"  '  I  can  ask  her.  I  shall  be  writ- 
ing to  her  this  week,'  she  replied ; 
and  she  promised  to  get  any  infor- 
mation she  could  for  me  within  a 
fortnight,  by  which  time  I  expected 
to  pass  that  way  again.  I  did  so,  and 
Mrs.  Smith  proved  as  good  as  her 
word.  The  niece  had  got  the  cup  from 
a  friend  of  hers,  an  auctioneer,  and  he, 
not  she,  had  got  it  at  a  sale.  But  he 
was  away  from  home — she  could  hear 
nothing  more  at  present.  She  gave 
his  address,  however,  and  assurances 
that  he  was  very  good-natured  and 
would  gladly  put  the  gentleman  in  the 
way  of  getting  china  like  it,  if  it  was 
to  be  got.  He- would  be  home  by  the 
middle  of  the  month.  It  was  now  the 
middle  of  the  month.  The  auctioneer's 
town  was  not  above  a  couple  of  hours 
off  my  line.  Perhaps  you  will  all 
laugh  at  me  when  I  tell  you  that  I 
went  those  two  hours  out  of  my  way, 
arriving  at  the  town  late  that  night 
and  putting  up  at  a  queer  old  inn — 


worth  going  to  see  for  itself — on  pur- 
pose to  find  the  man  of  the  hammer. 
I  found  him.  He  was  very  civil, 
though  rather  mystified.  He  remem- 
bered the  cup  perfectly,  but  there  was 
no  chance  of  getting  any  like  it  where 
it  came  from ! 

"  '  And  where  was  that  1 '  I  asked 
eagerly. 

" '  At  a  sale  some  miles  from  here, 
about  four  years  ago,'  he  replied. 
'  It  was  the  sale  of  the  furniture  and 
plate,  and  everything,  in  fact,  of  a 
widow  lady.  She  had  some  pretty 
china,  for  she  had  a  fancy  for  it. 
That  cup  was  not  of  much  value ;  it 
was  quite  modern.  I  bought  it  in  for 
a  trine.  I  gave  it  to  Miss  Cross,  and 
she  sent  it  to  her  aunt,  as  you  know. 
As  for  getting  any  like  it 

'  But  I  interrupted  him  by  assuring 
him  I  did  not  wish  that,  but  that  I 
had  reasons  for  wanting  some  infor- 
mation about  the  person  who,  I  be- 
lieved, had  bought  the  cup.  '  Nothing 
to  do  any  harm  to  any  one,'  I  said ; 
'  a  matter  of  feeling.'  A  similar  cup 
had  been  bought  by  a  person  I  was 
interested  in,  and  I  feared  that  person 
was  dead.' 

"  The  auctioneer's  face  cleared.  He 
fancied  he  began  to  understand  me. 

"  '  I  am  afraid  you  are  right,  sir,  if 
the  person  you  mean  was  young  Mr. 
Paulet,  the  lady's  son.  You  may  have 
met  him  on  his  travels?  His  death 
was  very  sad,  I  believe.  It  killed  his 
mother,  they  say — she  never  looked 
up  after,  and  as  she  had  no  near 
relative  to  follow  her,  everything  was 
sold.  I  remember  I  was  told  all  that 
at  the  sale,  and  it  seemed  to  me  par  - 
ticularly  sad,  even  though  one  comes 
across  many  sad  things  in  our  line  of 
business.' 

"  'Do  you  remember  the  particulars 
of  Mr.  Paulet's  death  ? '  I  asked. 

"  '  Only  that  it  happened  suddenly — 
somewhere  in  foreign  parts.  I  did  not 
know  the  family,  till  I  was  asked  to 
take  charge  of  the  sale,'  he  replied. 

"  '  Could  you  possibly  get  any  details 
for  me  1  I  feel  sure  it  is  the  same 
Mr.  Paulet,'  I  said  boldly. 


Unexplained. 


131 


"The  auctioneer  considered. 

"  '  Perhaps  I  can.  I  rather  think  a 
former  servant  of  theirs  is  still  in  the 
neighbourhood,'  he  replied. 

"I  thanked  him  and  left  him  my 
address,  to  which  he  promised  to  write. 
I  felt  it  was  perhaps  better  not  to 
pursue  my  inquiries  further  in  person ; 
it  might  lead  to  annoyance,  or  possibly 
to  gossip  about  the  dead,  which  I 
detest.  I  jotted  down  some  particulars 
for  the  auctioneer's  guidance,  and  went 
on  my  way.  That  was  a  fortnight 
ago.  To-day  I  have  his  answer,  which 
I  transcribe  : — 

"  'SiR, — The  servant  I  spoke  of  could 
not  tell  me  very  much,  as  she  was  not 
long  in  the  late  Mr.  Paulet's  service. 
To  hear  more,  she  says,  you  must  apply 
to  the  relations  of  the  family.  Young 
Mr.  Paulet  was  tall  and  fair  and  very 
nice-looking.  His  mother  and  he  were 
deeply  attached  to  each  other.  He 
travelled  a  good  deal  and  used  to  bring 
her  home  lots  of  pretty  things.  He 
met  his  death  in  some  part  of  Germany 
where  there  are  forests,  for  though  it 
was  thought  at  first  he  had  died  of 
heart  disease,  the  doctors  proved  he 
had  been  struck  by  lightning,  and  his 
body  was  found  in  the  forest,  and  the 
papers  on  him  showed  who  he  was. 
The  body  was  sent  home  to  be  buried, 
and  all  that  was  found  with  it ;  a 
knapsack  and  its  contents,  among  which 
was  the  cup  I  bought  at  the  sale.  His 
death  was  about  the  middle  of  August 
18 — .  I  shall  be  glad  if  this  informa- 
tion is  of  any  service.' 

"  This,"  continued  Sir  Robert's  own 
letter,  "  is  all  I  have  been  able  to 
learn.  There  does  not  seem  to  have 
been  the  very  slightest  suspicion  of 
foul  play,  nor  do  I  think  it  the  least 
likely  there  was  any  ground  for  such. 
Young  Paulet  probably  died  some  way 


further  in  the  forest  than  Silberbach, 
and  it  is  even  possible  the  surly  land- 
lord never  heard  of  it.  It  might  be 
worth  while  to  inquire  about  it  should 
your  friends  ever  be  there  again.  If  I 
should  be  in  the  neighbourhood  I 
certainly  should  do  so ;  the  whole 
coincidences  are  very  striking." 

Then  followed  apologies  for  the 
length  of  his  letter  which  he  had  been 
betrayed  into  by  his  anxiety  to  tell  all 
there  was  to  tell.  In  return  he  asked 
Mr.  Grenfell  to  obtain  from  me  certain 
dates  and  particulars  as  he  wished  to 
note  them  down.  It  was  the  18th  of 
August  on  which  "  Nora's  ghost  " 
had  appeared — just  two  years  after  the 
August  of  the  poor  young  man's 
death  ! 

There  was  also  a  postscript  to  Sir 
Robert's  letter,  in  which  he  said,  "  I 

think,  in  Mrs.  's  place  I  would 

say  nothing  to  the  little  girl  of  what 
we  have  discovered." 

And  I  have  never  done  so. 

This  is  all  I  have  to  tell.  I  offer 
no  suggestions,  no  theories  in  explana- 
tion of  the  facts.  Those  who,  like 
Sir  Robert  Masters,  are  able  and 
desirous  to  treat  such  subjects  scienti- 
fically or  philosophically  will  doubtless 
form  their  own.  I  cannot  say  that  I 
find  his  'theory  a  perfectly  satisfactory 
one,  perhaps  I  do  not  sufficiently 
understand  it,  but  I  have  tried  to  give 
it  in  his  own  words.  Should  this 
matter-of-fact  relation  of  a  curious 
experience  meet  his  eyes,  I  am  sure  he 
will  forgive  my  having  brought  him 
into  it.  Besides,  it  is  not  likely  that 
he  would  be  recognised ;  men,  and 
women  too,  of  "  peculiar  ideas,"  sincere 
investigators  and  honest  searchers 
after  truth,  as  well  as  their  superficial 
plagiarists,  being  by  no  means — to  the 
credit  of  our  age  be  it  said — rare  in 
these  days. 

LOUISA    MOLESWOKTH. 


(Conclusion.} 


K  2 


132 


"MARIUS   THE   EPICUREAN."1 


THIS  is  a  book  which  has  long  been 
expected  with  interest  by  a  certain 
circle  of  readers.  The  Studies  in  the 
History  of  the  Renaissance,  which  Mr. 
Pater  published  twelve  years  ago, 
made  a  distinct  mark  in  modern  lite- 
rary history.  They  excited  as  much 
antipathy  as  admiration,  perhaps  ;  they 
were  the  object  of  many  denunciations, 
and,  like  some  heretical  treatise  of  the 
second  or  third  century,  received  definite 
episcopal  reprimand  ;  but  at  the  same 
time  they  rose  well  above  the  crowd 
of  books,  and  produced  the  effect  which 
rightly  belongs  to  all  the  heartfelt  in- 
dividual utterance  of  literature.  The 
utterance  might  be  distasteful,  but  it 
represented  an  intellectual  mood  by  no 
means  within  everybody's  reach,  a 
mood  which  was  the  result  of  high 
culture  working  on  a  sensitive  and 
plastic  nature,  and  of  which  the  ex- 
pression had  the  force  as  well  as  some 
of  the  narrowness  of  passion.  The 
object  of  the  book  was  to  reproduce,  as 
vividly  as  possible,  certain  "  special 
unique  impressions  of  pleasure/'  made 
on  an  individual  mind  by  various 
beautiful  things  in  art  and  literature, 
to  "  disengage  the  virtue  of  a  picture, 
a  landscape,  a  fair  personality  in  life 
or  in  a  book,"  so  as  to  pass  on  the 
experience  of  the  author  to  the  reader 
intact,  and  as  it  were  still  warm  with 
feeling  and-emotion.  Such  was  the  pro- 
gramme laid  down  in  the  preface  to  the 
Studies,  while  at  the  close  of  the  book  its 
general  principles  found  still  more  bold 
and  eloquent  expression  in  sentences 
which  were  much  quoted,  and  scandal- 
ised many  to  whom  the  rest  of  the  book 
remained  altogether  unknown.  "  The 
service  of  philosophy,"  said  Mr.  Pater, 
"  and  of  religion  and  culture,  to  the 
human  spirit,  is  to  startle  it  into  a 


the  Epicurean  :  his  Sensations  and 
Ideas,  by  Walter  Pater,  M.A.,  Fellow  of  Brase- 
nose  College,  Oxford.  2  vols. 


sharp  and  eager  observation — not  the 
fruit  of  experience,  but  experience  it- 
self is  the  end.  A  counted  number  of 
pulses  only  is  given  to  us  of  a  varied 
dramatic  life.  How  may  we  see  in 
them  all  that  is  to  be  seen  in  them  by 
the  finest  sense  ?  We  are  all  con- 
damnes,  as  Victor  Hugo  says  :  '  Les 
hommes  sont  tons  condamnes  a  mort 
avec  des  sursis  indefinis'  We  have 
an  interval,  and  then  our  place  knows 
us  no  more.  Some  spend  this  interval 
in  listlessness,  some  in  high  passions, 
the  wisest  in  art  and  song.  For  our 
one  chance  is  in  expanding  that  inter- 
val, in  getting  as  many  pulsations  as 
possible  into  the  given  time." 

Here  was  the  characteristic  note  of 
the  book.  Mr.  Pater,  indeed,  was 
careful  to  explain  that  among  "  high 
passions "  he  reckoned  all  the  great 
motives,  political,  religious,  or  scien- 
tific, of  mankind,  and  that  what  he 
asked  was  simply  that  life  under 
whatever  banner  should  be  lived 
strenuously  an<Ljiot  listlessly,  with 
ardour  and  not^^h  apathy.  Still  it 
was  felt  that  the  foundation  of  it  all 
was  in  the  true  sense  epicurean.  "  Do 
good  and  be  good,"  he  seemed  to  say ; 
"  learn  and  know,  for  one  end  only — 
the  end  of  a  rich  experience.  All 
other  systems  are  delusive ;  this  only 
justifies  itself  perpetually.  Choose 
and  refine  your  experience ;  cultivate 
and  enlarge  your  receptive  faculties, 
and  make  life  yield  you  its  best.  There 
is  no  other  system  of  living  which  at 
once  commends  itself  to  the  reason  and 
satisfies  the  feeling." 

Since  this  remarkable  exposition  of 
what  he  himself  in  his  later  book  calls 
"  a  new  Cyrenaicism,"  Mr.  Pater  has 
published  a  certain  number  of  scattered 
essays,  on  Greek  and  English  subjects, 
of  which  the  latter  at  least  have 
showed  a  steadily  widening  and  de- 
veloping power.  The  masterly  essay 


"  Marius  the  Epicurean" 


133 


on  Wordsworth,  which  appeared  in  the 
Fortnightly  Review,  some  years  after  the 
Studies,  must  have  taken  some  innocent 
Wordsworthians  by  surprise.  The 
austere  and  yet  tender  feeling  of  the 
whole,  the  suggestiveness  and  preg- 
nancy of  treatment,  the  deep  sympathy 
it  showed  for  the  peasant  life  and  the 
peasant  sorrows,  and  a  sort  of  bracing 
mountain-breath  in  it,  revealed  new 
qualities  in  the  man  whose  name  in 
certain  quarters  had  become  unreason- 
ably synonymous  with  a  mere  effemi- 
nate philosophy  of  pleasure.  The 
two  English  studies  which  followed 
the  Wordsworth,  one  on  Measure,  for 
Measure,  the  other  on  Charles  Lamb, 
though  less  intrinsically  weighty,  per- 
haps, had  even  higher  artistic  merit, 
while  in  the  articles  on  the  Demeter 
myth,  Mr.  Pater  employed  extraordi- 
nary resources  of  style  with  results 
which  were  not  wholly  adequate  to 
the  delicate  labour  spent  upon  them. 
Then  came  an  attempt  in  a  totally 
new  direction — the  curious  story  The 
Child  in  t/te  House,  of  which  a 
fragment  appeared  in  Macmillan  in 
the  course  of  1879.  The  author 
never  finished  it;  nor  is  the  fact  to 
be  seriously  regretted.  The  disguise 
furnished  by  the  *  story  for  the 
autobiographical  matter,  of  which  it 
was  obviously  composed,  was  not  a 
particularly  happy  one;  above  all,  it 
was  not  disguise  enough.  Some  form 
of  presentation  more  impersonal,  more 
remote  from  actual  life  was  needed, 
before  the  writer's  thought  could 
allow  itself  fair  play.  Such  a  form 
has  now  been  found  in  the  story  of 
Marius  the  Epicurean. 

The  scene  of  Marius  is  laid  in  the 
second  century,  and  the  object  of  the 
book  is  to  trace  the  development  of  a 
sensitive  mind  brought  into  contact 
with  the  various  spiritual  and  intel- 
lectual forces  which  divided  the  Roman 
world  under  the  Antonines.  In  the 
first  place,  the  hero  is  brought  up 
among  the  primitive  beliefs  and  senti- 
ments of  Latin  rural  life;  his  child- 
hood is  deeply  influenced  by  the  pieties, 
the  obligations,  the  venerable  rites  of 


the  old  Roman  religion,  "  the  religion 
of  Numa,"  as  an  antiquarian  time, 
with  a  taste  for  archaic  revivals,  loved 
to  fancy  it.  From  this  life,  rich  in 
survivals  from  a  remote  antiquity, 
Marius  passes  on  to  the  study  of 
rhetoric  and  philosophy  at  Pisa, 
study  which  ultimately  results  in  his 
adoption  of  a  delicate  and  refined 
form  of  Epicureanism.  His  pursuit 
of  experience,  of  "exquisite  sensa- 
tions," is  to  be  limited  only  by  the 
best  sort  of  worldly  wisdom,  and  by 
the  determination,  inherent  in  the 
gentle  nature  of  the  man,  "  to  add 
nothing,  not  so  much  as  a  passing 
sigh  even,  to  the  great  total  of  men's 
unhappiness  in  his  way  through  the 
world." 

"  Nequ6  ille 

Aut    doluit    miserans    inopem,    aut    invidit 
habenti." 

From  Pisa  he  goes  to  Rome,  and  is 
deeply  influenced  by  the  life  and  char- 
acter of  Marcus  Aurelius,  while  his 
heart  and  brain  are  exercised  by  the 
different  problems  presented  by  the 
life  and  thought  of  Rome,  its  super- 
stitions, its  cruelties,  its  philosophies. 
Although  he  holds  himself  proudly 
aloof  from  the  common  superstitions 
of  the  time,  Marius  becomes  gradu- 
ally conscious  of  certain  needs  of 
feeling  which  his  philosophy  cannot 
satisfy,  and  from  a  shadowy  contact 
with  Theism  he  passes  on  to  a  sha- 
dowy contact  with  Christianity,  pre- 
sented to  him  under  its  sweetest  and 
most  attractive  form.  The  fair  spec- 
tacle of  Christian  love  and  unity 
impresses  him  deeply ;  he  is  invaded 
and  conquered  by  the  charm  of  Chris- 
tian sentiment,  and  his  imagination 
is  touched  by  the  mysterious  largeness 
of  the  Christian  promises.  Still,  to 
the  end,  apparently,  he  remains  intel- 
lectually free,  and  the  ambiguity  of 
his  death,  in  which,  while  not  a  Chris- 
tian, he  suffers  with  the  Christians, 
fitly  corresponds  to  the  ambiguity  of 
the  life  which  has  gone  before  it. 

Those  who  know  Mr.  Pater's  work 
will  hardly  need  to  be  told  with  what 
delicacy  and  beauty  he  has  worked 


134 


"  Marius  the  Epicurean." 


out  the  theme  of  Marius.  The 
style  has  its  drawbacks,  but  even  in 
those  passages  of  it  which  suffer  most 
from  a  certain  looseness  and  confusion 
of  plan,  elements  of  distinction  and 
musical  refinement  are  never  wanting, 
while  at  its  best  the  fascination  of  it 
is  irresistible.  There  are  some  half- 
dozen  scenes,  which  in  their  own  way 
are  unrivalled,  where  both  thought 
and  expression  are  elaborated  with  a 
sort  of  loving,  lingering  care,  while 
yet  the  general  impression  is-  one  of 
subdued  and  measured  charm,  of  a 
fastidious  self-control  in  the  writer, 
leading  to  a  singular  gentleness  and 
purity  of  presentation.  Then  to  the 
beauty  of  style,  which  springs  from 
his  own  highly-trained  faculty,  Mr. 
Pater  has  added  all  that  classical 
culture  could  supply  in  the  way  of 
adorning  and  enrichment.  The  trans- 
lations from  the  literature,  both  Greek 
and  Latin,  of  the  time,  in  which  the 
book  abounds,  are  in  themselves  evi- 
dence of  brilliant  literary  capacity; 
the  version  of  Cupid  and  Psyche  espe- 
cially is  a  masterpiece.  And  there  is 
also  added  to  the  charm  of  style,  and 
deftly  handled  learning,  a  tenderness 
of  feeling,  a  tone  of  reverence  for 
human  affections,  and  pity  for  the 
tragedy  of  human  weakness  worthy 
of  George  Eliot ;  so  that  the  book  is 
rich  in  attractiveness  for  those  who 
are  content  to  take  it  simply  as  it  is 
offered  them,  and  to  lose  themselves 
in  the  feelings  and  speculations  of  the 
hero,  without  a  too  curious  inquiry 
into  the  general  meaning  of  it  all,  or 
into  the  relation  of  the  motives  and 
impressions  described  to  the  motives 
and  impressions  of  the  nineteenth 
century. 

Most  of  those,  however,  who  have 
already  fallen  under  Mr.  Pater's  spell 
will  certainly  approach  the  book  dif- 
ferently. They  will  see  in  it  a  won- 
derfully delicate  and  faithful  reflection 
of  the  workings  of  a  real  mind,  and 
that  a  mind  of  the  nineteenth  century, 
and  not  of  the  second.  The  indirect 
way  in  which  the  mental  processes 
which  are  the  subject  of  the  book  are 


presented  to  us,  is  but  one  more  illus- 
tration of  an  English  characteristic. 
As  a  nation  we  are  not  fond  of  direct 
"  confessions."  All  our  autobio- 
graphical literature,  compared  to  the 
French  or  German,  has  a  touch  of 
dryness  and  reserve.  It  is  in  books 
like  Sartor  JResartus,  or  The  Nemesis 
of  Faith,  Alton  Locke,  or  Marius,  rather 
than  in  the  avowed  specimens  of  self- 
revelation  which  the  time  has  pro- 
duced, that  the  future  student  of  the 
nineteenth  century  will  have  to  look 
for  what  is  deepest,  most  intimate, 
and  most  real  in  its  personal  ex- 
perience. In  the  case  of  those  na- 
tures whose  spiritual  experience  is 
richest  and  most  original,  there  is 
with  us,  coupled  with  the  natural 
tendency  to  expression,  a  natural  ten- 
dency to  disguise.  We  want  to  de- 
scribe for  others  the  spiritual  things 
which  have  delighted  or  admonished 
ourselves,  but  we  shrink  from  a  too 
great  realism  of  method.  English 
feeling,  at  its  best  and  subtlest, 
has  almost  always  something  elusive 
in  it,  something  which  resents  a 
spectator,  and  only  moves  at  ease 
when  it  has  succeeded  in  interposing 
some  light  screen  or  some  obvious 
mask  between  it  and  the  public. 

No  one  can  fail  to  catch  the  auto- 
biographical note  of  Marius  who  will 
compare  the  present  book  with  its 
predecessors.  Marius,  in  fact,  as  a 
young  man,  starts  in  life  on  the  prin- 
ciples expressed  in  the  concluding 
pages  of  the  /Studies.  While  still  a 
student  at  Pisa,  he  reads  Heraclitus 
and  Aristippus,  and  resigns  himself 
to  the  teaching  of  these  old  Greek 
masters.  From  Heraclitus,  or  from 
his  school,  he  learns  the  doctrine  of 
the  "  subjectivity  of  knowledge,"  ac- 
cording to  which  "  the  momentary 
sensible  apprehension  of  the  indi- 
vidual is  the  only  standard  of  what 
is  or  is  not;"  while  from  Aristippus 
he  learns  how  to  cultivate  and  refine 
sensation,  and  how  to  make  the  philo- 
sophy of  pleasure  minister  to  the  most 
delicate  needs  of  the  spiritual  and 
intellectual  life. 


Marius  the  Epicurean." 


135 


"How  reassuring,  after  assisting 
at  so  Ipng  a  debate  about  rival 
criteria  of  truth, ••>  to  fall  back  upon 
direct  sensation,  to  limit  one's  aspira- 
tion after  knowledge  to  that  !  In  an 
age,  still  materially  so  brilliant,  so 
expert  in  the  artistic  handling  of 
material  things  as  that  of  Marcus 
Aurelius,  with  sensible  capacities 
still  unjaded,  with  the  whole  world 
of  classic  art  and  poetry  outspread 
before  it,  and  where  there  was  more 
than  eye  or  ear  could  well  take  in — 
how  natural  the  determination  to  rely 
exclusively  upon  the  phenomena  of 
the  senses,  which  certainly  never  de- 
ceive us  about  themselves,  about  which 
alone  we  can  never  deceive  ourselves  ! 
.  .  .  not  pleasure,  but  fulness,  com- 
pleteness of  life  generally,  was  the 
practical  ideal  to  which  this  anti-meta- 
physical metaphysic  really  pointed. 
And  towards  such  a  full  or  complete 
life,  a  life  of  various  yet  select  sen- 
sation, the  most  direct  and  effective 
auxiliary  must  be,  in  a  word,  Insight. 
Liberty  of  soul,  freedom  from  all  the 
partial  and  misrepresentative  doctrine 
which  does  but  relieve  one  element  of 
our  experience  at  the  cost  of  another, 
freedom  from  all  the  embarrassment 
of  regret  for  the  past  and  calculation 
on  the  future ;  all  that  would  be  but 
preliminary  to  the  real  business  of 
education — insight,  insight  through 
culture,  into  all  that  the  present  mo- 
ment holds  in  trust  for  us,  as  we  stand 
so  briefly  in  its  presence." 

In  this  frame  of  mind  Marius  goes 
up  to  Rome,  makes  acquaintance  with 
Marcus  Aurelius,  and  is  brought  across 
the  Stoical  philosophy  then  engaged 
upon  that  great  effort  for  the  con- 
quest of  the  Roman  world,  which  was 
to  be  apparently  defeated  by  the 
success  of  Christianity,  and  to  find  its 
ultimate  fruition,  as  Renan  points  out, 
in  the  great  system  of  Roman  law,  of 
which  it  influenced  the  development, 
and  through  which  it  has  taken  a  partial 
possession  of  modern  life.  The  effect  of 
this  contact  with  Stoicism  on  the  flexible 
mind  of  Marius,  is  to  lead  to  a  certain 
modification  of  his  main  point  of  view  ; 


and  in  the  remarkable  chapter  called 
"Second  Thoughts,"  Mr.  Pater  de- 
scribes, in  the  person  of  Marius,  what 
is  evidently  the  main  development  of 
the  mind  which  produced  the  Studies 
in  the  History  of  the  Renaissance.  In 
the  first  place  there  is  an  apology  for 
the  "  philosophy  of  moments,"  an  ex- 
planation of  its  naturalness,  its  in- 
evitableness,  so  to  speak,  at  the  outset 
of  certain  intellectual  careers.  "  We 
may  note,"  says  Marius' s  biographer, 
"as  Marius  could  hardly  have  done, 
that  that  new  Cyrenaicism  of  his  is 
ever  the  characteristic  philosophy  of 
youth — one  of  those  subjective  and 
partial  ideals,  based  on  vivid,  because 
limited,  apprehension  of  the  truth  of 
one  aspect  of  experience — in  this  case 
of  the  beauty  of  the  world  and  the 
brevity  of  man's  life  in  it — of  which 
it  may  be  said  that  it  is  the  special 
vocation  of  the  young  to  express 
them."  Such  a  youthful  fanaticism, 
"  just  because  it  seems  to  call  on  one 
to  make  the  sacrifice,  accompanied  by 
a  vivid  sensation  of  power  and  will,  of 
what  others  value — the  sacrifice  of 
some  conviction,  or  doctrine,  or  sup- 
posed first  principle — for  the  sake  of 
that  clear-eyed  intellectual  integrity 
or  consistency,  which  is  like  spotless 
bodily  cleanliness  and  nicety,  or  scrup- 
ulous personal  honour, — has  for  the 
mind  of  the  youthful  student,  when 
he  first  comes  to  appreciate  it,  itself 
the  fascination  of  an  ideal." 

All  sorts  of  incidents  and  influences 
tend  in  youth  to  develop  the  Cyrenaic 
theory.  The  changes  of  the  seasons, 
"the  new  poem  in  every  spring," 
"life  in  modern  London  even,  in  the 
heavy  glory  of  summer,"  "  the  work- 
shops of  the  artist  "  with  all  their 
suggestions  of  beauty  and  refinement 
— all  these  quicken  the  covetousness  of 
the  artistic  temperament,  its  eager- 
ness to  seize  "  the  highly-coloured 
moments  which  are  to  pass  away  so 
quickly,"  and  the  satisfaction  of  a 
natural  passion  becomes  for  a  time  a 
reasoned  principle  of  action. 

But  after  a  while  the  glamour  of 
youth  dies  away,  and  a  man  begins  to 


136 


"  Marius  the  Epicurean." 


see   that   a    system   which    has   only 
the  worship  and  pursuit  of  "exquisite 
moments"  to  recommend  as  a  rule  of 
life,   leaves  three-fourths   of    life   un- 
touched.    Mankind    has    never    been 
content  to  spend   itself  on  a  worship 
of    "moments,"    or   in   a    pursuit   of 
fugitive  impressions  as  such.     Rather, 
with  a  tenacious  and  pathetic  faith,  it 
has    sought  for   continuity,  for  what 
lasts  and  binds,  and  can  be  handed  on 
from  soul  to  soul.     It  has  tried  to  fix 
and  distil  the  essence  of  innumerable 
impressions  in  one  great  tradition — 
the  ethical  tradition — which  is  at  once 
the  product  and  the  condition  of  human 
life.     To  live  in  the  mere  pursuit  of 
sensations,  however  refined,  is  to  live 
outside    this    tradition,  so  far   as    is 
possible,    and    therefore    outside   the 
broad  main  stream  of  human  history. 
And  more  than  this.     As  the  stream 
is   strong  and   tyrannous   and  fills  a 
large   bed,  the    wandering  epicurean, 
bent  on  an  unfettered  quest  of  sensa- 
tions, may  well  find  himself  brought 
into    hostile    and    disastrous    contact 
with  it,  and  may  recognise,  when  too 
late,  his  own  puniness,  and  the  strength 
and  masterfulness  of    the   great  cur- 
rents and  tendencies  of  things.     The 
individual    bent     on     claiming     "an 
entire  personal   liberty  of  heart   and 
mind — liberty  above  all  from  conven- 
tional answers  to  first  questions,"  finds 
all   round    him   "  a  venerable  system 
of    sentiment   and   ideas,   widely   ex- 
tended in  time  and  place,  actually  in 
a  kind   of   impregnable   possession    of 
human  life,"  and  discovers  that  by  iso- 
lating himself  from  it,   he  is  cutting 
himself  off    from   a   great    wealth   of 
human  experience,  from  a  great  possi- 
ble increase  of    intellectual    "  colour, 
variety,  and  relief,"  which  might  be 
gained  by  attaching  himself  to  it. 

Mr.  Pater,  it  will  be  observed,  still 
speaks  of  morals  as  it  were  in  terms 
of  aesthetics.  His  hero  advances,  or 
partially  advances,  from  the  aesthetic 
to  the  ethical  standpoint,  not  because 
of  any  "  conventional  first  principles  " 
on  which  morals  may  depend  for  their 
sanction,  but  because  of  the  enriched 


experience,  the  "  quickened  sympa- 
thies "  which  are  to  be  gained  from  the 
advance.  Practically,  the  same  motive 
power  is  at  work  in  the  second  stage 
as  in  the  first.  But  as  the  sphere  of 
its  operation  enlarges,  it  tends  to 
coalesce  and  join  hands  with  other 
powers,  starting  from  very  different 
bases.  The  worship  of  beauty,  carried 
far  enough,  tends  to  transform  itself 
into  a  passion  moral  in  essence  and  in 
aim.  "  For  the  variety  of  men's  possi- 
ble reflections  on  their  experience,  as 
of  that  experience  itself,  is  not  really 
as  great  as  it  seems.  All  the  highest 
spirits,  from  whatever  contrasted  points 
they  may  have  started,  will  yet  be 
found  to  entertain  in  their  moral  con- 
sciousness, as  actually  realised,  much 
the  same  kind  of  company." 

One  feels  as  though  one  were  read- 
another  Palace  of  Art  with  a  differ- 
ence !  Here,  in  Mr.  Pater's  system, 
the  soul  ceases  to  live  solitary  in  the 
midst  of  a  dainty  world  of  its  own 
choice,  not  because  it  is  overtaken  by 
any  crushing  conviction  of  sin  and  ruin 
in  so  doing,  but  because  it  learns  to 
recognise  that  such  a  worship  of  beauty 
defeats  its  own  ends,  that  by  opening 
the  windows  of  its  palace  to  the  outside 
light  and  air,  and  placing  the  life  within 
under  the  common  human  law,  it  really 
increases  its  own  chances  of  beautiful 
impressions,  of  "exquisite  moments." 
To  put  it  in  the  language  of  the  pre- 
sent book,  "  Marius  saw  that  he  would 
be  but  an  inconsistent  Cyrenaic — mis- 
taken in  his  estimate  of  values,  of  loss 
and  gain,  and  untrue  to  the  well-con- 
sidered economy  of  life  which  he  had 
brought  to  Rome  with  him — that  some 
drops  of  the  great  cup  would  fall  to 
the  ground  " — if  he  did  not  make  the 
concession  of  a  "  voluntary  curtailment 
of  liberty "  to  the  ancient  and  won- 
derful order  actually  in  possession  of 
the  world,  if  he  did  not  purchase  by  a 
willing  self-control,  participation  in 
that  rich  store  of  crystallised  feeling  re- 
presented by  the  world's  moral  beliefs. 
Still,  although  the  fundamental  ar- 
gument is  really  the  same  as  that  on 
which  Mr.  Pater  based  a  general  view 


Marius  the  Epicurean." 


137 


of  life  twelve  years  ago,  the  practical 
advance  in  position  shown  by  the  per- 
sent  book  is  considerable.  "  That 
theory,  or  idea,  or  system,"  said  the 
writer  of  the  Studies,  in  1873,  "  which 
requires  of  us  the  sacrifice  of  any  part 
of  experience  in  consideration  of  some 
interest  into  which  we  cannot  enter,  or 
some  abstract  morality  we  have  not 
identified  with  ourselves,  or  what  is 
only  conventional,  has  no  real  claim 
upon  us."  ISTow  the  legitimacy  and 
necessity  of  some  such  sacrifice  is  ad- 
mitted ;  for  evidently  the  one  mental 
process,  in  spite  of  the  indirectness  of 
its  presentation,  is  but  a  continuation 
of  the  other.  Marius  carries  on  the 
train  of  reflection  begun  by  the  Studies, 
and  the  upshot  of  the  whole  so  far  is 
a  utilitarian  or  Epicurean  theory  of 
morals.  For,  stripped  of  its  poetical 
dress,  the  ethical  argument  of  Marius 
is  essentially  utilitarian.  After  pro- 
testing against  the  curtailment  of  ex- 
perience in  favour  of  "  some  abstract 
morality  we  have  not  identified  with 
ourselves,"  Mr.  Pater  now  presents 
obedience  to  this  same  morality  as 
desirable,  not  because  of  any  absolute 
virtue  or  authority  inherent  in  it,  but 
because  practically  obedience  is  a 
source  of  pleasure  and  quickened 
faculty  to  the  individual. 

There  is  nothing  new,  of  course,  in 
such  an  argument,  though  Mr.  Pater's 
presentation  of  it  is  full  of  indi- 
viduality and  fresh  suggestions.  But 
what  makes  the  great  psychological 
interest  of  the  book,  while  it  con- 
stitutes what  seems  to  us  its  prin- 
cipal intellectual  weakness,  is  the 
further  application  of  this  Epicurean 
principle  of  an  aesthetic  loss  and  gain 
not  only  to  morals,  but  to  religion. 
We  have  described  the  way  in  which 
Mr.  Pater  handles  the  claim  of  the 
moral  system  of  the  civilised  world 
upon  a  mind  in  search  of  beauty.  His 
treatment  of  the  claim  of  religion  on  a 
similar  order  of  mind  is  precisely  the 
same  in  tone  and  general  plan.  Just 
as  adhesion  to  the  accepted  moral  order 
enriches  and  beautifies  the  experience 
of  the  individual,  and  so  gives  a 


greater  savour  and  attractiveness  to 
life,  so  acquiescence  in  the  religious 
order,  which  a  man  finds  about  him, 
opens  for  him  opportunities  of  feeling 
and  sensation  which  would  otherwise 
be  denied  him,  provides  him  with  a 
fresh  series  of  "  exquisite  moments," 
and  brings  him  generally  within  the 
range  of  an  influence  soothing  and  re- 
fining, by  virtue  partly  of  its  vene- 
rableness,  its  source  in  an  immemorial 
past,  partly  of  the  wealth  of  beautiful 
human  experience  which  has  gone,  age 
after  age,  to  the  strengthening  of  it. 
From  the  contention  in  the  chapter, 
"  Second  Thoughts,"  that  Cyrenaicism 
disobeyed  its  own  principles,  and  neg- 
lected means  of  spiritual  and  intel- 
lectual joy  which  it  might  have  utilised, 
by  its  contempt  for  all  the  established 
forms  of  ancient  religion; — from  the  ex- 
pressions used  in  reference  to  Marius's 
first  contact  with  Christianity,  when 
the  new  faith  appealed,  "according 
to  the  unchangeable  law  of  his  cha- 
racter, to  the  eye,  the  visual  faculty  of 
mind; — "  from  the  constant  dwelling 
on  the  blitheness,  and  brightness,  and 
sweetness  of  Christian  feeling,  on  the 
poetry  of  Christian  rites,  and  on  the 
way  in  which  the  pathos  of  the  Chris- 
tian story  seemed  to  make  all  this 
visible  mortality,  death  itself,  more 
beautiful  than  any  fantastic  dream  of 
old  mythology  had  ever  hoped  to  make 
it ;  " — and  lastly,  from  the  persistent 
intellectual  detachment  of  Marius, 
a  detachment  maintained  apparently 
through  a  long  subsequent  experience 
of  Christianity,  and  which  makes  him 
realise  when  he  is  compromised  with 
the  government,  that  for  him  martyr- 
dom— to  the  Christian,  "  the  over- 
powering act  of  testimony  that 
Heaven  had  come  down  among  men," 
— would  be  but  a  common  execution  ; 
from  all  these  different  indications, 
and  from  the  melancholy  beauty  of 
the  death-scene,  we  gather  a  theory  of 
religious  philosophy,  which  is  much 
commoner  among  us  than  most  of  us 
think,  but  which  has  never  been  ex- 
pressed so  fully  or  so  attractively  as 
in  the  story  of  Marius. 


138 


"  Marius  the  Epicurean." 


"  Submit,"  it  seems  to  say,  "  to  the 
religious  order  about  you,  accept  the 
common  beliefs,  or  at  least  behave  as 
if  you  accepted  them,  and  live  habitu- 
ally in  the  atmosphere  of  feeling  and 
sensation  which  they  have  engendered 
and  still  engender ;  surrender  your 
feeling,  while  still  maintaining  the 
intellectual  citadel  intact ;  pray,  weep, 
dream  with  the  majority  while  you 
think  with  the  elect ;  only  so  will  you 
obtain  from  life  all  it  has  to  give,  its 
most  delicate  flavour,  its  subtlest 
aroma." 

Such  an  appeal  has  an  extraordi- 
nary force  with  a  certain  order  of 
minds.  Probably  as  time  goes  we 
shall  see  a  larger  and  larger  response 
to  it  on  the  part  of  modern  society. 
But  with  another  order  of  minds  in 
whom  the  religious  need  is  not  less 
strong,  it  has  not,  and  never  will  have, 
any  chance  of  success,  for  they  regard 
it  as  involving  the  betrayal  of  a  worship 
dearer  to  them  than  the  worship  of 
beauty  or  consolation,  and  the  sur- 
render of  something  more  precious  to 
them,  than  any  of  those  delicate 
emotional  joys,  which  feeling,  divorced 
from  truth,  from  the  sense  of  reality, 
has  to  offer.  All  existing  religions 
have  issued  from  the  sense  of  reality, 
from  a  perception  of  some  truth ; 
certain  facts  or  supposed  facts  of  sense 
or  spirit  have  lain  at  the  root  of  them. 
It  is  surely  a  degradation  of  all 
religion  to  say  to  its  advocates,  "  Your 
facts  are  no  facts  ;  our  sense  of  reality 
is  opposed  to  them  ;  but  for  the  sake 
of  the  beauty,  the  charm,  the  consola- 
tion to  be  got  out  of  the  intricate 
practical  system  you  have  built  upon 
this  chimerical  basis,  we  are  ready  to 
give  up  to  you  all  we  can — our  sympathy, 
our  silence,  our  ready  co-operation  in 
all  your  lovely  and  soothing  rites  and 
practices,  hoping  thereby  to  cheat  life 
of  some  of  its  pain,  and  to  brighten 
some  of  its  darkness  with  dreams  fairer 
even  than  those  which  .^Esculapius 
inspired  in  his  votaries." 

It  is  useful  and  salutary  to  compare 
with  such  a  temper  as  this,  a  temper 
like  dough's — that  mood  of  heroic  sub- 


mission to  the  limitations  of  life  and 
mind  which  inspired  all  his  verse, 
that  determination  of  his  to  seek  no 
personal  ease  or  relief  at  the  expense 
of  truth,  and  to  put  no  fairy  tales 
knowingly  into  the  place  which  belongs 
to  realities.  How  full  his  work  is  of 
religious  yearning  and  religious  passion, 
and  yet  how  eloquent  of  a  religious 
fear  lest  the  mind  should  hold  its 
"  dread  communion  "  with  the  unseen 
"  source  of  all  our  light  and  life," 
"  in  ways  unworthy  Thee," — how 
instinct  at  times  with  an  almost  super- 
human repudiation  of  the  mere 
personal  need ! 

"  It  fortifies  my  soul  to  know 

That,  though  I  perish,  Truth  is  so  ; 
That,  howsoe'er  I  stray  and  range, 
"Whate'er  I  do,  Thou  dost  not  change. 
I  steadier  step  when  I  recall 
That,  if  I  slip,  Thou  dost  not  fall." 

Here  is  one  "counsel  of  perfection," 
and  a  nobler  one,  as  we  hold  it,  than 
the  "  counsel "  which  Mr.  Pater  has 
embodied  as  a  main  drift  or  moral  in 
the  story  of  Marius.  But  with  this 
protest  our  fault-finding  comes  to  an 
end. 

There  are  many  other  minor  points 
in  the  book  which  would  repay  dis- 
cussion. Has  it  clone  justice  to  the 
complexities  either  of  the  Roman 
world  or  of  Christianity  in  the  second 
century?  In  fairness  to  Marcus  A  u- 
relius  and  the  pagan  world,  ought 
there  not  to  have  been  some  hint  of 
that  aspect  of  the  Christian  question 
which  leads  Renan  to  apply  to  the  posi- 
tion of  the  Christian  in  a  pagan  city 
the  analogy  of  that  of  "  a  Protestant 
missionary  in  a  Spanish  town  where 
Catholicism  is  very  strong,  preaching 
against  the  saints,  the  Virgin,  and 
processions "?  "  "Would  it  not  have  been 
well,  as  an  accompaniment  to  the  ex- 
quisite picture  of  primitive  Christian 
life,  -to  have  given  us  some  glimpse 
into  the  strange  excitements  and  agi- 
tations of  Christian  thought  in  the 
second  century  ?  As  far  as  Marius  is 
concerned,  the  different  currents  of 
Christian  speculation  at  the  time 


"  Marius  the  Epicurean." 


139 


might  hardly  have  existed.  Then 
again,  is  there  not  a  little  humour 
wanting,  which,  according  to  the  facts, 
ought  to  have  been  there,  in  such  a 
description  as  that  lovely  one,  of  the 
temple  and  rites  of  ^Esculapius  1  But 
these  questions  we  can  only  throw  out 
for  the  reader  of  Marius  to  ponder  if 
he  will.  However  they  may  be  an- 
swered, the  value  and  delightful- 
ness  of  the  book  remain.  It  is 
so  full  of  exquisite  work,  of  thought 
fresh  from  heart  and  brain,  that 
when  the  reader  has  made  all  his 
reservations,  and  steadily  refused 
his  adhesion  to  this  or  that  appeal 
which  it  contains,  he  will  come  back 
with  fresh  delight  to  the  passages  and 
descriptions  and  re-veries  in  which  a 
poetical  and  meditative  nature  has 
poured  out  a  wealth  of  imaginative 
reflection.  Two  pieces  especially  he 
will  lay  by  in  the  store-house  of 
memory — the  "  pagan  death  "  of 
Flavian,  the  half-Christian  death  of 
Marius.  Let  us  give  a  last  satisfac- 
tion to  the  feelings  of  admiration 
stirred  in  us  by  a  remarkable  book  by 
quoting  the  beautiful  concluding  par$- 
graph  which  describes  how  the  sensi- 
tive soul  of  Marius  passes  from  the 
world  it  had  sought  so  early  to  under- 
stand and  enjoy : — 

....  "Then,  as  before,  in 'the  wretched, 
sleepless  nights  of  those  forced  marches,  he 
would  try  to  fix  his  mind — as  it  were  impas- 
sively, and  like  a  child  thinking  over  the  toys 
it  loves,  one  after  the  other,  that  it  may 
fall  asleep  so,  and  forget  all  about  them 
the  sooner — on  all  the  persons  he  had  loved 


in  life — on  his  love  for  them,  dead  or  living, 
grateful  for  his  love  or  not,  rather  than  on 
theirs  for  him — letting  their  images  pass  away 
again,  or  rest  with  him,  as  they  would.  In 
the  bare  sense  of  having  loved,  he  seemed  to 
find,  even  amid  this  foundering  of  the  ship, 
'  that  on  which  his  soul  might  assuredly  rest 
and  depend. '  ...  It  was  after  a  space  of  deep 
sleep  that  he  awoke  amid  the  murmuring 
voices  of  the  people  who  had  kept  and  tended 
him  so  carefully  through  his  sickness,  now 
kneeling  around  his  bed  ;  and  what  he  heard 
confirmed,  in  his  then  perfect  clearness  of  soul, 
the  spontaneous  suggestion  of  his  own  bodily 
feeling.  He  had  often  dreamt  that  he  had 
been  condemned  to  die,  that  the  hour,  with  wild 
thoughts  of  escape,  had  arrived  ;  and  awaking, 
with  the  sun  all  around  him,  in  complete 
liberty  of  life,  had  been  full  of  gratitude  for 
his  plac^  there,  alive  still,  in  the  land  of  the 
living.  He  read  surely,  now,  in  the  manner, 
the  doings  of  these  people,  some  of  whom 
were  passing  away  through  the  doorway, 
where  the  sun  still  lay  heavy  and  full, 
that  his  last  morning  was  come,  and  turn  to 
think  again  of  the  beloved.  Of  old,  he  had 
often  fancied  that  not  to  die  on  a  dark  and 
rainy  day  would  itself  have  a  little  alleviating 
grace  cr  favour  about  it.  The  people  around 
his  bed  were  praying  fervently:  Abi!  Abil 
anima  Christiana !  In  the  moments  of  his 
extreme  helplessness  the  mystic  bread  had 
been  placed,  had  descended  like  a  snow-flake 
from  the  sky,  between  his  lips.  Soothing 
fingers  had  applied  to  hands  and  feet,  to  all 
those  old  passage-ways  of  the  senses  through 
which  the  world  had  come  and  gone  from  him, 
now  so  dark  and  obstructed,  a  medicinable 
oil.  It  was  the  same  people  who,  in  the  grey, 
austere  evening  of  that  day,  took  up  his  re- 
mains, and  buried  them  secretly  with  their 
accustomed  prayers  ;  but  with  joy  also,  hold- 
ing his  death,  according  to  their  generous  view 
in  this  matter,  to  have  been  in  the  nature  of  a 
martyrdom  ;  and  martyrdom,  as  the  Church 
had  always  said,  is  a  kind  of  sacrament  with 
plenary  grace." 

M.  A.  W. 


140 


MOMMSEN 'S   NEW   VOLUME. 


THE  book  for  which  the  learned  world 
has  been  waiting  for  thirty  years  has 
come  at  last.     Dr.  Theodor  Mommsen 
has  just  published  the  fifth  volume  of 
his  Roman  History  on  TJie  Provinces 
from    Ccesar   to   Diocletian.      Thus  is 
picked  up  the  thread  dropped  in  1855, 
when  the  third  volume  of  the  History 
was  given  to  the  world,  but  the  thread 
is  carried  over  a  gap  as  yet  unfilled. 
The  fourth  volume  is  yet  to  come  ;  the 
internal   and  constitutional  history  of 
the  empire,  as  Mommsen  can  tell  it, 
has  not  yet  been  told.      In  his  view 
the  history  of   the  provinces   presses 
more  urgently  for    the    telling,  as  it 
has  nowhere  been  made  accessible  to 
the   general   public   in    a    convenient 
form,  and  as  the   imperial  system  is 
wont  in  consequence  to  be  incorrectly 
and    unfairly    judged.       The    fourth 
volume    will    follow ;    perhaps    there 
may  even  be  a  sixth,  specially  devoted 
to  the  later  empire  of  Diocletian,  who 
effected  changes  in  the  Eoman  State 
at  least  as  great  as  those  effected  by 
Augustus,  and  to  that  general  survey 
and  summary  of  results  which  the  pre- 
sent volume,  ending  as  it  does  abruptly 
with    the    details    of    the    provincial 
government  of    Africa,  nowhere  sup- 
plies.    It  is  not  unreasonable  to  hope 
that  this  may  yet  be  done.     Mommsen 
has    been    working    and    writing  on 
Roman  history  for  over  forty  years — 
grande  mortalis  cevi  spatium — since  his 
first  essay  was  published  in  1843.   But, 
for   all  this  vast   activity,  he   is   yet 
hardly  an  old  man.     Madvig  is  eighty- 
one,  Ranke  is  over  ninety,  Mommsen 
is   only    sixty-eight.     He   has  yet  to 
carry  the  great  Berlin  Corpus  of  In- 
scriptions, of  which  he  is  chief  editor, 
to  a  fortunate  conclusion  ;  his  Consti- 
tutional History  of  Rome  has  yet  to  be 
completed  by  a  volume  on  the  senate ; 
and  the  Roman  History,  in  which  the 


results  of  all  this  thorny  erudition  are 
made  accessible  to  the  general  reader, 
is  at  present  a  splendid  fragment. 
Students  all  over  the  world  will  wish 
to  the  great  toiler  the  health  and  long 
life  and  unslackening  energy  needful  to 
make  his  life's  work  a  rounded  and 
triumphant  whole. 

The  present  volume  is  the  sign  and 
consummation  of  the  great  centrifugal 
movement  which  has  marked  the  study 
of  Roman  history  for  thirty  years,  and 
of  which  Mommsen  himself  has  been 
the  pioneer.     Such  a  conception  of  the 
Roman  empire  as  that  presented  in  the 
pages  of  Suetonius,  where  the  centre  of 
interest  is  the  character  of  the  reign- 
ing emperor,  is  long  out  of  date.     The 
Orbis    Romanus   takes    the   place    of 
Rome.     The  archaeologist  feels  a  thrill 
of  deeper  interest  at  the  sight  of  the 
grass-grown  amphitheatres  of  Birten 
or  Lillebonne,  the  camp  at  Housesteads 
on  the  bleak  Northumbrian  fell,  or  the 
lonely  column  of  Avenches,than  he  feels 
at  Verona  or  at  Rome.     The  student 
of  politics  is  sensible  that  he  cannot 
know  too  much  of  the  Roman  system — 
how  Rome  administered,  and  assimi- 
lated, and  civilised  her   heterogeneous 
subject  world — and  there  are  few  coun- 
tries in  Europe,  if,  indeed,  pace  Mr. 
Freeman,  there  is   one,  where  such  a 
student  does  not  ever  more  strongly 
realise  the  greatness  of  the  mark  which 
Rome  has  left  upon  the  present.    Along 
with  the  displacement  of  the  interest 
in  Roman  history — the  transfer  from 
centre  to  circumference — has  gone  an 
immense  extension  of  our  knowledge  of 
the  Roman  world.     With  the   growth 
of  the  interest  have  grown  the  means 
of   gratifying    it.       The     authors   are 
microscopically  studied  from  this  point 
of  view,  but  the  authors  did  not  as  a 
rule   share   the  point  of   view  them- 
selves, and  the  complaint    of   an  his- 


Mommsen's  New  Volume. 


141 


torian  like  Mommsen  is  that  they  tell 
us  what  does  not  signify,  and  leave  out 
everything  we  want  to  know.    Luckily 
new  and  boundless  sources  of  informa- 
tion have  been  supplied  by  the  inscrip- 
tions,  which,   for   this   period,   when 
every  successful    soldier   wrote  every 
step  of  his  career  on  stone,  and  cities 
entrusted  their  laws  and  constitutions 
to  the  imperishable  bronze,  are  of  over- 
whelming value  and  importance.     The 
fifteen  stately  volumes  of  the  Berlin 
Corpus  are  a  mine  into  which  only  the 
first  shafts  have  as  yet  been  sunk,  and 
the   material  supplied  for  the  Greek 
East  by  the  Greek  inscriptions  of  the 
period  is  almost  as  considerable.     The 
coins  are  only  less  important,  and  it  is 
no  exaggeration  to  say  that  a  historian 
of  the  Roman  empire  who  has  not  used 
this  new  material,  and  does  not  know 
at  least  its  main  results,  is  just  as  obso- 
lete as  Rollin.      New  light  has  also 
been  given  by  the  deeper  and  closer 
study  of  topography.      The  Germans 
have  worked  out  the  whole  system  of 
the  Roman  roads,  towns,  and  fortifica- 
tions along  the  Rhine,  and  a  large  part 
of  the  results   has  been  embodied  in 
maps,    such    as   Paulus's    magnificent 
archaeological    chart  of   Wiirtemburg. 
In  England  the  Roman  wall — perhaps 
the    most    wonderful     monument    of 
themselves   which   the    Romans  have 
left  in  any  province — has  been  investi- 
gated with  the  most  assiduous  patience 
and   success.      Mommsen  pays  the  la- 
bours of  men  like   Hodgson  and  Dr. 
Bruce  a  merited  compliment  when  he 
declares  that  it  is  the  only  monument 
of  the  kind  which  has  been  properly 
examined,  and  expresses  himself  as  by 
comparison  dissatisfied  with  the  corre- 
sponding work  which   has  been  done 
upon    the    Germanic     and      Rhsetian 
limites  in  Germany.     Much  light  has 
also  been  thrown  upon  the  road-system 
by  a  number  of  students,  among  whom 
Mr.  Thompson  Watkin  has   done  par- 
ticularly good  work.       In  France  the 
results  of  the  labours  of  innumerable 
inquirers  have  been  summed  up  in  the 
three  volumes  of  Desjardin's  Geography 
of  Roman  Gaul.       In    Spain    almost 


everything   is   still    to    do,    but    the 
second  volume  of  the  Corpus  supplies 
the  requisite  basis,  and  there  are  signs 
of  the  rise  of  a  serious  school  of  histori- 
cal and  archaeological  students  in  that 
country.     In  North  Africa  the  French 
have  done  much,  and  will  do   more. 
Some  of  the  chief  results  have  been 
put    together     by    Boissiere,    in    his 
Roman    Algeria,    and     by    Tissot   in 
his     Geography    of    the    Roman    Pro- 
vince   of  Africa.       For  the  Danubian 
lands  there  are   books   like   Planta's 
Rhcetia,    Milliner's     Emona,     Zippel's 
Illyria,   Cons's    Dalmatia,    Kammel's 
Austria,  and  a  young  English  scholar, 
Mr.   A.   F.   Evans,   who   has   already 
done  good  work  in  that  district,  will,  it 
is  to  be  hoped,  some  day  produce  an 
authoritative  work  upon  Illyricum  in 
its  widest  sense.     In  the  western  part 
of   Dacia,    the  present    Transylvania, 
much   has   been   done  by  Gooss   and 
others,   but   the    eastern   half  of  the 
province    has    been   left   almost    un- 
touched ;  and  but  little  has  been  done 
in   Bulgaria    and   Eastern  Roumelia, 
Mcesia  and  Thrace.     Great    advances 
have  of  late  been  made  in  our  know- 
ledge of  Asia  Minor  by  travellers  like 
Perrot,     Hirschfeld,     Benndorff,    and 
Mr.  W.  M.  Ramsay,  and  the  results 
so  far  obtained  have  been   carefully 
mapped   by    Dr.    Kiepert,    who    has 
always  given  special  attention  to  the 
geography  of  Asia  Minor.     The  Eng- 
lish military  Consuls  in  Asia  Minor 
are  also  believed  to  have  done  much. 
"  Our    mission,"    wrote    Sir    Charles 
Wilson,    the    Consul-General,    a   year 
ago,  "  was  a  political  one,  but  we  were 
determined  to  bring  back  as  much  in- 
formation as  we  could  of  a  country  at 
once  so  interesting  and  so  little  known. 
The  geographical  results  were,  briefly, 
a    complete    military    survey    of  the 
Taurus  range  from  the  mountains  of 
Lycia  to  the  Persian  frontier ;  of  the 
Anti-Taurus,  and  of  Mount  Amanus 
from  the  Taurus  to  the  Beilan  Pass.  Sur- 
veys were  also  made  of  the  Cilician  Plain, 
of  the  country  around  Mount  Argseus, 
of  portions  of  Paphlagonia  and  Pontus, 
and   every    important     road     in    the 


142 


Mommsen's  New  Volume. 


country  was  examined  and  sketched. 
.  .  I  believe  if  our  sketches  were  put 
together,  as  I  hope  they  may  be  some 
day,  we  should  be  able  to  reconstruct 
the  ancient  road  system  of  the  country, 
to  follow  the  marches  of  Cyrus,  Alex- 
ander, Manlius,  and  Caesar  in  ancient 
times,  and,  in  more  modern,  the  march 
of  the  Crusaders  to  Palestine,  to 
understand  the  mountain  campaigns 
of  Cicero,  the  long  struggle  of  the 
Byzantine  emperors  with  the  Seljuk 
and  Ottoman  Turks,  and  to  lay  down 
with  fair  accuracy  the  boundaries  of  the 
ancient  provinces."  Such  a  statement 
is  eminently  calculated  to  make  a 
geographer's  mouth  water,  and  it  is 
not  surprising  that  Dr.  Kiepert  should 
have  applied  to  the  War  Office  for 
leave  to  examine  and  utilise  the 
sketches  and  plans  brought  home  by 
the  English  Consuls.  It  is  said  that 
the  War  Office,  no  doubt  for  reasons 
connected  with  Sir  Charles  Wilson's 
reference  to  a  "  military  survey,"  have 
not  felt  themselves  at  liberty  to  accede 
to  the  great  geographer's  request.  But 
it  would  be  disgraceful  that  such 
materials  should  be  pigeon-holed  for 
ever  in  the  War  Office.  They  are  the 
only  tangible  result  of  the  labours  of 
the  Consuls,  who  were  appointed  to 
"  watch  the  introduction  of  reforms 
under  the  Anglo-Turkish  Convention," 
and  it  is  much  to  be  hoped  that  Sir 
Charles  Wilson's  "  some  day  "  is  not 
synonymous  with  the  Greek  Kalends. 
The  map  of  the  Orbis  Romanus  is 
thus  being  gradually  built  up.  On 
the  detailed  history  of  almost  every 
province  an  immense  mass  of  know- 
ledge has  been  accumulated.  It  is 
possible  to  give  the  names  of  every 
regiment,  of  regulars  or  auxiliaries, 
that  ever  formed  part  of  the  garrison 
of  Britain,  and  to  indicate  the  head- 
quarters of  almost  every  one  of  them. 
We  know  the  site  of  every  Roman 
villa  in  Southern  England,  and  we 
also  know,  and  can  argue  something 
as  to  the  comparative  Romanisation  of 
Northern  and  Southern  England  from 
the  knowledge,  that  not  a  single  villa 
has  been  found  north  of  Aldborough. 


The  great  camps  at  Mainz,  on  the 
Saalburg,  at  Xanten,  at  Chester,  and 
on  Hadrian's  Wall,  have  been  explored. 
A  whole  district  has  been  worked 
over  for  the  site  of  a  battlefield,  and 
after  a  literature  has  been  written  on 
the  defeat  of  Yarus,  the  scene  of  the 
battle  is  fixed  (by  Hofer  and  Momm- 
sen)  no  longer  at  Detmold  but  at 
Osnabriick.  An  amount  of  extrane- 
ous knowledge  has  thus  been  obtained 
which  enables  us  to  press  with  incom- 
parable power  upon  the  texts,  and  to 
extract  from  them  the  last  syllable 
they  are  capable  of  telling  us.  The 
new  materials,  epigraphic,  numismatic, 
and  topographical,  enable  us  some- 
times to  illustrate  the  texts,  some- 
times to  supplement  them,  sometimes 
even  summarily  to  correct  them.  The 
specialists  at  work  in  each  province 
have  accumulated  for  the  historian  a 
mass  of  valuable  information  such  as 
Dr.  Arnold  foresaw  would  be  brought 
together  when  he  wrote  (in  1838)  that 
"  he  who  attempts  to  write  history  in 
the  interval  between  the  awakened 
consciousness  of  the  defects  of  our 
knowledge  and  that  fuller  light  which 
may  hereafter  remove  them,  labours 
under  peculiar  disadvantages."  At 
the  same  time  the  work  done  has  been 
in  the  main  that  of  specialists,  and  it 
has  had  the  defects  of  its  qualities. 
"  It  is  unfortunately  the  rule,"  wrote 
Mommsen,  in  an  essay  published  in 
the  course  of  last  year,  "  for  a  writer 
on  a  province  of  the  Roman  empire  to 
know  as  little  of  the  empire  as  those 
who  occupy  themselves  with  the 
Roman  empire  are  wont  to  know  of 
the  individual  provinces."  The  time 
had  come  for  a  serious  effort  to  sift 
this  information,  to  piece  out  the 
story,  and  put  the  facts  together  in 
their  true  relations,  and  Mommsen 
was  the  man  to  do  it.  He  knows  the 
empire  and  he  knows  the  provinces. 
His  authority  on  the  early  history  of 
Rome  is  no  doubt  considerable,  but 
any  one  familiar  with  the  work  he 
has  poured  out  in  such  profusion 
during  the  last  twenty  years  was  well 
aware  that  his  real  subject  was  the 


Mommsen' s  New   Volume. 


143 


empire.  He  has  prepared  himself 
by  editing  the  Digest,  by  a  general 
editorship  of  the  Corpus,  to  which  he 
has  moreover  contributed  from  his 
own  hand  a  good  half  of  the  72,000 
separate  articles  of  which  its  fifteen 
volumes  are  composed,  by  the  elaborate 
study  of  the  Roman  constitutional 
machinery  in  the  Staatsrecld  (the 
second  part  of  the  second  volume  deals 
exclusively  with  the  Principate),  and 
by  countless  essays  on  cognate  sub- 
jects in  the  great  classical  reviews  of 
Germany. 

The  biographer  of  Charles  Tissot 
tells  us  that  that  excellent  scholar 
and  austere  but  admirable  man  "  was 
not  lavish  with  his  praises ;  even 
Borghesi  seemed  to  him  overrated ; 
but  when  he  spoke  of  M.  Mommsen, 
of  the  prodigious  activity  of  this 
savant,  who  in  the  midst  of  his  gigan- 
tic labours  finds  time  to  keep  up  a 
vast  correspondence  in  four  languages, 
never  leaving  a  letter  without  answer 
or  a  problem  without  solution,  he  pro- 
nounced a  word — the  word  '  genius ' 
— which  was  not  accustomed  to  pass 
his  lips.  '  This  man  discourages  one,' 
he  once  remarked  to  me,  after  reading 
one  of  the  last  numbers  of  the  Ephe- 
meris,  '  the  novelties  of  a  text  which 
are  obscurities  for  us  are  shafts  of 
light  for  him  ;  when  I  see  what  he 
accomplishes  I  should  like  to  break 
my  pen.'  " 

The  book  to  whose  author's  qualifi- 
cations such  testimony  is  borne,  is  a 
stout  volume  of  over  650  pages,  and, 
bulky  though  it  is,  the  reader  will  be 
struck  quite  as  much  by  what  it  omits 
as  by  what  it  contains.  It  nowhere 
discusses  the  nature  of  the  Roman 
provincial  administration  in  general ; 
there  is  no  account  of  the  internal 
arrangements  of  those  provincial 
towns  whose  self-government  is  so 
important  and  so  interesting  an  ele- 
ment in  the  Roman  system  ;  above  all, 
there  is  no  general  discussion,  such  as 
Mommsen  could  have  given  us  better 
than  any  living  man,  of  the  Roman 
system  of  taxation  and  finance.  Chris- 
tianity is  but  slightly  touched,  though 


there  is  a  pregnant  remark  to  the  effect 
that  the  persecution  of  Christians  was 
normal  just  as  much  as  the  persecution 
of  banditti.  Both  were  alike  law- 
breakers, and  if  there  was  no  persecu- 
tion for  a  long  time  together,  that  was 
not  an  affair  of  law  at  all,  but  merely 
of  public  policy  and  the  character  of 
the  individual  governor.  There  is  a 
luminous  hint,  too,  in  the  amusing 
passage  on  the  Asiarchs,  the  high- 
priests  of  the  province,  who  really 
were  nothing  less  than  pagan  bishops 
with  the  spiritual  interests  of  the 
province  in  their  charge,  and  who, 
maintaining  as  they  did  a  very  stiff 
standard  of  orthodoxy,  were  naturally 
the  first  to  bring  the  law  into  opera- 
tion against  the  Christians.  But, 
speaking  generally,  the  lack  of  any 
account  of  the  new  religion  is  one  of 
the  puzzles  of  the  volume.  So,  too, 
the  reader  of  the  chapter  on  Spain 
will  be  disappointed  to  find  no  account 
of  the  municipal  constitutions  of  Malaga 
and  TJrsao,  or  of  the  very  interesting 
mining  communities  of  Lusitania,  and 
the  section  on  Dacia  supplies  no  hints 
as  to  the  much-debated  question  of 
Rouman  nationality.  Some  of  these 
omissions  will  no  doubt  be  made  good 
in  the  fourth  volume,  others  are  due 
to  Mommsen' s  strict  limitation  of  his 
subject  to  the  first  three  centuries. 
Beyond  Diocletian  he  does  not  look. 
The  reader  must  regard  the  book  as 
a  kind  of  glorified  gazetteer  of  the 
Roman  empire,  in  which  almost  all 
the  great  general  questions  are  treated 
as  if  already  handled  or  already  known, 
and  in  which  the  results  of  much  la- 
borious investigation  are  tacitly  as- 
sumed, sometimes  indeed  stated  with 
a  certainty  that  hardly  perhaps  pro- 
perly belongs  to  them.  He  will  find 
almost  every  point  of  Rome's  foreign 
policy  discussed.  From  no  previous 
book  could  one  get  at  a  general  notion 
of  the  frontier  policy — or  policies — of 
Rome.  It  is  the  only  book  which 
gives  a  statement  of  the  frontier 
policy  in  Egypt,  and,  the  geographical 
conditions  of  the  problem  being  pre- 
cisely the  same  as  they  were  when 


144 


Mommsen's  New  Volume. 


the  Romans  held  Egypt,  even  the 
most  matter-of-fact  politician,  and  the 
one  with  the  robustest  contempt  for  his- 
torical analogies,  may  be  glad  to  know, 
without  having  to  hunt  through  Strabo, 
Pliny,  and  Procopius  for  the  informa- 
tion, that  the  Romans  resolutely  held 
aloof  from  the  Soudan,  and  thought 
the  frontier  sufficiently  guarded  with 
1200  troops  at  Assouan.  The  book 
is  greatly  swelled  by  the  space  given 
to  the  wars — to  the  Jewish  wars,  for 
instance,  the  Parthian  wars,  the 
wars  on  the  Rhine  and  Danube.  It 
is  not  simply  an  account  of  the  pro- 
vinces. That  could  have  been  done 
in  half  the  space,  or  rather  the  space 
saved  from  the  wars  could  have  been 
utilised  partly  for  some  general  chap- 
ters on  the  administration,  partly  for 
fuller  details  of  the  individual  pro- 
vinces. If  the  foreign  history  of  the 
empire  is  to  be  told  over  again  in  the 
fourth  volume,  there  will  be  a  good 
deal  of  inevitable  repetition.  If,  on 
the  other  hand,  the  wars  of  the  empire 
and  its  foreign  relations  generally  are 
held  to  be  sufficiently  discussed  in  the 
present  volume,  then  it  must  be  al- 
lowed that  the  geographical  basis  of 
the  book  has  its  disadvantages,  that 
it  is  impossible  to  gain  from  it  a  clear 
and  comprehensive  idea  of  the  foreign 
policy  of  any  given  reign,  and  that  it 
is,  in  fact,  open  to  some  of  the  objec- 
tions which  the  veteran  French  savant, 
M.  E.  Egger,  urged  long  ago  against 
the  similar  plan  of  Appian. 

In  a  gazetteer  —  even  a  glorified 
gazetteer — the  element  of  human  in- 
terest is  not  to  be  expected.  "  Pic- 
turesque detail,  studies  of  motive,  and 
vignettes  of  character,  my  book,"  says 
Mommsen,  "has  not  to  offer.  It  is 
permitted  to  the  artist,  but  not  to  the 
historian,  to  imagine  the  features  of 
Arminius.  With  renunciation  has 
this  book  been  written,  and  with  re- 
nunciation it  must  be  read."  "We 
should  be  grateful  therefore  for  the 
few  "vignettes  of  character,"  bitten 
in  with  a  few  sharp  and  vigorous 
strokes,  from  which  the  historian  of 
the  younger  Cato,  and  Cicero,  and 


Pompey  has   been   unable   altogether 
to    withhold    his    hand.     Antony    is 
briefly  characterised  :  "  One    of   those 
purely  military  talents  which,  in  front 
of    the   enemy,    and    especially   in    a 
critical  position,  know  to  strike  with 
equal  courage  and  sagacity,  he  lacked 
the  statesman's  purpose,  the  sure  grasp 
and  resolute  prosecution  of  the  poli- 
tical end  in  view."    Trajan  is  "  a  man 
of  big  deeds,  and  yet  bigger  words." 
Tiberius,  "  the  most  capable  ruler  that 
the  empire  produced,"  is   painted  as 
"the  old  lion"   dying  on  his  rock  of 
Caprese,   but  capable  of  rousing  him- 
self on  occasion  from  the  inaction  that 
had  crept  over  him  with  years,  and  of 
showing  that  he  was  "  still  formidable 
to  others  besides  his  courtiers,  and  not 
the  man  to  allow  himself,  and  in  his 
person  Rome,  to  be  slighted  without 
taking   vengeance   on    the    offender." 
Germanicus  is  slightly  touched  ;  evi- 
dently Mommsen  regards  him  as  an 
overrated  personage ;   but  there  is  a 
sympathetic  portrait   of   the  "heroic 
figure"    of    his    father    Drusus,    the 
brilliant  young  prince  who   came   so 
near  to  conquering  Germany  for  good 
and    all,    and    extending   the    Roman 
frontier  and   Roman  civilisation  per- 
manently to  the   Elbe.     These,   how- 
ever, are  almost  the  only  portraits  in 
the  book,  and  one  cannot  but  regret 
that  the  historian's  pen  has  passed  so 
quickly    over    Corbulo,    the    veteran 
general  of  the  Armenian  campaigns ; 
Suetonius  Paulinus,  equally  at    home 
and    equally   resourceful    on   the    hot 
Algerian  plateau  and  amid  the  swamps 
and  forests  of  northern  Britain  ;  Lucius 
Quietus,    that  Othello  of   the   second 
century,  the  Moorish  sheikh  who  did 
such  yeoman's  service  in  Dacia  under 
Trajan,   and  who  rose  at  last  to  be 
consul  and  governor  of  Palestine  ;  and 
many  another  of  those  veteran  war- 
riors  and    veteran   statesmen    whom 
Professor   Seeley   rightly   calls    "  the 
glory  of  the  empire." 

But  enough  on  what  the  book 
omits,  or,  rather,  what  the  author 
deliberately  refuses  to  give  us.  What 
he  gives  us  is  in  all  conscience  wide 


Mommsen's  New  Volume. 


145 


enough.  The  detail  of  the  book  is 
inexhaustible,  and  it  is  impossible  to 
follow  the  author  through  province 
after  province.  But  a  fair  idea  of  its 
general  bearings  may  perhaps  be 
gathered  from  a  brief  examination  of  : 
1.  The  foreign  relations  of  the  em- 
pire, with  special  reference  to  the 
frontiers  and  the  army ;  2.  The  town- 
system  ;  and  3.  The  relations  of  Rome 
and  Hellas. 

1.  "  The  Romans,"  says  Appian,  "  sit 
round  their  empire  in  a  circle  with 
great  armies,  and  watch  all  that  vast 
expanse  of  land  and  sea  as  if  it  were  a 
single  town."  The  army  was  not  in 
Italy — it  was  one  of  Augustus's  main 
objects  not  only  to  get  rid  of  any 
excuse  for  a  military  command  in 
Italy,  but  to  keep  the  legions  well 
outside  of  the  Alpine  region — or  in 
Gaul,  or  the  civilised  parts  of  Spain  or 
Africa.  The  legions  were  on  the  fron- 
tiers— on  the  Rhine,  the  Euphrates,  the 
Danube,  and  the  edge  of  the  Libyan 
desert.  The  Romans  boasted  that 
they  needed  not  to  keep  troops  in  the 
interior  of  the  provinces  to  hold  their 
subjects  down,  and  on  the  whole — 
though  it  is  to  be  remembered  that 
the  troops  on  the  Rhine  could  also  be 
used,  if  need  were,  against  the  Gauls, 
and  that  Hadrian's  Wall  in  Britain 
was  so  constructed  as  to  be  defensible 
against  the  Brigantes  of  Yorkshire 
and  Lancashire  as  well  as  against  the 
Caledonii — the  boast  was  justified. 
Speaking  generally,  the  Roman  army 
of  the  early  empire  was  the  sum  of 
the  frontier  garrisons,  and  its  total 
strength — 250,000  men  at  the  outside 
— was  extraordinarily  small.  The 
greatest  strength  was  on  the  Rhine, 
where,  reckoning  the  outlying  garri- 
sons of  Vindonissa  (Windisch,  near 
Briigg  in  Switzerland)  and  Novio- 
magus  (Nymwegen),  the  total  force 
could  not  have  been  less  than  80,000 
men.  There  ought  of  course  to  have 
been  an  army  over  and  above  these 
garrisons,  ready  to  be  moved  at  any 
moment  to  a  threatened  point,  and 
there  is  some  ground  for  thinking  that 
such  an  army  entered  into  Ctesar's 

No.  308. — VOL.  LIT. 


plans.  But  as  a  matter  of  fact  there 
was  nothing  of  the  kind,  and  if  the 
frontier  was  specially  threatened  at  a 
particular  point,  its  guard  could  only 
be  strengthened  by  detachments  from 
other  legions,  or,  in  extreme  cases,  by 
moving  up  whole  legions  for  the  time 
being  from  neighbouring  provinces. 
That  is,  the  frontier  could  only  be 
strengthened  at  one  point  by  being 
denuded  at  another,  and  it  is  needless 
to  point  out  the  disadvantages  and 
dangers  of  such  a  system.  In  quiet 
times  a  given  frontier  was  held  by 
one  or  two  great  fortresses — Mogun- 
tiacum  (Mainz)  and  Yetera  (Xanten), 
for  instance,  on  the  Rhine — with  a 
chain  of  smaller  forts  (castella)  in 
between.  There  was  an  elaborate 
system  of  signalling  both  by  night 
and  day,  and  no  effort  was  spared  to 
make  the  whole  line  a  living  chain,  so 
that  the  approach  of  danger  at  any 
point  was  instantaneously  communi- 
cated, and  troops  came  pouring  in. 
The  electrical  condition  of  the  frontier, 
which  it  was  the  object  thus  to  bring 
about,  made  it  unnecessary  to  keep 
the  garrisons  of  the  innumerable 
castella  perpetually  on  a  war  footing. 
In  time  of  peace  there  were  only  just 
enough  men  in  each  of  them  to  patrol 
the  roads  and  keep  up  the  watch.  An 
inscription  found  recently  in  Bulgaria 
gives  the  complete  list  of  the  garrison 
of  one  of  these  castella  in  Lower 
Mresia.  It  was  held  by  just  seventy- 
six  men ;  whereas,  on  a  war  footing, 
the  garrison  would  probably  be  two 
cohorts,  or  1000  men.  Such  was  the 
way  in  which  the  Lower  Rhine  was 
certainly  held,  and  it  is  very  certain 
that  the  sixty-two  castella  which 
guarded  the  Germanic  limes  out  beyond 
the  Neckar  were  not  garrisoned,as  some 
antiquaries  have  vainly  imagined,  by 
38,000  men.  That  is  the  general  type 
of  frontier  defence — a  couple  of  for- 
tresses of  the  first  rank,  numerous 
castella,  weakly  held,  at  intervals  of 
five  to  ten  miles,  and  every  pre- 
paration made  to  concentrate  a 
strong  force  at  any  moment  on  a 
given  point.  But  it  was  to  be  expected 


146 


Mommsen's  New  Volume. 


that  the  idea  should  occur  of  convert- 
ing the  pliant  chain  into  a  rigid  bar, 
of  bridging  over  the  intervals  between 
the  castella,  in  short  of  making  the 
physical  obstacle  to  an  enemy  continu- 
ous. This  was  done  in  Germany,  in 
lower  Mcesia  (where  a  wall  was  run 
from  the  Danube  to  Tomi — Kusten- 
dje — and  another,  further  north,  from 
the  Pruth  to  the  Dniester),  and  above 
all  in  Britain.  The  German  wall, 
which  was  not  more  than  ten  or  twelve 
feet  high  at  the  outside,  started  from 
Brohl  (between  Remagen  and  Ander- 
nach),  in  other  words  from  the  north- 
ern border  of  the  province  of  Upper 
Germany,  inclosed  the  Taunus  range 
and  the  town  of  Friedberg,  then 
turned  south  to  the  Main  at  Gross- 
krotzenburg  and  followed  it  to  Milten- 
berg.  It  then  took  a  bee-line  across 
country  to  Lorch,  where  it  joined  the 
Rhsetian  limes  which  ran  from  that 
place  eastwards  to  the  Danube  near 
Ratisbon.  The  wall  was  not  a  physical 
obstacle  in  the  full  sense,  and  the  line 
of  country  followed  seems  often  to 
have  been  taken  in  defiance  of  purely 
military  considerations.  In  peace  time 
the  wall  served  the  purpose  of  keeping 
out  brigands  (as,  even  if  they  could  get 
across  it  unperceived  at  night,  they 
could  not  bring  back  the  cattle  and 
the  booty-laden  carts,  which  alone 
made  the  trouble  and  danger  of  a  raid 
worth  while),  of  facilitating  the  collec- 
tion of  the  customs,  and  imposing  a 
barrier — moral  rather  than  physical, 
but  in  ordinary  times  no  doubt  effect- 
ual— to  the  movements  of  population 
westwards.  This  was  a  very  different 
affair  to  the  formidable  British  wall, 
twenty  feet  high,  with  its  numerous 
camps,  towers,  and  small  castella, 
which  really  Avas  a  physical  obstacle 
of  a  very  serious  kind,  and  the  garri- 
son of  which, moreover, was  kept  always 
on  a  war  footing.  The  constant  dan- 
ger from  the  Caledonian  tribes,  com- 
bined with  the  smallness  of  the  neck 
of  land  to  be  defended,  made  a  real 
Chinese  wall  here  possible.  There 
were  at  least  10,000  troops  along  the 
line  of  the  wall,  and  2000  or  3000  in 


strong  positions  to  the  rear,  near 
enough  to  be  called  up  at  the  approach 
of  danger. 

Where  Rome  came  directly  into  con- 
tact with  uncivilised  races,  and  had  to 
take  upon  herself  the  protection  of  the 
frontier,  that  was  how  she  set  about 
it.  There  was  always  the  chain  of 
forts,  and  sometimes  the  chain  stiffened 
into  a  continuous  bar.  But  frontiers 
of  that  kind  all  over  the  world  were 
expensive  in  men  and  money,  and 
Rome,  having  not  too  much  of  either, 
naturally  and  inevitably  tried  to  save 
herself  this  burden  by  the  expedient, 
where  it  seemed  possible  and  not  too 
dangerous,  of  buffer  States.  Thrace 
was  at  one  time  such  a  State.  Augus- 
tus looked  to  the  princes  of  the  Odry- 
sse  to  see  that  the  peace  was  not 
broken  on  the  Lower  Danube,  and 
withdrew  the  legions  from  the  north- 
ern frontier  of  Macedonia.  The  princes 
of  Palmyra  and  Petra  kept  the  peace 
for  Rome,  one  on  the  lower  Euphrates, 
the  other  on  the  edge  of  the  Arabian 
desert.  But  the  great  and  typical 
instance  of  such  a  State  was,  of  course, 
Armenia,  which  occupied  between 
Rome  and  Parthia  much  the  position 
that  Afghanistan  occupies  between 
England  and  Russia.  Parthia  was  the 
only  State  which  stood  on  anything 
like  an  equal  footing  with  Rome.  The 
East  regarded  them  as  rival  and  almost 
equal  Powers,  and  the  extraordinary 
place  which  Parthia  occupies  in  the 
literature  of  the  early  empire  —  for 
instance,  in  the  Odes  of  Horace — shows 
that  at  heart  the  Romans  recognised 
the  justice  of  such  a  view.  The  defeat 
of  Crassus  left  a  greater  and  more 
ineffaceable  impression  on  the  Roman 
mind  than  the  defeat  of  Yarus.  But 
the  idea  that  an  imperial  Power  like 
that  of  Rome  could  formally  recognise 
another  Power  as  entitled  to  treat  with 
it  on  an  equal  footing,  and  to  live  side 
by  side  with  it  in  peace,  divided  only 
by  a  mutually-accepted  frontier,  was 
foreign  to  antiquity,  and  foreign  most 
of  all  to  Rome.  Rome  would  not  be 
content  to  let  Parthia  come  up  to  the 
left  bank  of  the  Euphrates,  and  exer- 


Mommseris  New  Volume. 


147 


cise  undisputed  authority  in  Armenia, 
while     she    looked    on   with   friendly 
equanimity  from  the  left  bank  of  the 
great  river.     She  pushed  her  preten- 
sions accordingly  across  the  Euphrates, 
and   aimed  at  making  of  Armenia  a 
buffer  State,  under  her  exclusive  in- 
fluence, between  herself  and  Parthia. 
But  Armenia  properly  belonged  to  the 
East,  not  to  the  West.     It  had  been 
never  Hellenised.    It  had  almost  every- 
thing  in  common  with  Parthia,  and 
nothing  in  common  with  Rome.     The 
Romans,  therefore,  in  face  of  the  steady 
opposition     of     Parthia,    which    was 
sometimes   active,  sometimes   passive, 
but  always  there,  had  their  work  cut 
out  for  them  in  Armenia.     The  Roman 
suzerainty  could  be  asserted  only  by 
constant  war,  or  the  constant  menace 
of  war,    and  so  there  was  unceasing 
friction,  and  no  possibility  of  enduring 
peace    between    Rome    and    Parthia. 
There  were  only   two  sound  alterna- 
tives— either  to  annex  Armenia  or  to 
leave   it   alone,    either    to   allow   the 
Parthian  dominion  to  come  up  to  the 
Euphrates   or   to    push   forward    the 
Roman  dominion  to  the  Tigris.     With 
his    usual    love    for    half    measures, 
Augustus  would  do  neither.     The  con- 
sequence was  that  between  B.C.  20  and 
A.D.  54,  hardly  a  year  passed  in  which 
Roman  legions  were  not  led  across  the 
Euphrates,  and  there  was  never-ending 
war     with     Parthia.       The     capable 
ministers  who  administered  the  empire 
in  the  first  years  of  Nero's  reign  saw 
that  there  was  no  end  or  issue  to  the 
existing    state    of  things,    and    deter- 
mined to  take  a  new  departure.    They 
consented     that     Parthian     influence 
should  be  as  great  in  Armenia  as  that 
of  Rome.     Hitherto,  Rome  had  always 
been  willing  to  make  war  in  order  to 
prevent    Armenia     being     made     an 
appanage  of  the  Parthian  crown.     It 
was  now  arranged  that  the  crown  of 
Armenia    should    be    reserved    for   a 
member  of  the  royal  house  of  Parthia, 
but  that  the  feudatory  relation  between 
Rome  and  Armenia   should  still   out- 
wardly   exist,    and    that    every    new 
Armenian  prince  should  do  homage  to 


the    Emperor    for    his   crown.       This 
arrangement,     while     paying     every 
regard  to  Roman  susceptibilities,  really 
handed  Armenia  over  to  Parthia  ;  but, 
failing  annexation,  it  was,  at  least,  a 
workable  and  consistent  plan,  and  it 
had   the   effect  of  keeping   the  peace 
between  Rome  and  Parthia  for  forty 
years.     Parthia  was  the  first  to  break 
the   bargain.       Trajan   had   as    usual 
appointed  a  successor  to  the  Armenian 
throne,  at  that  time  vacant,  but  his 
nominee  was  a  member  of  the  Parthian 
royal  family.     He  was  therefore  with- 
in his  right,  and  when  the    reigning 
King   of    Parthia    appointed   another 
Arsacid,    Trajan   declared   war.      He 
conquered  Armenia,  incorporated  both 
it  and  Mesopotamia  with  the  Empire, 
and  even  cherished  the  idea  of   over- 
running and  reducing  Parthia.     His 
death    put    an    end    to    these   great 
designs,  and  Hadrian,  finding  that  the 
new  acquisitions  could  not  be  main- 
tained without  a  proportionate  increase 
of  the  army,  let  them  lapse.     Severus, 
however,     went     back     to     Trajan's 
frontier,  and  after  nearly  a  century  of 
struggles      with      the      neo  -  Persian 
empire     of     the      Sassanidse,      which 
had     displaced     the     semi-Hellenised 
Parthian  dynasty  early  in   the  third 
century,    the     wisdom     of     Trajan's 
forward   policy  was    once    more   vin- 
dicated.     Diocletian     extended     the 
frontier  to  the  Tigris,  and  incorporated 
southern   Armenia   with    the   empire. 
This   was   the   end   of  the   policy   of 
buff  er  States.     The  inherent  difficulties 
in  the  way  of  this  policy — the  difficulty 
of  maintaining  paramount  influence  in 
a  country  while  leaving  it  nominally 
independent;     and    the     difficulty  of 
securing  that  while  not  too  strong  for 
dependence,  the   buffer   State   should 
be    strong    enough   to    hold   its   own 
against  any   one  but  the    suzerain — 
were   strongly  felt  by  Rome.     Thrace 
had  been  bodily  taken  over  by  Claudius, 
and  Trajan  made  a  clean  sweep  of  all 
the  client- States  left,  beginning  with 
Petra  and  ending  with  Armenia. 

Armenia  is  not  the  only  quarter  in 
which  Mommsen  is  strongly  of  opinion 

L  2 


148 


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that  the  forward  policy  was  right.  In 
his  view  the  clades  Variana — the  de- 
struction by  the  Germans  of  Varus 
and  his  legions  in  the  neighbourhood 
of  Osnabriick — is  a  riddle.  It  is  diffi- 
cult to  understand  why  it  should  have 
had  such  enormous  consequences. 
"  One  can  hardly  conceive  that  the 
annihilation  of  an  army  of  20,000 
men,  unattended  by  further  immediate 
military  consequences,  should  have 
given  a  decisive  turn  to  the  high 
policy  of  a  wisely-ruled  world- State." 
A  frontier  constituted  by  the  Danube 
and  Elbe  would  have  been  shorter 
and  better  than  one  constituted  by  the 
Danube  and  the  Rhine.  Moreover  to 
have  put  the  great  frontier  armies  on 
the  Elbe  instead  of  on  the  Rhine 
would  have  been  to  carry  out  the 
cardinal  maxim  of  Augustus' s  policy — 
the  removal  of  the  great  commands  to 
as  great  a  distance  as  possible  from 
Rome  and  Italy — and  an  Elbe  army 
could  hardly  have  played  in  the  history 
of  the  empire  the  sinister  part  which 
was  actually  played  by  the  army  of 
the  Rhine.  Tiberius,  the  veteran  of  a 
hundred  fights,  had  had  so  much  to 
do  with  the  conquest  of  Germany, 
that  the  renunciation  of  a  forward 
policy  beyond  the  Rhine  could  hardly 
have  been  agreeable  to  him  personally. 
Perhaps  a  man  living  in  those  times 
could  not  have  asked  himself  the 
further  great  question,  which  naturally 
occurs  to  the  historian,  who  looks 
back,  not  only  on  the  first  century  of 
our  era,  but  on  the  fifth  as  well,  and 
all  tLat  have  come  after.  The  ques- 
tion is,  whether  the  incorporation  of 
Germany  as  far  as  the  Elbe  would  not 
have  made  the  empire  inexpugnably 
strong,  and  whether  with  the  Roman- 
ised German  races  as  a  rampart  and  a 
vanguard,  Rome  could  not  have  victo- 
riously beaten  off  the  not  less  brave 
but  infinitely  less  organised  races  that 
lay  further  to  the  east  and  north.  If 
Rome's  interests  were  to  be  the 
standard  of  the  world's  interests — 
which  a  Roman  might  well  be  excused 
for  thinking — the  forward  policy  in 
Germany  was  right.  It  was,  probably, 


also  right    in    Britain,   where  it   was 
strongly  advised  by  the  noblest  Roman 
who  ever  took  in  hand  the  government 
of  the  country.     Agricola  wanted  to 
annex  the  whole   island,  and   Ireland 
into  the  bargain,  and  if  this  had  once 
been  done,  the  maintenance  of  Britain 
would  in    all    probability   have   been 
much  less  costly  in  money  and  men. 
As  things    were,    with    the    constant 
menace  of  the  tribes  beyond  the  wall, 
Rome  found  to  her    no  small  disgust 
that  she  had  to  occupy  this  poor  and 
remote  province    with   no    less  than 
three  legions  and  an  unusually  large 
army  of  auxiliaries.  In  another  region 
and  at  another  time  Rome  had  a  still 
greater  opportunity,  and  it  was  delibe- 
rately thrown  away.     After  six  years 
of  incessant  warfare  M.  Aurelius  had 
subdued  the  Marcomanni  (Bohemia), 
and  they  were  followed  by  the  Quadi 
(Moravia)    and  the    lazyges    (a  frag- 
ment of  the  Sarmatian  race  settled  in 
the    basin    of    the  Theiss,    and    who, 
after  conquest,  supplied  a  contingent 
of    auxiliary    cavalry,    of    which   the 
greater  part  was  sent  to  Britain,  and 
stationed    at    Ribchester    and    other 
places    in    the    north).     It    was    his 
intention,  and  it  was  well  within  his 
power,   to  make   two   new  provinces, 
Marcomannia    and    Sarmatia.      Thus 
once  more  the  upper  Elbe  was  in  the 
grasp    of    Rome.       Dacia    would    no 
longer    have    been    a    mere    outpost, 
hardly  tenable    in    the   long    run    if 
it  continued  to  stand  alone.     It  would 
have  been  one  of  a   colossal    ring   of 
frontier  provinces  beyond  the  Danube 
and  the  Rhine.     Marcus  Aurelius  was 
not  the  man  to  annex  for  annexation's 
sake,    and      Mommsen     believes    his 
policy  to  have    been    the    right  one. 
Yet  Commodus  renounced   it  at  once, 
and    apparently    without    hesitation, 
on    his    father's   death.     Commodus's 
name   is    a    poor    guarantee   for   any 
policy,   and  if  his  action  stood  alone 
it    might    merely  be    referred   to   his 
personal   incapacity.      But   when   we 
find  Augustus  and  Tiberius  refusing 
to   make  good  the    defeat  of    Varus, 
Domitian — "  one  of  the  most  diligent 


Mommseris  New  Volume. 


149 


administrators  whom  the  empire  pro- 
duced "  —  deliberately  checking  the 
advance  of  his  victorious  general  in 
Britain,  and  Hadrian  renouncing 
Armenia  and  Mesopotamia,  it  is 
natural  to  suppose  that  there  were 
general  and  perhaps  solid  causes  for 
this  assiduous  avoidance  of  any  large 
extension  of  the  responsibilities  of 
empire. 

The  fact  is  that  the  empire  was 
poor.  This  paid  army  of  250,000 
long-service  soldiers,  though  too  small 
for  the  work  it  had  to  do,  was  large 
enough  to  be  uncommonly  expensive. 
Nothing  either  in  money  or  men  was 
to  be  got  out  of  Italy,  and  the  burden 
on  the  provinces  was  already  about  as 
much  as  they  could  carry.  Augustus 
and  Tiberius  gave  up  Germany,  Domi- 
tian  Britain,  Hadrian  Armenia  and 
Mesopotamia,  CommodusMarcomannia 
and  Sarmatia,  mainly  because  each 
extension  of  the  frontier  would  have 
demanded  a  corresponding  increase  in 
the  army,  which  again  could  only  be 
effected  by  a  corresponding  increase  of 
the  taxation.  Finance  was  the  weak 
spot  of  the  Roman  empire,  as  is  it  not 
the  weak  spot  of  every  empire  ?  But 
the  foreign  policy  of  the  empire  was 
crippled  by  something  more  than  want 
of  means.  The  imperial  system  was 
from  its  very  nature  hostile  to  thorough 
military  efficiency.  Augustus  had 
established  the  dynastic  principle  on  a 
weak  and  insufficient  basis,  and  directly 
it  failed  there  was  no  reason  why  any 
successful  soldier  should  not  be 
emperor.  As  the  army  in  fact  made 
the  emperors,  the  reigning  prince  was 
naturally  slow  to  give  great  commands 
to  any  but  members  of  his  own  house. 
Directly  young  Gaius  was  killed  by  a 
chance  stroke  in  Armenia,  Augustus 
renounced  the  forward  policy  in  Ar- 
menia altogether,  there  being  no 
member  of  his  own  family  left  to 
execute  it.  In  the  same  way  provinces 
were  divided,  in  order  to  divide  the 
military  command,  although  military 
considerations  enjoined  its  retention 
in  a  single  hand.  Mommsen  for  in- 
stance suggests  that  the  reason  for 


dividing  Britain  into  two  commands, 
and  keeping  half  the  troops  at  Chester 
and  Caerleon,  whereas  they  were  really 
Avanted  a  good  deal  further  north,  was 
to  prevent  a  single  provincial  governor 
having  the  control  of  so  large  a 
force  as  three  legions  with  an  unusually 
full  complement  of  auxiliary,  horse 
and  foot.  Even  these  weaknesses 
would  perhaps  hardly  suffice  to  explain 
the  shortcomings  of  the  empire  in 
foreign  policy,  if  we  still  cherished  the 
delusion  that  the  troops  were  "Roman." 
But  the  difficulties  in  the  way  of 
sending  drafts  all  over  the  empire 
were  of  course  enormous ;  the  tempta- 
tion to  get  the  men  as  far  as  possible 
on  the  spot  invincible  ;  and,  probably 
not  later  than  Hadrian,  local  recruit- 
ing was  everywhere  the  rule.  Not 
merely  were  the  legions  not  composed 
of  Italians,  but  the  auxiliary  cohortes 
Hispanorum  or  Thracum,  were  not  ex- 
clusively or  even  largely  composed  of 
Thracians  or  Spaniards.  Britain  was 
held  by  Britons,  the  Rhine  frontier  by 
Germans,  and — what  is  a  good  deal 
more  important — Syria  and  Egypt  by 
Syrians  and  Egyptians.  The  disgrace- 
ful history  of  the  wars  with  Parthia  is 
not  explicable  if  we  suppose  the  legions 
of  the  Euphrates  to  have  been — except 
as  regards  the  officers — in  any  sense 
Roman  or  even  Western.  They  were 
composed  of  effeminate  and  undisci- 
plined Orientals,  and  at  every  serious 
crisis  Western  legions  were  brought 
up  from  the  Danube  or  the  Rhine  to 
do  the  work  for  which  the  ordinary 
Euphrates  army  had  shown  itself 
incompetent. 

2.  It  was  typical  of  their  whole 
treatment  of  the  Greek  East  that  the 
Romans  allowed  even  the  Euphrates 
army  to  become  Greco-Oriental.  Their 
object  in  the  East  was  to  diffuse  not 
Romanism  but  Hellenism.  They  both 
were,  and  regarded  themselves  as,  the 
successors  of  Alexander,  and  their 
ambition  was  to  complete  his  work. 
Greek  was  the  one  language  of  the 
Empire  which  was  recognised  as 
official,  side  by  side  with  Latin,  and 
it  appears  to  have  been  the  long- 


150 


Mommseris  New  Volume. 


cherished  idea  of  the  Romans  to  make 
no     difference    between    Greece    and 
Italy,  but  to  incorporate  Greece,  ex- 
actly as  Italy  had  been  incorporated, 
with  the  Roman  State.     It  is  a  pecu- 
liarity of    Greece   that  its  two    chief 
towns,  Athens  and  Sparta,  along  with 
the    large  tracts  of  territory  belong- 
ing  to   each,  were    exempt  from  the 
provincial  administration.    Nero  went 
so  far  as  to  declare  all  Greece   tax- 
free    and    exempt    from    the   Roman 
administration  ;  Hadrian  gave  Athens 
corn  at  the  public  expense,  just  as  if 
it  had    been    another  Rome.      When 
the    organisation    and   civilisation   of 
Thrace  were  seriously  taken  in  hand 
by  Trajan,  the  towns  were  organised 
on  the  Greek  model.     No  attempt  was 
made  to  Romanise  a  province,  which 
had  been  drawn,  however  incompletely, 
within    the    Hellenic    circle    by   the 
Macedonian  kings.     The  same  policy 
was  pursued  in  Asia  Minor.     In  the 
remoter  parts  of  the  province  of  Asia 
— for  instance,  in  the  Phrygian  high- 
lands, and   in  Cappadocia — Hellenism 
seems  to  have  first  made  its  way  under 
the  empire,  and  the  existing  Hellenic 
civilisation  was  everywhere  respected. 
In  Syria  the  Romans  found  their  work 
more  than  half  done.     Alexander  and 
his  successors  had  intended  to  make  a 
new  Macedonia  of  the  country,  and  it 
was  covered  with  towns  of  Greek  con- 
stitution and  Macedonian  name,  like 
Larissa,    Pella,  and   Bersea.     Only   a 
few  Latin  islands  were  planted  in  this 
Greek  sea — Berytus,  for  instance,  in 
Syria,  and  Alexandria  Troas  in  Asia 
Minor,  and  a  few  obscure  colonies  of 
Roman  veterans  were  entrusted  with 
the  duty    of    keeping    in    check   the 
banditti  of    the  mountain   border   of 
Pisidia. 

3.  But  whether  Rome  acted  as  the 
torchbearer  of  the  Hellenic  or  the 
Latin  civilisation,  it  was  at  bottom  one 
and  the  same  civilisation  which  she 
everywhere  introduced.  The  Romans 
disliked  the  racial  unit — the  clan  or 
tribe — as  possibly  dangerous.  They 
could  not  conceive  Civilisation  without 
towns,  and  they  wanted  towns  as  the 


basis  of  the  administration.    The  town 
was    the    administrative    unit    under 
Rome,  as  the  district    collector  is  in 
India.       The    Romans   were    long    in 
evolving  an  official  class,  the  very  idea 
of  the  "  official,"  the  trained  specialist 
who  is  bound  by  rigid  rules  and  still 
more  rigid  traditions,  being  alien  to 
the  Roman  conception  of  public  life. 
The  extent  to  which  the  independence 
of  the  towns  was  everywhere  respected 
under  the  early  empire  was  due  in  part 
to  the  entire  absence  of  any  class  of 
officials  competent  to  do  the  work,  and 
with  the  appearance  of  such  a  class  dis- 
appeared the  independence  of  the  towns. 
But  every  reason  led  the  early  empire 
to  increase   the  importance   of  towns 
where  they  existed,  and  to  introduce 
them  where  they  did  not.     Whether 
the  province  was  Britain  or  Judaea — 
whether  the  town  was  called  Cfesarsea 
or  Yerulamium — in    any   case   towns 
grew  up  under  the  footsteps  of  Rome 
as  inevitably  and  almost  as  quickly  as 
did     camps   and    baths    and    amphi- 
theatres.    This  universal  introduction 
of  urban  civilisation — Hellenic,  in  the 
east  and  Latin  in  the  west   (the  west 
including  Africa,  where  the  pre-exist- 
ing civilisation  was  not  Hellenic,  but 
Phoanician)   but    always    urban — was 
the  great  and  characteristic  work  of 
Rome,  and   it  was   the  merit   of  the 
empire  that,  by  keeping  the  peace  for 
so  long  a  time,  it  enabled  the  task  to 
be  well  and  thoroughly  performed.  At 
the  same  time  the  Romans,  who  were 
the  last  people  in  the  world  to  be  over- 
mastered  by   a   pedantic   passion  for 
uniformity,  showed    great    ease    and 
flexibility    in    the    different    ways    in 
which  they  set  about  introducing  the 
town   system    in    different   provinces. 
In  Gaul,  for  instance,  the  Romans  did 
not  destroy  the  large  race-units  which 
they  found  in  possession  of  the  field. 
They  changed  the  nomenclature,  and 
made  the  town,  which  had  no  doubt 
hitherto  existed,  if  only  as  a  market, 
the  centre  of  the  administration.       In- 
stead of  the  Remi  they  said  Durocor- 
torum,  instead  of  the  Allobroges  they 
said  Vienna.     But  it  is  necessary  very 


Mommsen's  New  Volume. 


151 


clearly  to  bear  in  mind  that  Durocor- 
torum  meant  great  part  of  Cham- 
pagne, and  Vienna  meant  all  Savoy. 
In  the  strict  administrative  sense 
important  towns  like  Geneva  and 
Grenoble  were  nothing  but  dependent 
villages  of  Vienna.  That  is  the  es- 
sential peculiarity  of  Roman  Gaul, 
that  the  enormous  Gallic  civitates  con- 
tinued to  exist,  instead  of,  as  in  Spain, 
being  broken  into  smaller  units.  The 
Spanish  province  of  Tarraconensis 
had  293  separate  communities  ;  in  all 
three  Gauls  there  were  only  sixty -four. 
The  Romans  found  both  countries 
divided  into  great  tribal  communities 
when  they  first  annexed  them.  In 
Gaul  they  let  these  communities  alone, 
while  giving  them  the  name  and 
administration  of  towns ;  in  Spain 
they  broke  them  up.  The  Astures, 
for  instance,  were  not  a  political  entity 
under  Rome.  The  name  lingered  on 
merely  as  one  of  geographical  con- 
venience. The  Astures  were  made  up 
of  twenty-two  separate  communities. 
There  is  all  the  difference  in  the 
world  between  an  official  "ad  census 
accipiendos  civitatium  xxiii.  Vasco- 
num  et  Vardulorum  "  and  a  "  censor 
civitatis  Remorum  fcederatse."  It 
was  not  that  the  Astures  or  Can- 
tabri  were  reckoned  more  formidable 
than  the  Treviri  or  Remi.  The  dif- 
ference came  from  the  fact  that  Spain 
was  conquered  much  earlier,  and  that 
the  Republic — as  was  shown,  for 
instance,  by  the  breaking  up  of  the 
Samnite  confederation  —  was  more 
hostile  to  such  large  units  than  the 
Empire. 

The  last  and  deepest  question  of  all 
remains.  Was  the  government  in 
the  main  a  good  one  ?  Were  the  pro- 
vinces fairly  taxed,  well  governed, 
happy,  and  prosperous?  Mommsen, 
who  is  very  severe  on  the  maladminis- 
tration of  the  Republic,  its  "  short- 
sightedness and  narrowness,  one  might 
even  say  its  perversity  and  brutality," 
is  lenient,  and  more  than  lenient  to 
the  empire.  Certain  deductions  have 
to  be  made.  The  rule  of  the  Senate 


was  but  a  poor  one,  not  because  it  was 
ill-intentioned,  but  because  it  was  in- 
competent.    It  lacked  initiative,  and 
governors  of  high  birth,  who  were  ap- 
pointed to  the  senatorial  provinces  by 
lot,  naturally  showed  themselves  as  a 
rule  inferior  to  the  picked  and  tried  le- 
gates of  the  emperor.     It  is  noteworthy 
that  very  little  was  done  for  the  roads 
in  a  senatorial  province ;  in  every  re- 
spect the  administration  was  slacker 
and  less  competent  than  in  the  Imperial 
provinces.     A  great  English  historian 
who  has  made  a  special  study  of  one 
of  these  senatorial  provinces  is  severe 
upon  the  Imperial  administration  as  a 
whole.     But  Finlay  argues  too  hastily 
from  the,  in  many  respects,  anomalous 
case  of  Greece.     There  were  a  number 
of  reasons  for  the    depopulation   and 
decay  of  Greece,  notwithstanding  all 
the  philhellenic    sentiment    of    culti- 
vated Romans.     The   civil   wars    hit 
Greece  frightfully    hard.     They  were 
mainly    fought    out    on    Greek    soil, 
and  were  preceded  and   accompanied 
by  requisitions   on   a   gigantic   scale. 
The    senatorial    government    of    the 
province  was    not   particularly   good, 
but  it  was  better  than  that  of  the  free 
cities.     Athens  in  particular  governed 
itself  very  badly.     Money  was  made 
by  Greek  artists,  and  Greek  business 
men,  but  mainly  out  of  Greece.     It  is 
true  that    the    population    of  Greece 
decayed  under  the  empire ;  but  so  did 
the  population  of  Italy,  and  in   both 
cases  the  main  reason  was  the  same. 
The  Italian  population  dispersed  itself 
all  over  Europe.      "  Ubicumque  vicit, 
Romanus  habitat,"  says   Seneca,  and 
the  Roman  took  the  Greek  with  him. 
Mommsen  says  that  the  Jews   were 
important     and     powerful    in    every 
country  but  Judaea  ;    he   might  have 
said  much  the  same  of  Greece  proper 
and  the  Greeks.     The  Greeks  would 
no  doubt   have   stayed  in    Greece   if 
Delos  and  the  Piraeus  had  continued  to 
be  the  great  emporia   of  the  eastern 
trade.     But   all  that  trade   was  now 
diverted   to    Italy,    and    Greece    was 
thrown  back  exclusively  upon  its  own 
natural    resources,   which     were    not 


152 


Mommseris  New  Volume. 


great.  There  are,  in  fact,  special 
reasons  for  the  decay  of  Greece  under 
the  empire.  Other  provinces  were 
prosperous  enough.  There  were  great 
industries,  even  what  we  should  call 
manufacturing  industries,  in  Western 
Asia  Minor,  and  the  whole  country  is 
simply  studded  with  the  remains  of 
great  Greco-Roman  cities.  Syria  was 
particularly  flourishing  and  populous. 
There  was  a  free  population  of  117,000 
in  Apamea,  and  in  the  last  hundred 
miles  of  the  Orontes  valley  before  the 
river  reached  the  sea,  there  was  a  town 
to  every  mile.  Still  more  extraordinary 
is  the  contrast  between  the  Batanea  of 
the  Roman  Empire  and  the  Haouran 
of  to-day.  There  were  300  towns  in  a 
district  where  there  are  now  five 
villages.  In  these  border-regions,  ex- 
posed to  the  frequent  incursions  of 
barbarous  tribes,  peace  and  prosperity 
could  only  be  ensured  by  the  strong 
hand  of  some  external  power.  Under 
Rome  they  were  governed  as  they 
ought  to  be,  and  as  they  have  never 
been  governed  since.  A  kind  of 
advanced  post  of  Hellenic  civilisation 
was  here  secured  by  Rome  which  may 
fairly  be  compared  with  the  rich  and 
prosperous  Decumates  *Agri  across  the 
Rhine.  Similar  facts  meet  us  on  the 
Arabian  border,  at  Petra,  and  of 
course  on  a  great  scale  in  Egypt  and 
northern  Africa.  The  present  condi- 
tion of  Asia  Minor,  Syria,  and  northern 
Africa  is  one  of  barbarism  compared 
to  their  condition  under  Rome.  It  is 
these  countries  which  weight  the  scale 


against  the  present,  and  which  enable 
Mommsen  to  say,  in  one  of  the  most 
rhetorical  passages  of  his  book,  that 
"if  an  Angel  of  the  Lord  were  bidden 
to  determine  whether  the  portion  of 
the  earth's  surface  ruled  by  Severus 
Antoninus  was  governed  with  greater 
sense  and  humanity  then  or  now, 
whether  morals  and  public  happiness 
have  in  general  advanced  or  gone 
back,  it  is  very  doubtful  whether  he 
would  decide  in  favour  of  the  present." 
That  is  a  great  question  to  which  the 
present  volume  does  not  supply  the 
materials  for  an  answer.  Apart  from 
that  spiritual  discontent  which  is  in- 
separable from  a  powerfully  centralised 
despotism,  and  which  is  very  real  and, 
in  the  long  run,  very  enfeebling,  the 
answer  to  it  very  largely  depends  upon 
homely  considerations  of  pounds,  shil- 
lings, and  pence.  The  vital  question 
of  the  history  of  the  empire  is  whether 
the  taxation  was  excessive.  In  the  first 
centuries  of  the  Imperial  Government 
the  taxes  were  probably  not — at  least 
this  is  the  conclusion  to  which  Mommsen 
evidently  inclines — as  a  rule  excessive. 
But,  in  the  long  run,  the  provinces 
could  not  support  both  themselves  and 
Italy,  and  there  was  always  that  drone 
in  the  midst  of  the  hive — that  Italy — 
to  which  all  the  world  paid  tribute — 
and  which  the  richest  of  her  subject- 
lands,  the  loamy  valleys  of  the  Med- 
jerda  and  the  Nile,  exhausted  them- 
selves to  feed. 

WILLIAM  T.  ARNOLD. 


EEVIEW  OF    THE    MONTH. 


ON  the  last  Monday  of  last  month  the 
Prime  Minister  electrified  the  House 
of  Commons  by  a  speech  which  was 
understood  to  point  to  a  war  with 
Russia.  The  stroke  was  sudden. 
Men  were  not  prepared  for  so  rapid 
an  evolution  of  the  crisis.  The  public 
were  surprised,  "and  a  little ,  bewild- 
ered. On  the  Saturday  evening  of 
the  same  week  the  usual  brilliant 
circle  of  eminent  guests  were  gathered 
together  at  the  annual  banquet  of  the 
Royal  Academy.  Under  the  glitter 
of  the  scene  was  felt  the  presence  of 
grave  preoccupations.  It  was  known 
that  Ministers  had  been  hastily  sum- 
moned during  the  afternoon  to  a 
Council  for  the  consideration  of  the 
decisive  reply  from  Russia.  They  were 
the  last  to  arrive,  but  before  men  had 
all  found  their  places  at  table,  the 
rumour  ran  half  secretly  around  the 
hall  that  the  Russian  answer  had  been 
a  compliance,  that  reasonable  terms 
were  within  reach,  and  that  there  was 
good  assurance  of  peace.  Later  in  the 
evening  the  Foreign  Secretary  gave 
authority  to  the  whisper. 

If  the  affairs  of  an  empire  could  be 
carried  on  by  the  arts  that  make  the 
after-dinner  speaker,  Lord  Granville 
would  have  been  a  statesman  of  the 
first  force.  The  most  felicitous  speech 
that  he  ever  made  cannot  have  pro- 
duced a  better  effect  than  the  not 
very  felicitous  sentence  of  May  2, 
in  which  he  declared  to  the  princes, 
ambassadors,  soldiers,  and  all  the  rest 
of  the  illustrious  world  before  him,  his 
confident  belief  that  nothing  would 
happen  to  prevent  men  from  continu- 
ing works  of  peace. 

On  the  following  Monday,  Mr. 
Gladstone  confirmed  these  good  hopes 
by  a  specific  declaration  that  Russia 
had  :  come  to  an  agreement,  or  was 
ready  to  do  so,  upon  the  following 


points.  She  was  willing  to  submit  to 
the  judgment  of  the  Sovereign  of  a 
friendly  State  the  question  whether 
the  movements  of  Komaroff  were  con- 
sistent with  the  understanding  of 
March  16  between  the  two  Govern- 
ments :  that  is  to  say,  whether  the 
understanding  made  it  incumbent  on 
the  Russian  Government  to  issue  to 
Komaroff  other  instructions  than  those 
on  which  he  took  such  remarkable 
action.  That  much  being  settled, 
there  was  no  reason  why  the  two 
Governments  should  not  at  once  re- 
sume their  communications  in  London 
as  to  the  main  points  of  the  line  for 
the  delimitation  of  the  Afghan  frontier. 
When  the  main  points  were  settled, 
then  the  officers  of  the  two  Govern- 
ments would  examine  and  trace  the 
actual  details  of  the  line  on  the  spot. 
This  was  on  May  4.  During  the  three 
weeks  that  have  since  elapsed  the 
clouds  have  slowly  to  some  degree 
gathered  again.  It  was  not  indeed  to 
be  expected  that  negotiations  contain- 
ing so  many  elements  of  detail  should 
go  on  as  if  they  were  a  transaction  for 
the  sale  of  a  horse.  The  character  of 
Russia  is  not  good  in  the  British  politi- 
cal market.  This  makes  the  least  delay 
a  source  of  suspicion  and  uneasiness. 
The  papers  that  have  been  laid  before 
Parliament  neither  raise  the  credit  of 
St.  Petersburg  for  sincerity,  nor  of 
London  for  knowingness  and  foresight. 
The  action  of  the  Czar  in  sending  a 
sword  of  honour  to  General  Komaroff 
created  a  profound  and  most  justifiable 
irritation.  We  do  not  expect  a  fine 
and  chivalrous  taste  in  the  hard 
transaction  of  rough  business ;  it  may 
be  that  the  Czar  sent  Komaroff  his. 
sword  to  console  the  military  party 
for  seeing  submitted  to  arbitration 
the  question  whether  the  Czar  had 
not  broken  an  agreement  in  ordering 


154 


Review  of  the  Month. 


Komaroff  to  undertake  the  exploit  for 
which  he  decorated  him.  This  may 
be.  It  only  shows  that  on  one  side 
at  any  rate  the  conditions  of  peace 
still  depend  on  the  simple  ethics  of  a 
Cossack  camp.  In  all  this  unpleasant 
proceeding  we  are  only  reaping  what 
we  have  sown,  and  undergoing  the 
mortifications  incident  to  a  position 
that  was  not  taken  up  with  full 
consideration  and  well-devised  pre- 
paration. 

"When  these  difficulties  are  all 
settled,  it  is  obvious  that,  on  the 
theory  of  the  buffer-State,  a  more 
serious  and  enduring  one  would  re- 
main. Nobody  can  disguise  from  him- 
self that  when  the  Afghan  frontier  is 
fixed,  the  Russians  will  only  feel  bound 
to  respect  it  on  condition  that  we  make 
the  Afghans  respect  it.  As  the  Duke 
of  Argyll  put  this  point  (May  12), 
the  question  of  paramount  importance 
is  whether,  in  the  absence  of  complete 
control  over  Afghanistan,  we  are  to 
be  practically  responsible  for  their 
border-quarrels,  of  which  there  will  be 
perpetual  danger,  and  which  it  will  be 
extremely  hard  to  restrain.  Opinion 
moves,  for  the  most  part,  in  one  way 
as  to  the  true  policy  in  view  of  liabili- 
ties of  this  description.  Lord  Salisbury 
said — 

"  I  hope  we  shall  do  all  we  can  to  conciliate 
and  keep  the  Ameer  of  Afghanistan  with  us 
and  to  help  him  to  the  utmost  of  our  power  to 
defend  his  country.  But  do  not  let  the  desire 
of  his  friendship  lead  us  into  either  of  those 
two  mistakes — either  in  making  ourselves 
responsible  for  any  of  the  excesses  which  the 
wild  tribes  under  his  control  may  commit 
upon  his  western  frontier :  nor,  on  the  other 
hand,  can  we  make  any  susceptibilities  which 
any  Afghan  ruler  may  feel  a  reason  for  ab- 
staining from  defending,  and  defending  ade- 
quately, those  positions  we  may  consider 
absolutely  necessary  for  the  strerigth  of  our 
own  position." 

From  the  last,  as  a  general  propo- 
sition, there  can  be  little  dissent, 
though  of  course  there  is  room  for 
ample  difference  of  opinion,  whether 
military  or  political,  as  to  the  points 
at  which  this  absolute  necessity  would 
begin.  On  both  sides  it  was  agreed, 
in  the  course  of  the  debate  in  the 


House  of  Lords,  that  Herat  is  not  a 
very  promising  scene  of  British  opera- 
tions. Lord  Salisbury  is  of  the  same 
opinion  as  Lord  Kimberley,  that  "  the 
prospect  of  defending  Herat  by  British 
troops  is  not  one  which  seems  to  the 
non-military  mind  very  attractive  or 
very  feasible.  It  may  always  be  pos- 
sible for  us,  with  assistance  in  the 
shape  of  arms  and  officers,  to  assist 
the  Ameer  in  defending  that  place, 
but  to  defend  it  ourselves,  I  confess, 
seems  to  me  a  dangerous  undertaking." 
The  Secretary  for  India  had  said,  with 
his  well-known  emphasis,  that  "  the 
schemes  which  are  put  forward  to  the 
effect  that  we  should  create  and  make 
Herat  a  great  Indian  or  British  fort- 
ress, to  be  held  by  British  and  Indian 
troops  at  a  great  distance  from  our 
frontier,  and  among  a  population  not 
under  our  direct  influence,  would  in- 
volve us  in  great  and  serious  dangers." 
But,  then,  Lord  Kimberley  went  on 
to  say  that  this  would  "  not  prevent 
us  from  doing  what  may  be  done  to 
strengthen  the  Ameer's  position  at 
Herat,  and  to  put  the  fortifications 
there  in  a  condition  to  afford  a  reason- 
able amount  of  security.  That  is  a 
different  thing  from  making  Herat  an 
English  frontier  fortress."  The  dif- 
ference is  hardly  so  plain  as  we  could 
wish,  though  we  may  admit  that  the 
two  British  officers  who  are  now 
actually  in  Herat  with  the  full  con- 
sent of  Abdur  Rahman  may  be  there 
in  virtue  of  our  obligations  to  that 
prince.  But,  if  our  policy  is  to  be 
consistent,  the  time  is  sure  to  come 
when  those  obligations  will  have  to 
be  revised.  Supposing  that,  for  reasons 
which  it  is  easy  to  imagine,  from  hard 
roubles  down  to  force  majeure,  an 
Afghan  Ameer  were  to  let  the  Russians 
into  Herat,  it  would,  in  Lord  Salisbury's 
judgment,  which  most  sensible  men 
will  not  dispute,  be  "a  dangerous 
undertaking "  for  us  either  to  turn 
them  out  or  to  prevent  them  from 
coming  in.  We  have  to  face  this  con- 
tingency— of  an  unfriendly  or  pro- 
Russian  Ameer.  What  then  would 
be  the  policy? 


Review  of  the  Month. 


155 


Lord  Kimberley  has  given  us  the 
answer.  "  In  that  case,"  he  said,  "our 
defence  would  have  to  be  based  on  a 
strictly  defensive  system  within  our 
own  lines.  One  thing  is  certain — that 
we  ought  not  to  found  our  policy  on 
the  notion  that  we  should  construct  a 
frontier  line  in  Central  Asia,  for  which 
this  country  would  be  entirely  re- 
sponsible, several  hundreds  of  miles 
distant  from  our  base."  Here,  again, 
there  followed  the  perilous  qualifica- 
tion, arising  from  the  present  arrange- 
ment :  "Of  course  by  an  alliance  with 
the  Afghans  we  must  undertake  a 
considerable  responsibility  for  that 
frontier ;  and  we  hope  that  a  satis- 
factory frontier  line  will  be  drawn 
between  Russian  and  Afghan  territory. 
That  would  render  it  necessary  that 
some  of  our  officers  should  be  present 
on  that  frontier."  That  is  to  say,  the 
present  alliance  plants  us  in  a  position 
from  which  a  change  in  the  Ameer's 
way  of  thinking  might  make  it  indis- 
pensable that  we  should  retreat,  yet 
from  which  we  could  certainly  not 
retreat  without  giving  colour  to  the 
imputation  that  we  had  been  worsted 
and  driven  back  by  Russia.  Here  is 
the  element  of  danger  in  the  half- 
policy,  or  the  two-faced  and  ambiguous 
policy,  to  which  we  are  now  tem- 
porarily committed. 

The  policy  of  to-day,  we  say,  can 
only  be  temporary.  The  zone  and  the 
buffer  have  had  their  day.  However 
the  settlement  of  the  Afghan  frontier 
may  fall  out,  it  is  agreed  that  "it  is 
impossible  for  us  any  longer  to  have 
the  satisfaction  of  knowing  that  we  are 
in  an  insular  position  in  India."  We 
may  not  have  exactly  reached  the 
stage,  so  long  anticipated  by  Cobden 
and  others,  when  India  and  Russia  are 
conterminous,  but  we  are  within  a 
measurable  distance  of  such  a  stage. 
The  Government  is  framing  new  pro- 
positions in  accordance  with  a  new 
state  of  things.  A  project  of  frontier 
defence  has  been  approved,  and  autho- 
rity has  been  given  for  the  expenditure 
of  a  sum  of  5,000,000?.  on  frontier  rail- 
ways and  military  roads,  including  the 


Quetta  railway,  which  will  cost  some- 
thing like  2,000,0002.  of  that  sum. 
Five  millions  are  not  supposed  to  be 
the  final  limit,  but  so  much  will  at 
least  be  required  for  the  railway  and 
the  military  road.  It  is  pretty  certain 
to  be  found  on  further  examination 
that  further  works  will  have  to  be 
undertaken.  Lord  Dufferin  thinks  it 
is  a  matter  for  serious  consideration 
whether  there  should  not  be  strong 
fortresses  on  the  same  line  to  give 
our  army  support.  Peshawur,  the 
Indus,  and  Quetta  mark  the  general 
direction  and  the  limits  of  the  line. 
More  detailed  particulars  were  laid 
before  the  House  of  Commons  by 
the  Indian  Tinder-Secretary,  who 
(May  21)  added  the  information 
that  of  the  five  millions  required,  a 
part  would  fall  upon  the  revenues  of 
India,  and  a  part  would  be  met  by  a 
loan  to  be  issued  by  the  Secretary  of 
State  with  the  sanction  of  Parliament. 
All  this  indicates  an  immense  trans- 
formation in  the  position  of  the  Indian 
Empire.  The  consequences  may  be 
more  far-reaching  than  to  careless 
observers  may  at  first  sight  appear. 
The  key  to  internal  security  in  India 
is  thrift.  Heavy  expenditure  means 
heavy  taxation,  and  that  means  dis- 
content. The  cost  of  the  new  fron- 
tier must  bring  with  it  an  augmen- 
tation of  burdens,  as  well  as  the 
diversion  to  military  defence  of  funds 
that  might  more  fruitfully  have  gone, 
under  a  happier  star,  to  the  develop- 
ment of  the  productive  resources  of 
the  country. 

Some  futile  wrangling  is  still  per- 
sisted in  upon  the  vexed  question 
whether  the  new  policy  of  the  Govern- 
ment is  not  a  condemnation  of  their 
own  proceedings  in  1880.  The  charge 
is  that  they  are  resuming  the  Quetta 
railway  which  they  ordered  to  be 
abandoned  in  a  fit  of  triumphant 
spleen ;  that  this  line  would  have 
been  completed  by  now;  that  stores 
were  left  to  be  plundered  by  the 
tribes,  rails  pulled  up,  and  earthworks 
levelled  with  the  ground — all  involv- 
ing vast  waste  of  money,  and  still 


156 


Review  of  the  Month. 


more  serious  waste  of  time.  In  1883-4 
the  error  of  three  years  before  was 
admitted,  by  the  orders  to  resume  the 
work  that  had  been  rashly  stopped. 
The  answer  is,  that  the  two  sections 
of  the  line,  as  far  as  Quetta,  were 
accepted  by  the  new  Government  in 
1880  ;  that  the  line  was  not  destroyed, 
nor  the  buildings  dismantled,  nor  the 
rails  lifted  ;  that  very  little  loss  of 
money  was  incurred  at  the  time  j  and 
that  as  a  result  of  the  re-surveys,  and 
of  the  consequent  improvement  of 
plans,  there  would  be  not  a  loss  but 
a  permanent  saving. 

The  announcement  of  the  with- 
drawal from  the  Soudan  was  treated 
in  common  opinion  as  some  compensa- 
tion for  the  dire  financial  demand  of  a 
vote  of  credit  for  eleven  millions.  For 
a  single  instant  the  public  had  staggered 
under  the  dramatic  shock  of  the  fall 
of  Khartoum.  The  Government  un- 
fortunately hurried  to  a  decision  under 
the  same  influence,  but  the  decision  to 
go  to  Khartoum  had  hardly  been 
declared,  before  it  was  evident  that 
people  had  recovered  their  balance, 
and  that  our  adventures  in  the  Soudan 
were  rapidly  becoming  violently  un- 
popular. The  troubles  in  Afghanistan 
clenched  the  matter.  On  the  line 
from  Merawi  to  Dongola  9,000  British 
troops  were  stationed.  The  British 
authorities  had  to  choose  between 
concentrating  this  force  at  Dongola 
until  events  had  further  developed 
themselves,  and  withdrawing  them  to 
the  line  of  Wadi  Haifa  as  the  effective 
frontier  of  Egypt.  The  latter  course 
was  adopted.  It  was  more  easily 
adopted  on  paper  than  carried  out  in 
effect ;  the  movement  has  hardly  begun 
and  will  be  very  slow ;  and  the  flight 
of  the  population  from  Dongola 
threatens  unforeseen  difficulties.  The 
Mahdi,  overtaken  by  heavy  disasters 
of  his  own,  gives  no  trouble.  The 
notion  of  an  advance  on  Khartoum  is 
finally  abandoned.  As  a  consequence 
of  this,  the  expedition  to  Suakin  is 
abandoned  likewise  ;  the  unlucky  rail- 
way will,  as  part  of  a  military  opera- 
tion, be  dropped;  and  to  their  ownlively 


satisfaction,  the  bulk  of  the  troops  are 
already  on  their  way  to  less  desperate 
shores.  The  ultimate  fate  of  Suakin 
is  still  undetermined.  So  is  that  of 
Dongola.  Sir  E.  Baring  has  been 
instructed  to  consult  the  Egyptian 
Government  as  to  the  desirability  of 
establishing  some  administration  in 
the  province  of  Dongola,  or  a  portion 
of  that  province :  also,  whether  it 
would  be  desirable  to  complete  the 
prolongation  of  the  Nile  railway, 
which  has  been  commenced,  and 
whether  it  may  be  possible  to  find 
any  means  by  which  that  railway  may 
be  completed  and  worked,  as  has  often 
been  suggested,  as  a  commercial  under- 
taking. The  question  of  the  Soudan, 
therefore,  is  not  by  any  means  a 
closed  book.  Foreign  Powers  cannot 
be  left  out  of  account.  Much  may 
depend  on  the  turn  of  events  in 
Egypt  proper.  Meanwhile  we  are 
grateful  for  the  blessings  of  the  day. 

In  Egypt  proper  things  look  as  if 
a  new  departure  in  one  direction  or 
another  were  once  more  on  the  point 
of  forcing  itself  rapidly  and  even  vio- 
lently upon  us.  The  detention  of  the 
Guards  at  Alexandria,  on  their  way 
back  from  their  bootless  expedition  to 
the  shore  of  the  Red  Sea,  naturally 
caused  considerable  commotion  at 
home.  The  commotion  was  intensified, 
rather  than  lessened,  when  a  story 
gained  circulation  and  belief  that  this 
time  it  was  not  Russia  but  France. 
It  would  be  rash  to  attach  much  im- 
portance to  such  tales  as  that  a  rising 
would  be  got  up  in  the  streets  of 
Alexandria,  and  that  then  a  force 
would  be  landed  from  French  trans- 
ports, quite  fortuitously  passing  with 
troops  on  their  way  to  China.  Of 
course,  any  French  Minister  is  aware 
that  a  manoauvre  of  this  sort  would 
mean  a  war  with  Great  Britain  ;  not 
improbably,  too,  he  is  aware  that, 
with  a  general  election  in  his  country 
close  at  hand,  this,  in  turn,  would  mean 
his  swift  expulsion  from  power.  Be 
that  as  it  may,  France  is  evidently 
bent  on  making  things  as  uncomfort- 
able for  us  in  Egypt  as  she  possibly 


Review  of  the  Month. 


157 


can  make  them.  The  perorations  with 
which  we  have  been  favoured  about 
Egypt  are  beginning  to  sound  as  little 
substantial  as  the  more  familiar  pero- 
rations to  the  same  tune  about  Ire- 
land. Only  two  months  ago  a  young 
Minister  said  that  if  the  Financial 
Convention  were  once  accepted  by  Par- 
liament, it  would  be  the  beginning  of 
a  permanent  and  satisfactory  settle- 
ment, and  he  might  venture  to  use 
the  words  of  our  great  poet — 

"  But  look  !  the  dawn,  in  russet  mantle  clad, 
Walks  o'er  the  skirts  of  yon  high  eastern 
hill." 

Alas,  the  Convention  has  not  yet 
been  ratified  by  the  other  Govern- 
ments joined  with  our  own  in  the 
international  guarantee  of  the  new 
loan.  On  this  plea,  Germany,  Austria, 
Russia  and  France  have  compelled  the 
Khedive, — alias,  Great  Britain, — to 
withdraw  the  decree  imposing  a  tax 
on  the  bondholder  according  to  the 
terms  of  the  Convention.  So  odious  a 
piece  of  chicanery  has  seldom  been 
perpetrated  in  European  diplomacy, 
for  in  fact  the  protecting  Powers  had 
already  virtually  assented  to  this 
particular  decree  on  the  part  of 
the  Khedive,  without  reference  to 
the  ratification  of  the  international 
guarantee.  Using  the  same  leverage, 
France  and  Germany  are  working 
against  England  in  the  matter  of  the 
regulation  of  the  Suez  Canal.  As  to 
the  conditions  of  the  working  of  the 
Canal  there  is  no  dispute.  The  ques- 
tion turns  upon  the  body  who  shall 
see  that  these  conditions  are  respected. 
The  French  proposal  is  that  a  Com- 
mission shall  be  appointed,  consisting 
of  representatives  of  the  signatory 
Powers  of  the  Declaration  of  London 
of  March,  1885,  along  with  a  dele- 
gate of  the  Egyptian  Government,  and 
under  the  presidency  of  a  special  dele- 
gate of  Turkey.  The  English  proposal 
is  that  there  shall  be  no  body  of  this 
kind,  but  that  the  Egyptian  Govern- 
ment shall  take  the  necessary  mea- 
sures, and  that  the  ordinary  agents  of 
the  Powers  in  Egypt  shall  make  it 


their  business  to  inform  their  Govern- 
ments of  any  infraction,  or  danger  of 
infraction,  of  the  Canal  Treaty. 

The  real  objects  and  motives,  of 
which  such  details  as  these  are  only 
the  screen,  are  not  easy  to  comprehend. 
That  Prince  Bismarck  should  wish  to 
see  a  quarrel  between  France,  his 
standing  enemy,  and  England,  against 
whom  he  is  nursing  a  grudge  that  will 
pass,  is  intelligibly.  But  the  impolicy 
of  France  is  flagrant.  She  at  any 
rate  can  have  no  object  in  forcing 
England  to  take  a  firmer  grip  upon 
Egypt.  Yet  that  this  will  naturally 
be  the  result  of  these  vexations,  is 
as  certain  as  anything  can  be.  That 
Great  Britain  will  continue  for  many 
months  or  even  weeks  longer,  to 
endure  a  situation  which'  entails  no- 
thing but  loss  and  travail  upon  her,  for 
the  benefit  of  those  who  for  purposes 
of  their  own  never  cease  to  frustrate 
her  in  the  work,  is  not  credible  nor 
even-  conceivable. 

Though  the  Government  have  suc- 
cessfully surmounted  their  purely  par- 
liamentary difficulties,  the  most  critical 
of  them  remains.  As  the  first  storms 
that  at  so  early  a  period  disturbed  the 
ministerial  course  broke  upon  them 
from  Ireland,  so  will  the  last.  The 
precise  nature  of  the  exceptional  pro- 
visions for  preventing  and  detecting 
crime  which  Lord  Spencer  insists  that 
his  colleagues  shall  require  from  Par- 
liament, has  not  yet  been  divulged. 
But  the  battle  will  be  fought,  less 
upon  the  ground  of  this  or  that  par- 
ticular modification  of  the  Crimes  Act, 
than  upon  the  deeper  issue  whether 
there  should  be  any  special,  excep- 
tional, and  temporary  legislation  at 
all.  The  opposition  will  spring  from 
the  general  maxim,  that  to  persist  in 
exceptional  criminal  legislation,  re- 
newed from  time  to  time,  is  not 
worthy  of  the  name  of  government, 
and  is  not  compatible  with  settled 
and  constitutional  order.  This  prin- 
ciple is  one  that  might  be  accepted 
equally  in  two  very  different  quarters. 
It  might  be  embodied  in  an  amend- 


158 


Review  of  the  Month. 


ment  that,  under  certain  party  con- 
ditions, would  unite  both  those  who 
think  that  criminal  procedure  in  Ire- 
land should  be  no  more  rigorous  than 
it  is  in  England,  and  those  who  think 
that  Ireland  needs  to  have,  not  fitful 
coercion  acts,  but  a  standing  code  of 
its  own  marked  by  its  own  peculiar 
severity. 

The  first  session  of  the  present  Par- 
liament opened  exactly  five  years  ago 
this  week  (May  20).  The  Queen' s  Speech 
contained  a  paragraph  on  the  Peace 
Preservation  Act  for  Ireland,  which 
expired  on  the  first  of  the  following 
month.  "  You  will  not  be  asked," 
the  Sovereign  was  made  to  say,  "  to 
renew  it.  My  desire  to  avoid  the  evils 
of  exceptional  legislation  in  abridg- 
ment of  liberty  would  not  induce  me 
to  forego  in  any  degree  the  perform- 
ance of  the  first  duty  of  every  govern- 
ment in  providing  for  the  security  of 
life  and  property ;  but  while  deter- 
mined to  fulfil  this  sacred  obligation, 
I  am  persuaded  that  the  loyalty  and 
good  sense  of  my  Irish  subjects  will 
justify  me  in  relying  on  the  provisions 
of  the  ordinary  law,  firmly  adminis- 
tered, for  the  maintenance  of  peace 
and  order."  "Whether  the  lapse  of  the 
Peace  Preservation  Act  had  much  or 
anything  to  do  with  the  agrarian  agita- 
tion that  so  speedily  followed,  is  a 
question  that  no  amount  of  contro- 
versy will  settle.  What  is  certain  is, 
that  the  provisions  of  that  Act  were 
far  too  mild  to  have  effectively  re- 
pressed the  violent  forces  that  then 
broke  loose  over  Ireland.  In  the  winter 
of  '80-81  the  old  turbulence  made  its 
appearance,  but  in  a  shape  that  was 
very  moderate  when  compared  with 
former  outbreaks.  English  news- 
papers made  the  most  of  .it,  party 
spirit  became  very  shrill,  and  the 
Irish  executive  lost  their  heads.  Mr. 
Parnell  and  other  leading  agitators 
were  put  upon  their  trial  at  Dublin, 
but  a  conviction  was  not  procured. 
It  was  resolved  to  revert  to  the  time- 
honoured  device  of  Coercion.  The 
session  of  1881  was  opened  with 
the  announcement  that  additional 


powers  would  be  asked  for  in  the 
vindication  of  order  and  public 
law.  Two  bills  were  introduced,  an 
Arms  Bill,  and  what  was  called 
a  Bill  for  the  Protection  of  Life  and 
Property.  The  latter  was  one  of  the 
most  tremendous  blunders  ever  made 
by  any  government.  It  empowered 
the  Irish  executive  to  arrest  and  de- 
tain for  an  unlimited  period  and  with- 
out trial  any  one  whom  they  should 
reasonably  suspect  of  being  concerned 
in  disorder.  This  was  the  first  Coer- 
cion Bill  of  the  present  administra- 
tion. Between  900  and  1,000  persons 
were  imprisoned  at  one  time,  on  the  fiat 
of  the  Lord  Lieutenant  and  his  agents ; 
disorder  increased,  and  crime  put  on  a 
more  virulent  type.  The  Land  Act 
had  been  passed,  but  the  provocation 
of  coercion  hindered  the  tenants  and 
their  leaders  from  realising  the  boon. 
The  ominous  watchword  of  "  No  Rent " 
came  into  the  air.  The  League  pro- 
posed test  cases  for  the  Land  Act — in 
good  faith,  as  they  contended,  but 
really,  as  the  Government  feared, 
with  the  intention  of  breaking  down 
the  Act.  Perhaps  the  Government 
were  in  too  great  a  hurry  to  put  this 
sinister  construction  on  the  doings  of 
the  League.  In  October  (1881)  they 
threw  Mr.  Parnell  and  others  into 
prison.  Matters  grew  worse.  When 
the  session  of  1882  opened,  the  Chief 
Secretary  was  forced  to  admit  that 
coercion  had  failed.  His  colleagues 
resolved  to  reverse  the  policy,  to 
release  Mr.  Parnell  and  the  mass  of 
the  suspects,  and  to  try  concilia- 
tion. A  cruel  calamity  happened. 
A  little  gang  of  obscure  conspira- 
tors murdered  the  new  Chief  Sec- 
retary, without  knowing  and  with- 
out intending  it.  The  curtain  was 
lifted  some  nine  months  afterwards, 
and  we  then  found  out  that  this  great 
crime  was  almost  an  accident.  But  in 
the  lurid  mystery  of  the  hour,  it  is  no 
wonder  that  the  shock  produced  the 
violence  of  panic.  Even  Mr.  Parnell 
and  Mr.  Dillon  admitted  that  it  was 
necessary  to  arm  the  Executive  with 
some  special  power  for  dealing  with 


Review  of  the  Month. 


159 


the  secret  murder  clubs,  one  of  which 
had  just  given  such  horrible  evidences 
of  its  activity.      But  the  Crime  Pre- 
vention  Bill,    which   was    introduced 
just  three  years  ago  from  this  month 
(May    11)   went   much   further   than 
almost  anybody  expected,  and  certainly 
further  than  anybody  of  cool  judgment 
could   approve.     The  superfluous  and 
excessive    rigour,    the   misconception, 
the  vexatiousness  of  many  of  the  pro- 
visions of  the    Crimes  Act  are   esta- 
blished by  the  fact   that  so  many  of 
them   have   never  been  used.     There 
was    a    vehement     struggle    for    the 
power  of  trying  prisoners  under  cer- 
tain conditions  by  three  judges  with- 
out a  jury.     The  power  has  not  once 
been  resorted  to.     The  Curfew  clause 
enacts  that  if  a  person  is  out  of  his 
place  of  abode  one  hour  after  sunset 
and    before     sunrise,    under    circum- 
stances suggesting  a  reasonable  suspi- 
cion of  a  criminal  intent,  the  constable 
may  arrest  him.     The  clause  has  been 
practically  useless  and  unused.     The 
section    giving    power    to    the   Lord 
Lieutenant  to  forfeit  newspapers  in- 
citing to  treason  or  to  acts  of  violence 
and    intimidation,    has    kept    a    few 
journals  from  New   York  out  of  cir- 
culation, but  it  has  been  futile  against 
hardly  less  choice  literature  of  indi- 
genous origin.     On  one  occasion,  the 
Conservatives  aided  by  a  contingent 
of  Fitzwilliams,  Foljambes,  Dvindases, 
Lord    E.     Fitzmaurice,    Mr.    George 
Russell,  and  others,  actually  defeated 
the  Government  by  inserting  a  clause 
empowering  search  for  arms  at  night. 
As  might  have  been  expected,  a  pro- 
vision that  was  too  odious  even  for  the 
draftsmen  of  the  Irish  office,  has  been 
virtually    a    dead    letter.       Another 
section  provided  for  the  payment   of 
compensation    out    of  the    rates    for 
persons    murdered    or    maimed,     but 
power  was   given    of  exempting   par- 
ticular lands  from   liability  to  contri- 
bution.    The    faculty    of    exemption 
was    too    invidious    to     be   generally 
exercised,   and    the   large    owners    of 
land  in  their  own  hands  have  enjoyed 
little  immunity  from  paying  for   vio- 


lence which  nobody  execrates  more 
heartily  than  themselves.  The  power 
of  changing  the  venue,  that  is  of 
bringing  prisoners  from  the  south  and 
west,  where  convictions  are  not  to  be 
relied  upon,  to  Dublin  or  to  Belfast, 
is  said  to  be  greatly  valued.  But  this 
power  already  resides  in  the  Court  of 
Queen's  Bench,  without  special  enact- 
ment. The  right  to  quarter  extra 
police  in  disturbed  districts  at  the  cost 
of  the  ratepayers  is  conferred  by  the 
Act.  But  the  same  right,  with  the 
difference  that  only  half  the  cost 
could  be  imposed  on  the  locality, 
already  exists  by  an  ordinary  statute. 
Resort  to  special  juries  is  declared  to 
be  indispensable  by  some  Irish  officials. 
Others  set  greater  store  on  what  the 
Nationalists  have  styled  the  Star- 
Chamber  clause,  by  which  a  resident 
magistrate  is  able  to  summon  and 
examine  witnesses,  when  an  offence 
has  been  committed,  even  though 
there  may  be  no  prisoner  before  him 
charged  with  the  offence. 

Of  all  these  matters  we  shall  hear 
enough  and  more  than  enough  during 
the  next  few  weeks.  The  courses  open 
to  the  British  Government  seem  to 
have  been  the  following  : — 1.  To  re- 
new the  Act  exactly  as  it  stands.  2. 
To  renew  it  partially.  3.  To  let  it 
drop  entirely.  4.  To  renew  it  for  a 
short  term  of  one  or  two  years.  5. 
To  incorporate  the  provisions  of  the 
Act,  or  some  of  them,  in  the  perma- 
nent law  of  the  United  Kingdom.  6. 
To  incorporate  them  in  permanent  laws 
with  exclusive  application  to  Ireland. 
7.  To  sweeten  the  partial  renewal  of 
the  Crimes  Act  by  measures  of  re- 
medial legislation,  such  as  the  con- 
cession of  local  self-government,  or  the 
facilitation  of  the  purchase  of  land  by 
the  tenants.  The  Cabinet  at  first 
took  the  course  which  involves  the 
greatest  number  of  parliamentary 
difficulties.  The  Ulster  Liberals  were 
disgusted  at  the  omission  of  a  bill 
for  land  purchase.  Many  English 
Liberals  believed  that  it  would  have 
been  but  right  and  prudent  to  gild 
the  pill  of  coercion  with  at  least 


160 


Review  of  the  Month. 


the  semblance  of  remedial  legislation. 
A  memorial  embodying  some  of 
these  considerations  was  presented  to 
the  Prime  Minister,  and  he  announced 
a  change  of  intention  on  the  part  of 
the  Government.  They  would  do  their 
best  to  pass  a  Land  Purchase  Bill. 
This  announcement  is  said  to  have 
brought  on  a  Ministerial  crisis,  for 
some  members  of  the  Cabinet  believe 
it  impossible  to  deal  with  the  land 
question  effectually  until  local  bodies 
have  been  created  who  should  under- 
take certain  responsibilities  for  the 
repayment  of  advances  made  from  the 
national  exchequer.  Some  way  out  of 
the  deadlock  will  pretty  certainly  be 
found,  for  the  prospects  alike  of  the 
national  fortunes  abroad  and  of  party 
combinations  at  home  are  too  obscure 
to  make  any  section  of  the  Liberal 
leaders  willing  to  precipitate  a  dis- 
solution of  their  union  at  an  hour  when 
its  consequences  would  certainly  be 
momentous,  and  might  easily  prove  to 
be  fraught  with  prolonged  disaster. 

As  for  the  Crimes  Act,  the  forces 
against  its  renewal  may  not  prevail, 
but  they  are  not  insignificant.  The 
Irish  Liberals  will  oppose  it.  The 
Liberal  who  won  a  seat  for  County 
Antrim  a  few  days  ago,  owed  his  vic- 
tory to  his  promise  to  resist  excep- 
tional legislation.  Some  English  and 
Scotch  Radicals  are  offended  by  the 
paradox  of  imposing  a  disciplinary 
law  of  exceptional  rigour  on  the  same 
population  whom  you  have  just  de- 
clared to  be  fit  for  an  immense  and 
decisive  extension  of  political  power. 
The  numbers  of  this  group  will  depend 
upon  the  degree  of  rigour  in  the  re- 
vived law  :  if  Lord  Spencer  asks  for 
much  they  will  be  fairly  numerous,  and 
if  he  only  asks  for  enough  to  allow 
him  to  give  way  with  honour,  they  will 
be  very  few.  For  not  very  many  Eng- 
lish and  Scotch  Radicals  seem  to  per- 
ceive that  a  little  coercion  is  as 


hateful  to  Irishmen  by  way  of  sym- 
bol, as  if  it  were  a  great  deal. 
Efforts  are  known  to  have  been  made 
by  the  small  but  powerful  group  below 
the  gangway  on  the  Tory  side  to  in- 
duce the  Opposition  to  commit  them- 
selves against  the  renewal  of  the  Act. 
It  is  hardly  possible  that  their  efforts 
should  succeed,  but  the  group  in  ques- 
tion are  half  expected  to  act  inde- 
pendently and  join  their  forces  to  the 
other  malcontent  elements.  There  is 
little  chance  of  a  majority  being 
formed  against  the  Act,  but  there  is 
still  less  chance  of  its  passing  without 
a  considerable  party  dislocation. 

The  marvellous  composition  of  the 
vast  and  heterogeneous  fabric  of  the 
Empire,  abounding  as  it  does  in  in- 
finitely varying  races  and  nationalities, 
only  half  incorporated  in  the  huge 
whole,  as  Ireland  is  only  half  incor- 
porated, receives  a  little  illustration 
in  the  recent  trouble  in  Canada.  The 
insurrection  of  the  French  half-breeds 
has  collapsed  with  unexpected  rapidity. 
The  total  number  of  the  half-breeds 
does  not  exceed  5,000,  and  it  is  believed 
that  not  many  more  than  one-tenth 
of  them  were  concerned  in  the  rising. 
But  the  immediate  difnculty  since  the 
capture  of  Riel  is  rather  political  than 
military.  He  and  his  adherents  are 
French  and  Catholic.  As  a  con- 
tributor reminded  us  here  last  month, 
with  significant  reference  to  Canadian 
loyalty,  imperial  federation,  and  other 
bubbles  of  the  hour,  a  good  third  of  the 
population  of  the  Dominion  is  French 
and  Catholic.  To  condemn  Riel  to 
death  would  be  to  provoke  a  dangerous 
commotion  in  the  Province  of  Quebec. 
On  the  other  hand,  attention  to  the 
agrarian  grievances  of  his  friends, 
whatever  they  may  amount  to,  will  be 
secured  by  the  fact  that  their  excite- 
ment has  infected  the  Red  Indians, 
who  number,  not  600,  but  between 
80,000  and  90,000. 


May  25. 


MACMILLAN'S    MAGAZINE 


JULY,  1885. 


AN  AUSTRALIAN  APPEAL  TO  THE  ENGLISH  DEMOCRACY. 


THE  first  difficulty  which  presents  it- 
self to  an  Australian  who  would  offer 
an  opinion  upon  politics  to  English- 
men, is,  that  the  only  Australian 
questions  which  have  attracted  the 
attention  of  the  English  public  are 
just  those  to  which  Australians  are 
most  indifferent.  Imperial  Union, 
Colonial  Federation,  Annexation  in 
the  Pacific,  are  matters  of  which  it 
may  be  said  that  this  country  knows 
nothing,  except  through  the  letters  of 
London  correspondents.  It  is  said, 
and  the  statement  is  probably  true, 
that  at  the  last  general  election  in 
New  South  Wales  only  one  candidate 
made  any  reference  to  any  of  these 
topics.  In  Victoria  the  case  is  differ- 
ent. But  even  in  Victoria  the  question 
of  Imperial  Union  has  not  yet  been 
treated  seriously  by  any  political  party, 
and  the  two  other  questions  of  Colonial 
Federation  and  Pacific  Annexation  ex- 
cite an  interest  for  particular  local 
reasons  which  an  Englishman  is  apt 
to  overlook. 

This  may  be  discouraging  intelli- 
gence to  earnest  sympathisers  with 
Australian  progress.  Nevertheless,  in 
all  probability,  we  know  our  own  busi- 
ness better  than  the  most  enthusiastic 
advocate  of  colonial  expansion ;  and  it 
is  at  least  certain  that  colonists,  al- 
though they  may  be  too  busy  with  pri- 
vate affairs  to  form  opinions  upon  dis- 
tant matters  of  high  policy,  will  deal 
with  these  subjects  in  a  sympathetic 

No.  309.— VOL.  LII. 


and  liberal  spirit  whenever  the  oppor- 
tunity for  action  comes.  The  danger 
is  lest  our  people  should  be  disgusted 
by  visionary  schemes,  or,  still  worse, 
be  made  the  subject  of  crude  experi- 
ments. Englishmen  will  have  to  watch 
our  affairs  much  more  closely  than 
they  have  done  if  they  wish  to  direct 
colonial  opinion  into  wide  channels,  or 
to  catch  the  drift  of  passing  events. 
The  mistakes  of  English  opinion  upon 
each  of  the  three  political  questions 
already  named  will  serve  to  point  a 
moral  to  this  warning. 

First  in  importance  comes  the  ques- 
tion of  Imperial  Union.  With  regard 
to  this  Australian  sentiment  is  un- 
doubtedly changing.  The  recent  de- 
spatch of  troops  from  New  South  Wales 
to  Egypt  has  been  taken  for  the  sign 
of  an  entirely  new  departure.  It  has 
brought  the  question  of  Imperial  Union 
within  the  range  of  Australian  poli- 
tics. But  this  does  not  mean,  as  some 
eager  Federalists  imagine,  that  any 
one  of  the  difficulties  in  the  way  of 
Union  has  been  removed  by  Mr. 
Dalley's  offer.  The  question  has  sim- 
ply become  ripe  for  discussion  ;  and  it 
is  to  the  course  of  that  discussion  that 
Englishmen  should  give  attention. 

In  the  first  place,  Australian  opinion 
on  the  matter  is  by  no  means  unani- 
mous.      Even  now,1  in  the  height  of 
the  war  fever,  and  while   the  prepara- 
tions for  the  despatch  of  troops  are  still 
1  "Written  3rd  March,  1885. 
M 


162 


An  Australian  Appeal  to  the  English  Democracy. 


proceeding,  a  growing  murmur  of  dis- 
content is  making  itself  heard.  Sir 
Henry  Parkes,  our  most  experienced 
party  leader,  and  a  man  of  rare  capa- 
city and  knowledge,  has  declared 
against  the  course  adopted  by  the 
Government,  and  is  supported,  so  far 
as  can  be  judged  by  the  resolutions  of 
public  meetings,  by  the  bulk  of  the 
working  class.  Probably,  however, 
the  despatch  of  troops  will  be  approved 
by  Parliament.  Colonists  are  natu- 
rally disposed  to  favour  an  adventu- 
rous policy,  and  there  is,  no  doubt,  a 
strong  British  sentiment  even  among 
genuine  Australians.  But  it  has  yet 
to  be  seen  how  the  home-abiding  tax- 
payer will  regard  the  Expeditionary 
Bill,  and  it  would  be  rash  to  infer  from 
the  warlike  enthusiasm  of  the  press, 
and  the  splendid  quality  and  temper 
of  the  Soudan  force,  that  Australia 
will  be  always  ready  to  supply  con- 
tingents to  the  British  army. 

To  Englishmen  it  may  seem  a  small 
thing  to  send  600  men  to  fight  in  an 
Egyptian  war  ;  but  in  a  country  which 
has  hitherto  been  working  out  a 
glorious  destiny,  removed  from  Euro- 
pean entanglements,  and  without  a 
thought  of  warlike  dangers,  it  is  na- 
tural that  political  sentiment  should 
be  profoundly  stirred  by  such  an  entry 
upon  unknown  paths.  The  anomalies 
of  the  position  are  obtrusive.  In  a 
country  where  every  man  is  wanted  to 
take  his  part,  in  some  form  or  an- 
other, in  colonising  work,  we  seem  to 
be  going  out  of  our  way  to  encourage 
military  ardour.  With  the  right  hand 
we  are  expending  our  revenues  to  im- 
port able-bodied  men  to  subjugate  the 
soil,  while  with  the  left  hand  we  are 
sending  away  the  hardiest  of  our  youth 
to  fight  the  Soudanese.  We  have  to 
borrow  money  in  England  for  our 
necessary  public  works,  and  yet  with 
the  stroke  of  a  pen,  and  without  the 
knowledge  of  parliament,  a  minister 
squanders  on  a  warlike  expedition  one- 
twelfth  of  our  annual  revenue !  Our 
defenceless  position  is  just  beginning 
to  excite  alarm,  when  we  remove  three- 
quarters  of  our  little  army  !  No  won- 


der that  the  measure  has  been  strongly 
canvassed,  or  that  it  requires  a  full 
defence.  For,  after  all,  what  have  we 
done  1  Joined  in  a  war,  in  the  making 
of  which  we  had  no  voice,  which  many 
of  us  disapprove,  and  which  involves 
us  in  unknown  responsibilities ;  col- 
lected a  body  of  600  men,  of  whom 
only  a  'minority  are  natives  of  Aus- 
tralia ;  paid  even  the  privates  among 
them  at  the  rate  of  10s.  a  day,  and 
undertaken  to  provide  for  the  wives 
and  children  of  those  who  are  maimed. 
"  C'est  magnifiqiie,  metis  ce  n'est  pas  la 
guerre  !  " 

If  such  things  are  always  to  be  an 
incident  of  the  English  connection  as 
it  is  at  present,  and  if  things  cannot 
be  put  upon  a  different  footing,  it  may 
happen  that  we  shall  yet  congratulate 
ourselves  on  having  learnt  experience 
at  so  cheap  a  rate. 

It  lies  with  English  Federalists  to 
prevent  this  calamitous  result.  They 
have  most  unexpectedly  obtained  their 
opportunity.  Will  they  prove  them- 
selves capable  of  taking  it  ?  The  de- 
spatch of  Australian  troops  to  the 
Soudan  is  the  first  step  along  a  bi- 
furcating road,  which  leads  either  to 
Imperial  Union  or  to  Separation. 
Having  once  surrendered  the  advant- 
age of  our  isolated  position,  we  must 
henceforward  be  prepared  either  to 
take  a  proper  part  in  European  affairs, 
or  else  to  hold  aloof.  The  notion  that 
Australia  might  remain  a  colony  of 
England,  and  still  be  neutral  if  Eng- 
land were  engaged  in  war,  has  lost 
what  little  vitality  it  ever  had.  Aus- 
tralia, having  revealed  her  wealth  and 
power  to  the  enemies  of  England,  must 
now  be  ready  to  protect  herself  against 
them,  either  by  the  help  of  England  or 
by  Independence. 

Mr.  Forster  and  the  Imperial 
Federation  League  have  told  us  that 
they  are  enemies  of  Imperial  Union, 
who  imagine  schemes  by  which  it 
might  be  brought  about.  But  there 
is  a  preliminary  to  Imperial  Union 
which  is  eminently  pressing  for  a 
practical  solution,  namely,  the  question 
of  Imperial  Defence.  Australia  has 


An  Australian  Appeal  to  the  English  Democracy. 


163 


at    present   some   ten   thousand   men 
accustomed  to   bear  arms  distributed 
among  the  six  colonies ;  it  has  also  a 
small   naval   force,  which  is  perhaps 
sufficient  to  defend  one  harbour.     For 
the   rest   we   rely  upon   the   English 
squadron.  This,  however,  is  notoriously 
wanting  both  in  strength   and  speed ; 
and  a  German  purchased  cruiser,   or 
the  ships  of  the  Messageries  Maritimes, 
could  clear  the  sea  of  Australian  com- 
merce.    Were  this  done,  even  for  six 
months,  the   result   to   us   would   be 
national    bankruptcy.     A    nation    of 
less  than  three  million  people  cannot 
do  a  trade  of  fifty  millions  annually 
without  a  free  use  of  borrowed  capital. 
Were  the  supply  of   this  stopped,  and 
were  the  wool  clip,  even  of  a  single 
season,    prevented   from    leaving    our 
shores,    it   is   no    rash  prophecy  that 
nearly  every  bank  would  have  to  close 
its  doors.     Federalists  must  face  this 
danger,  and  provide  against  it.     The 
Separatists      insist      (although     they 
overlook    other    considerations)    that 
were  Australia  independent,  our  com- 
merce would  be  always  safe,  since  we 
are  never  likely  to  be  engaged  in  war 
upon  our  own  account — iirst,  because 
we  have  no  neighbours,  and,  secondly, 
because    foreign    powers  would  never 
permit  any  of  their  own  number   to 
aggrandise  himself  by  an  attack  upon 
Australia.    Further,  they  say  we  could 
assist     England    better    if    we    were 
independent,  for  we  should  then  relieve 
her  of  the  responsibility  of  protecting 
us,   and   should  be  able  to   help   her 
with    our  own  forces  as  occasion   re- 
quired. 

In  the  face  of  such  arguments  it  is 
the  duty  of  Federalists  to  show  that 
the  grave  danger  to  Australian  wel- 
fare, which  is  caused  by  the  existing 
colonial  relations,  can  be  removed 
without  the  risk  and  inconvenience  of 
another  schism.  And  it  is  at  least 
their  immediate  duty  to  recognise  that 
an  occasion  has  at  last  arisen  for 
suggesting  measures  to  remove  one 
forcible  objection  to  dependence, 
namely,  its  commercial  insecurity. 
The  details  of  any  scheme  for  effect- 


ing such  an  object  must  be   worked 
out  in  England,  and  the   impulse  to- 
wards its  acceptance  must  also   come 
from  there.  For  not  only  will  England 
have   to   supply  the  requisite    naval 
force,  but  it  is,  in   reality,  her  com- 
merce that  will  be  protected.     Among 
all  the  vessels  which  are  employed  to 
carry   to   and  fro   the    forty   million 
pounds  (40,000,000^)  worth  of  goods, 
which  represent  our  annual  dealings 
with  England,   there  is  not  a  single 
line,  and  possibly  not  a  single  ship, 
which  is  owned  entirely  in  Australia. 
Were  Australia  independent  and  Eng- 
land  involved  in  war,  we  could   find 
other  carriers  for  our   goods,   and    it 
would  be  England  that  would  suffer 
most  from  the  disturbance  of  Austra- 
lian commerce.     By  realising  that,  so 
long  as  the  present  colonial  relations 
continue,  any  attack  upon  Australia 
will  be  felt  with  undiminished  stress 
in    England,    Englishmen    may   grow 
accustomed   to   regard    the    safety    of 
Australia  as  a  matter  of  concern  to 
them.     We   can   at   any  time   escape 
from  danger,  but  England  will  remain 
exposed  to  it  in  either  case.     At  pre- 
sent it  is  only  a  sentiment  of  loyalty 
which  restrains  us  from  obtaining  a 
position  of  complete  security ;  and  he 
is  the  wisest  statesman  who  puts  as 
little  strain  on  sentiment  as  possible. 

The  two  salient  facts  about  Austra- 
lia which  Federalists  must  keep  in 
mind  are,  first,  that  we  shall  never 
need  protection  against  land  attacks, 
and  secondly,  that  unless  we  are 
dragged  into  war  by  England,  our  sea- 
borne commerce  is  absolutely  safe.  It 
is  out  of  the  question  that  we  should 
ever  be  at  war  upon  our  own  account, 
so  that,  if  we  were  an  independent 
nation  our  commerce  would  always  be 
protected  by  the  laws  of  neutrality ; 
and  since  we  could,  with  very  little 
trouble,  raise  a  disciplined  militia  of 
200,000  men,  our  shores  would  be 
sufficiently  protected  against  wanton 
aggression. 

Nevertheless,  union  with  England 
is  worth  some  sacrifice.  An  indepen- 
dent Australia  would  undoubtedly  be 

M  2 


164 


An  Australian  Appeal  to  the  English  Democracy. 


friendly  to  England,  and  might  indeed 
have  greater  power  to  help  her  than 
if  she  were  an  English  province.  But, 
with  independence  there  would  come 
the  risk  of  disagreement,  together 
with  the  danger  and  the  wasted  power 
of  separate  Governments.  The  crea- 
tion of  new  separate  states  is  opposed 
to  the  spirit  of  democracy,  whose 
mission  it  is  to  reduce  and  not  to 
multiply  the  elements  of  discord  in 
the  human  family.  Moreover,  the 
feeling  of  nationality  is  growing  every- 
where with  immense  rapidity,  so  that 
it  could  not  fail  to  be  injurious  to  the 
English  race  to  fight  against  the  force 
of  nationality.  It  may  be  many  years 
before  an  actual  tie  can  be  constructed  ; 
but,  in  the  meantime,  causes  of 
difference  may  be  removed  and  en- 
couragement given  to  the  sentiment 
of  union.  As  the  administration  of 
English  affairs  becomes  more  inspired 
by  popular  ideas,  the  possibility  of 
closer  ties  increases.  For  the  spirit  of 
democracy  is  union  :  and  when  that 
spirit  has  penetrated  the  English  and 
Australian  peoples,  the  political  pro- 
blem of  a  Federal  Constitution  will  be 
nearer  to  solution. 

The  present  martial  movement  in 
Australia  has  its  only  justification  in 
being  an  expression  of  this  wish  for 
union.  It  may  not  induce  any  politi- 
cal changes,  but  it  offers  Englishmen 
the  opportunity  of  taking  the  only 
step  towards  political  union  which  is 
at  present  practicable,  namely,  the 
construction  of  a  Federal  System  of 
Defence. 

If  England  were  ready  to  provide  a 
squadron,  which  should  be  devoted 
simply  to  the  protection  of  Australia, 
and  which  should  never  be  withdrawn 
from  that  particular  duty,  Australians 
could  be  depended  upon  to  raise  a 
sufficient  force  to  protect  their  own 
country,  and  to  secure  the  coaling 
stations  in  the  Pacific  for  the  English 
navy.  The  squadron  must  consist  of 
cruisers  fast  enough  to  clear  the  seas 
of  hostile  ships,  of  torpedo  boats  for 
harbour  defence,  and  of  one  or  more 
ironclads.  In  return,  Australia  would 


fortify  her  harbours,  supply  stores  for  the 
squadron,  and  be  ready  to  send  soldiers 
when  they  were  urgently  required. 
England  might  also  provide  material 
for  the  fortifications,  and  a  sufficient 
number  of  instructors  for  the  troops. 
The  additional  expense  of  this  protec- 
tion would  be  trifling  as  compared 
with  the  extent  of  English  commerce, 
which  it  would  secure.  Moreover,  it 
cannot  be  too  often  repeated  to  those 
who  murmur  at  increased  expenditure, 
that  Australia  cannot  and  ought  not 
to  make  costly  naval  preparations ; 
and  that,  in  the  event  of  a  war 
between  England  and  a  foreign  power, 
Australia  will  always  have  it  in  her 
power  to  make  her  trade  with  Europe 
safe,  but  England  will  lose  it  all. 

It  may  be  that  the  practical  diffi- 
culties in  the  way  of  any  joint  defence 
will  prove  insuperable ;  but  this  can 
only  be  established  by  experiment. 
The  present  is  an  unique  opportunity 
for  making  the  experiment,  which 
Federalists  in  England  will  surely  take 
advantage  of,  if  they  are  politicians, 
and  not  visionaries.  A  message  from 
the  Queen  would  stir  the  colonies  to 
action,  and  a  mere  executive  order 
from  the  Admiralty  would  accomplish 
all -that  is  required  upon  the  part  of 
England.  The  larger  schemes  of 
Federal  Union  can  stand  over  until 
the  empire  is  secured  against  attack. 
If  joint  defence  should  prove  impos- 
sible, we  shall  know  what  value  to 
attach  to  the  dreams  of  Imperial 
Federalists. 

It  is  premature  to  offer  an  opinion 
on  this  larger  question,  but  it  is  well 
to  realise  the  nature  of  its  difficulty. 

The  first  condition  of  a  closer  union 
is  that  the  people  of  England  and 
Australia  should  understand  each 
other  better. 

If  such  an  understanding  were  once 
brought  about,  the  English  Democracy 
would  immediately  recognise  that  it 
was  rejecting  a  powerful  ally  in  loosen- 
ing the  connection  with  Australia. 
And  the  people  of  Australia  in  their 
turn  would  gather  strength  to  overcome 
the  plutocratic  spirit  from  the  impulse 


An  Australian  Appeal  to  the  English  Democracy. 


165 


of  English  culture  and  the  example  of 
English  legislation. 1 

The  desire  for  a  better  understand- 
ing between  the  democracies  of 
England  and  Australia  is  no  mere 
sentimental  longing,  but  is  the  out- 
come of  a  bitter  experience  of  many 
mistakes.  Even  at  the  present 
moment  events  are  illustrating  in  a 
very  striking  manner  the  disadvant- 
ages which  arise  from  mutual  mis- 
understandings, both  to  England  and 
Australia. 

The  two  Australian  questions  which 
have  recently  attracted  English  atten- 
tion are  those  of  Australian  Federation 
and  of  annexation  in  the  Pacific 
Ocean ;  and  yet,  with  regard  to  each 
of  these,  the  temper  of  the  popular 
party  in  Australia  has  been  greatly 
misunderstood. 

The  error  has,  perhaps,  been  greatest 
upon  the  question  of  Federation.  It 
is  generally  believed  in  England  that 
Victoria  has  been  making  efforts  to 
form  an  Australian  Dominion,  and 
that  she  is  only  prevented  from  doing 
so  by  the  provincial  jealousy  of  New 
South  Wales  and  New  Zealand. 
Nothing  could  be  further  from  the 
truth.  There  is  at  present  but  a 
single  obstacle  to  the  union  of  the 
Australian  colonies,  namely,  the 
Victorian  tariff.  New  South  Wales 
ministries  have  (time  after  time) 
attempted  to  draw  the  colonies  to- 
gether, but  their  policy  has  always 
been  frustrated  by  the  Protectionist 
party  in  Victoria.  Now  the  roles  seem 
changed.  Victoria  has  come  forward 
as  the  patriot,  eager  to  remove  pro- 
vincial jealousies.  The  explanation  is 
simple.  Fifteen  years  of  protection 
have  sufficed  to  choke  her  markets ; 
she  must  find  new  outlets  for  her  pro- 
ducts at  all  hazards.  Hence  this 
agitation  for  a  Federal  Union  and  for 
annexation.  The  hope  is,  that  if  the 
colonies  are  once  united,  even  under 
the  semblance  of  a  Federal  Constitution, 

1  In  matters  of  social  legislation,  such  as 
the  Factory  Acts,  City  Improvement  Acts, 
Adulteration  Acts,  Legal  Procedure,  &c.,  Aus- 
tralia is  about  thirty  years  behind  England. 


a  protectionist  Zoll-verein  will  sooner 
or  later  be  adopted.  Negotiations  in 
this  direction  have  already  begun ; 
and  Tasmania  has  been  induced  to 
make  a  reciprocity  treaty  with  Victoria 
upon  a  protectionist  basis.  In  this 
way  it  is  hoped  to  close  the  Australian 
market  against  any  free-trade  colony 
— a  proof  of  a  disinterested  desire  for 
union  which  requires  no  comment. 

But,  whether  it  is  New  South  Wales 
or   Victoria   that   is   most    eager   for 
Australian  Union  is  a  comparatively 
unimportant  local  matter.     It  is  far 
otherwise    with    the     proposed     new 
constitution.     This,   as  may   be   well 
known,    establishes   what  is  called  a 
"Federal  Council,"  with  limited  power 
to    legislate  on   matters   of    common 
interest.     It  is  evident  that  the  con- 
stitution of  such  a  governing  body  is  a 
matter  of  supreme  importance  \  and  it 
happens    that    from    the    democratic 
point  of  view  the  constitution  of  the 
council,  as  it  stands  at  present,  deserves 
the   strongest   expression   of    ridicule 
and   censure.      Yet  so  little  help  do 
we  get  at  present  from  the  democracy 
in  England,  that  not  a  single  news- 
paper has  even  attempted  a  criticism 
of     the     clauses    of    the     so     called 
"  Enabling  Bill,"    which  the  Imperial 
Parliament  may  be  called  upon  to  pass 
at  any  moment.     It  may  be  fearlessly 
asserted  that,  had  it  not  been  for  the 
ignorance  of  Australian  matters  which 
prevails  in  England,  it  would  have  been 
impossible  that  the  draft  Bill  of  the 
Sydney   convention   could   have    been 
approved  by  the  Imperial  Government. 
It    can    only   have    been   accepted   in 
England  because  it  was  believed  to  be 
an  expression  of  Australian  opinion. 

But  what  are  the  facts  1  The  Bill 
originated  in  no  Colonial  Parliament, 
and  was  suggested  by  no  popular 
movement.  The  tale  of  its  preparation 
reads  like  a  passage  from  a  burlesque ; 
yet,  told  in  plain  language,  the  framing 
of  the  Constitution  of  United  Aus- 
tralia, which  is  intended,  in  the  life- 
time of  many  now  living,  to  provide 
for  the  governance  of  thirty  millions 
of  people,  scattered  over  a  country 


166 


An  Australian  Appeal  to  the  English  Democracy. 


which  is  about  the  size  of  Europe,  if 
we    except   the  Spanish  peninsula,  is 
literally   and    exactly    as    follows : — 
Certain     colonial     ministers    met    in 
Sydney    in    November,    1883.     They 
bore  no  credentials  from  their  respec- 
tive parliaments,  nor  had  any  of  them 
any  authority  to  act  in  any  way  on 
behalf  of  their  colonies.     They  were 
merely  private  individuals  on  a  holiday 
trip.     It  occurred  to  them  to  frame  a 
Constitution.    They  held  five  meetings 
with  closed  doors.     At  these  meetings 
they    drafted   a   Bill,    which    each    of 
them  pledged  himself  to  submit  to  his 
particular    Parliament.      The    instant 
the  contents  of  this  Bill  were  known 
it  was  assailed  in  every  colony  with 
a  storm  of  criticism.     No  Parliament, 
it  was  thought,  would  pass  such  a  Bill 
without  radical  amendment.     But  the 
members  of  the  Conference  had  antici- 
pated this  possibility,  and  had  prepared 
for  it  by  agreeing  together  not  to  sub- 
mit the  Bill  to  their  Parliaments  in 
the    ordinary    way,    to    be    discussed 
clause  by   clause,   but  to  tack  it,  as 
a   sort    of   schedule,    to    a    resolution 
requesting    the   Queen    to    alter    the 
existing  Colonial  Constitutions  in  the 
manner  suggested.      The  Bill,   there- 
fore, could  not  be  amended,  and  had 
either  to  be  rejected   or  accepted  in 
!/lobo.     The  consequence  was  that  in 
New  South  Wales  and  New  Zealand 
the  resolution  was  shelved  by  means 
of  the  Previous  Question.     But  in  the 
other  Colonies  Ministers  staked  their 
existence  on  the  carrying  of  the  resolu- 
tion, and  calculated  accurately  that  the 
Opposition  could  not  turn  them  out  on 
a  matter  upon  which  the  outside  public 
took  so  little  interest.  Those,  who  know 
anything  of    the  working  pf    colonial 
politics,  will  understand  how  safe  such 
a  calculation  was  likely  to  be.     Even 
with  this  difficulty  in    the    path  the 
opposition  in  Queensland    and  South 
Australia  was  so  active,  that  it  had  to 
be  pacified   by  the  assurance,  that  the 
right  time  for  proposing  amendments 
would   be  on  the   return  of    the  Bill 
from  the  Colonial    Office.     That  time 
has  now   come.      Yet    again    we  are 


witnessing,  in  a  Democratic  country, 
a  spectacle  which  would  be  impossible 
even  in  Germany  or  Russia.    Ministers 
in  Victoria,  South  Australia,  Queens- 
land and  Tasmania  have  communicated 
their  views  to  each  other  by  means  of 
private  memoranda.     Cabinet  Councils 
are  then  held  in  the  several  colonies, 
and  the  alterations  in  the  Bill,  proposed 
by  the  Colonial  Office,  are  said  to  be 
approved  or  disapproved,  as  the   case 
may  be,  by  the  people  of  that  colony. 
Not  one  of  the  Parliaments  has  been 
summoned  to  consider  the  alterations, 
and  the  amended  Bill  will  return  to 
the  Colonial  Office  with  the  unanimous 
approval  of  the  four  colonies  already 
named.     The  result  is  that  a  few  men 
will  have  taken  advantage  of  popular 
indifference  to  force  a  Constitution  on 
the    country  which    has    never    been 
discussed,  never  been    approved,    and 
never    even    been    presented    to    the 
people.     Assuredly  Democratic  forms, 
where    the    spirit    of    Democracy    is 
sluggish,  do   offer  the  greatest  oppor- 
tunities to  despotism.     But  it  is   not 
yet  too  late  for  the  English  Democracy 
to  help  us.     New   South    Wales   and 
New  Zealand  have   done   their  best  to 
call  attention  to  the  sort  of  Constitu- 
tion Avhich  is    being  foisted    on   Aus- 
tralia ;  but  the  criticism  of  one  colony 
seldom    awakens     more     than    angry 
irritation  among  its  neighbours.     The 
criticism  which  is  required  is  a  frank, 
sympathetic  criticism  in  the  English 
press  and  in  the  English  Parliament. 
This  would  rouse  attention  here,  and 
give  the  Opposition  a  foothold  for  re- 
sistance.    At  present  electors  regard 
Federation  as  a  question  which  is  out- 
side  of    politics.     The   political  hacks 
do  not  understand  or  care  for  it ;  and 
the  people,  except  in  New  Zealand  and 
New  South  Wales,  have  never  had  it 
before  them. 

A  bare  perusal  of  the  Bill  will  show 
its  faults.  There  is  no  occasion  for 
lengthy  criticism  from  this  country.1 

1  The  Federal  Council  is  to  have  "  original " 
powers  of  legislation  (paramount  in  cases  of 
conflict  with  the  local  legislature  of  any  fede- 
rated colony)  on  the  following  subjects,  inter 


An  Australian  Appeal  to  the  English  Democracy. 


167 


But  let  those  who  believe  in  popular 
institutions  understand  that  this  "  En- 
abling Bill "  transfers  the  supreme 
political  authority  over  the  whole  of 
Australia  to  a  non  elective  body  of 
thirteen  members,  and  their  opposition 
to  it  is  assured.  This  body,  which  has 
no  representative  basis,  and  is  too 
small  to  generate  within  itself  that 
healthy  degree  of  public  opinion  which 
is  indispensable  to  sound  legislation,  is 
to  have  the  sole  control  of  all  our 
foreign  policy,  and  to  be  the  supreme 
authority  over  many  matters  of  domes- 
tic concern.  No  wonder  that  it  receives 
the  vehement  support  of  the  Australian 
Tories,  who  fear  popular  government, 
and  themselves  love  power.  Still  it  is 
surprising  that  the  "  formal "  defects 
of  such  a  Constitution  should  have 
escaped  the  notice  of  its  framers.  This 
precious  "  Federal  Council  "  is  inferior 
in  all  the  attributes  of  a  governing 
body.  It  makes  no  provison  for  an 
executive  ;  it  has  no  power  of  taxation  ; 
it  has  no  power  to  appropriate  a  penny 
of  the  Federal  Revenue  ;  it  contains  no 
provisions  for  an  appeal  to  the  power 
to  which  it  owes  its  existence  ;  or  for 
an  appellate  judiciary  to  decide  on  any 
conflicts  between  federal  or  local  autho- 


alia .— (1)  The  relations  of  Australia  with  the 
Islands  of  the  Pacific  ;  (2)  Prevention  of  the 
Influx  of  Criminals  ;  (3)  Fisheries  in  Austral- 
asian Waters  beyond  territorial  limits  ;  ('4)  The 
service  of  Civil  and  Criminal  Process  of  the 
Courts  of  any  Colony  outside  the  jurisdiction 
of  that  Colony  ;  (5)  The  Enforcement  of  Judg- 
ments of  Courts  of  Law  of  any  Colony  beyond 
the  limits  of  that  Colony.  It  is  to  have 
"derivative"  powers  of  legislation  (that  is, 
by  request  of  the  legislatures  of  at  least  two 
federated  colonies)  on  the  following  subjects  : — 
(1)  General  Defences ;  (2)  Quarantine ;  (3) 
Patent  Law  ;  (4)  Copyright ;  (5)  Bills  of  Ex- 
change and  Promissory  Notes  ;  (6)  Marriage 
and  Divorce  Laws;  (7)  Naturalisation  and 
Aliens;  (8)  Any  other  matter  of  general  Aus- 
tralian interest,  icith  respect  to  which  the 
legislatures  of  the  several  colonies  can  legislate 
within  their  own  limits,  and  as  to  which  it  is 
deemed  desirable  that  there  should  be  a  Law 
of  General  Application.  This  is  plainly  not 
an  "Enabling"  Bill,  but  a  Constructive  Bill 
of  a  bad  kind.  A  true  Enabling  Bill  is  what 
we  want.  Give  the  colonies  power  to  alter 
their  own  Constitution,  and  trust  to  them  to 
take  all  possible  steps  towards  a  real  union. 


rity.  It  is  thus  a  cabinet  without 
responsibility,  a  government  without 
authority,  an  executive  without  a 
revenue.  Even  those  who  may  not  be 
hostile  to  the  principle  of  the  measure 
must  recognise  that  in  its  present  form 
it  must  give  .rise  to  numberless  occa- 
sions for  dispute,  and  that  it  offers  no 
remedy  for  these  except  disruotion  of 
the  union. 

The  derivative  power  of  legislation 
is  also  open  to  great  objection.  At  first 
it  seems  reasonable  enough  that  any 
two  colonies  may  refer  a  question  of 
common  interest  to  be  settled  by  the 
Federal  Council ;  but  it  is  plain,  upon 
reflection,  that  this  power  will  work 
injuriously  in  practice.  Suppose,  for 
example,  that  the  Federal  Council 
frames  a  divorce  law  for  the  two 
Colonies  of  Tasmania  and  Victoria ; 
that  law  will  then  become  the  Federal 
Statute  on  the  subject  of  divorce,  and 
will  have  to  be  accepted  in  globo  by 
any  other  colonies  that  may  wish  for 
the  Federal  legislation  on  the  subject. 
Thus  the  indirect  result  of  the  action 
of  any  two  colonies  will  be  either  to 
force  a  statute  on  all  the  other 
colonies,  or  else  to  compel  them  to 
accept  the  subject  of  that  statute 
from  the  jurisdiction  of  the  Federal 
Council.  What  the  result  of  this  may 
be  if  the  matter  referred  to  the 
council  is  the  settlement  of  the  tariff, 
it  requires  no  power  of  political  fore- 
cast to  imagine. 

The  Federal  Council,  indeed,  in  these 
respects,  goes  too  far,  while  in  others 
it  does  not  go  far  enough.  Until  the 
means  of  communication  between  the 
colonies  are  bettered,  and  the  tariff 
difficulty  is  removed,  a  close  Federal 
Union  is  impossible.  But  a  Central 
Council  for  deliberative  and  consul- 
tative purposes  would  foster  the  spirit 
of  union,  and  be,  practically,  very  use- 
ful. The  duties  of  such  a  council 
should  be  strictly  limited  to  the  sug- 
gestion of  measures  on  matters  of 
intercolonial  interest.  Their  work 
might  be  that  both  of  innovators  and 
codifiers— either  they  might  draft  new 
measures,  or  harmonise  those  which 


168 


An  Australian  Appeal  to  the  English  Democracy. 


already  exist ;  but  in  each  case  the 
actual  legislative  authority  would  re- 
main with  the  local  Parliaments. 
Australia  is  quite  ripe  for  such  a 
council,  and  its  work  would  be  of  an 
extremely  useful  character.  Australian 
politicians  often  lack  the  power  or  op- 
portunity to  prepare  well-drafted 
measures  on  technical  subjects,  and 
the  differences  of  local  legislation  arise 
quite  as  much  from  carelessness  or 
ignorance  as  from  any  settled  differ- 
ence in  policy.  The  suggestions  and 
supervision  of  a  council  of  experts 
could  not  fail  to  improve  colonial  legis- 
lation, both  in  form  and  quality.  The 
proposed  Federal  Council  will  do  no- 
thing well.  It  does  not  pretend  to 
give  genuine  Federation,  but  it  substi- 
tutes a  grotesque,  amorphous  phantom, 
which,  by  the  irritating  disputes  between 
the  colonies  to  which  its  existence  will 
give  rise,  will  create  a  new  and  almost 
insurmountable  obstacle  to  the  real 
union  which  all  Australians  desire. 

Nor  is  the  existence  of  such  a  coun- 
cil altogether  without  danger  to  Eng- 
land, since  the  first  matter  which  the 
Enabling  Bill  surrenders  to  its  control 
is  "  The  relations  of  Australasia  with 
the  Islands  of  the  Pacific  ; "  that  is  to 
say,  the  people  of  each  colony  are  to 
surrender  all  control  over  the  only 
matters  of  foreign  policy  which  are 
likely  to  lead  us  into  serious  difficulties. 
By  an  amendment  of  the  Colonial 
Office  nothing  can  be  done  under  this 
authority  without  the  previous  sanc- 
tion of  the  Imperial  Government. 

But  the  history  of  New  Guinea  shows 
how  difficult  it  will  be  for  the  English 
Government  to  object  to  anything  after 
it  is  done.  The  Federal  Council  will  be 
able  to  force  the  hands  of  the  English 
Government  whenever  it  likes,  just  as 
it  will  also  be  able  to  force  the  hands 
of  the  Australian  Parliaments.  Sup- 
pose— and  the  supposition  is  not  impro- 
bable— that  a  majority  of  the  Council 
should  agree  to  annex  the  greater  part 
of  the  Pacific  Islands.  Such  a  measure 
might  or  might  not  be  desirable.  But 
are  the  people  of  each  colony,  who  will 
have  to  pay  the  cost  of  annexation,  to 


have  no  voice  in  the  matter  1  Small 
bodies  of  men  are  generally  more  ready 
for  a  "  forward  policy "  than  the 
masses,  on  whom  the  responsibility 
will  ultimately  fall.  Let  Englishmen 
put  themselves  in  our  place.  Imagine 
that  during  the  Russo-Turkish  war  the 
control  of  foreign  affairs  had  been 
completely  in  the  hands  of  the  Beacons- 
field  Cabinet.  Is  it  not  morally  cer- 
tain that  England  would  have  been 
committed  to  a  position  from  which  it 
would  have  been  impossible  to  with- 
draw peaceably  1  A  foreign  policy, 
more  than  a  domestic  policy,  requires 
the  constant  check  and  pressure  of 
public  opinion.  This,  as  English  ex- 
perience has  proved,  can  be  brought  to 
bear  most  effectually  upon  the  Minister 
of  a  Representative  Assembly,  where 
every  proposal  can  be  publicly  can- 
vassed. Foreign  affairs,  more  than 
any  other,  require  to  be  conducted  in 
the  light  of  day,  and  popular  know- 
ledge of  what  is  being  done  may  often 
be  the  surest  guarantee  of  peace. 

Nor  are  we  in  Australia  without  a 
recent  experience  of  the  recklessness 
with  which  a  certain  party  is  ready,  in 
the  names  of  Christianity  and  com- 
merce, to  disregard  the  rights  of  other 
nations.  Late  events  have  brought 
into  a  startling  prominence  a  party 
which  insists  on  the  entire  exclusion 
of  foreigners  from  the  Pacific  Ocean. 
The  headquarters  of  these  narrow 
doctrinaires  are  naturally  in  Mel- 
bourne, where  the  zealous  Christian  is 
more  pressed  to  find  relief  for  pious 
feelings  and  for  glutted  markets.  Their 
views,  however,  found  some  supporters 
at  the  Sydney  Convention  ;  and  it  is 
quite  likely,  if  the  proposed  Federal 
Council  came  into  existence,  that 
Victoria,  in  the  absence  of  New  South 
Wales,  will  be  able  to  commit  the 
associated  Colonies  to  a  policy  which 
will  seriously  involve  Australia,  and 
which  may  complicate  the  relations  of 
England  with  other  European  powers. 

It  is  a  mistake,  however,  to  suppose 
that  the  compact  body  of  Annexation- 
ists,  with  their  definite  interests  to 
serve,  and  their  opportunities  for 


An  Australian  Appeal  to  the  English  Democracy. 


169 


making  themselves  heard,  accurately 
represent  the  feelings  of  the  dis- 
organised and  silent  mass  of  Austra- 
lian voters.  New  South  Wales,  indeed, 
has  already  given  an  emphatic  refusal 
to  join  in  a  demand  for  further  an- 
nexation ;  although,  as  usual,  this 
difference  of  opinion  is  attributed  in 
England  to  provincial  jealousy.  In 
reality,  however,  the  older  colony  is, 
in  this  matter,  the  mouthpiece  of 
Democratic  sentiment,  and  ought, 
therefore,  to  receive  the  warm  support 
of  English  Radicals. 

It  would  seem  from  the  arguments 
of  Annexationists,  that  foreign  settle- 
ments are  deplored  upon  two  grounds, 
namely,  for  the  injury  they  will  inflict 
on  our  material  interests,  and  for  the 
suffering  they  will  cause  to  native 
races.  The  humanitarian  argument 
is  that  which  we  have  heard  so  often, 
and  which  is  always  trotted  out  to 
justify  aggression.  No  one,  who  is 
acquainted  with  the  missionaries  of 
the  Pacific  Islands,  could  doubt  that 
there  are  some  of  them  who  use  this 
argument  in  all  good  faith.  The 
widest  extension  of  British  rule  would 
be  desirable  if  it  would  strengthen 
the  hands  of  men  like  Chalmers, 
Lawes,  or  Selwyn.  But  experience 
does  not  show  that  British  rule  is 
beneficial  to  a  native  race.  With  the 
best  intentions,  and  with  really  heroic 
sacrifices,  Englishmen  have  failed  to 
win  the  regard  of  any  nation  that  they 
rule.  Everywhere  they  form  a  govern- 
ing class  apart  from  the  people  ;  and 
where  Frenchmen  or  Spaniards  would, 
by  intermarriage  with  the  natives, 
continue  something  of  the  national 
life,  Englishmen  only  destroy  what- 
ever society  already  exists.  The 
Pacific  Islands,  in  particular,  are  pain- 
ful witnesses  to  our  disastrous  pre- 
sence. Rum  and  disease  have  every- 
where carried  to  the  natives  more 
convincing  proof  of  the  nature  of 
English  benevolence  than  could  be 
afforded  by  the  best  of  wishes  or  by 
miles  of  missionary  calico.  Set  Java 
and  Tahiti  on  one  side,  and  New 
Zealand  on  the  other,  and  then  let  it 
be  said  whether  we  can  claim  a  mono- 


poly of  charitable  feeling  towards  the 
native  races.  Certainly,  whatever 
may  be  our  feelings,  we  have  not 
surpassed  either  the  Dutch  or  the 
French  in  the  success  with  which  we 
have  exhibited  them  to  the  Pacific 
Islanders. 

In  one  point  only  have  the  friends 
of  the  Pacific  Islanders  any  real  cause 
for  alarm. 

Prince  Bismarck  has  proclaimed,  in 
deference  to  the  wish  of  German 
traders,  that  he  aims  rather  at  pro- 
tecting commerce  than  at  founding 
colonies.  In  plain  language,  this 
means,  in  the  Pacific,  that  German 
traders  will  be  free  to  deal  with  native 
races  as  they  please. 

At  present  England  is  making  a 
noble  effort  to  protect  the  Pacific 
Islanders  from  the  greed  of.  Europeans. 
The  regulations  of  the  High  Commis- 
sioner endeavour  to  control  the  labour 
traffic,  to  stop  the  importation  of  rum 
and  firearms,  and  to  prohibit  the 
purchase  of  land.  Other  nations  have, 
as  yet,  been  chary  of  assisting  at  this 
work ;  and  it  is  now  feared  that  the 
occupation  of  new  territory  by  France 
or  Germany  will  give  a  shelter  to  the 
lawless  practices  which  England  has 
been  struggling  to  put  down.  The 
Germans,  in  particular,  have  disre- 
garded their  duties  to  native  races 
with  most  shameless  cynicism  :  and  the 
German  traders  openly  avow  their 
disbelief  in  measures  to  protect  the 
islanders,  and  their  intention  to  govern 
their  new  territories  upon  purely  com- 
mercial principles.  The  French  have 
hitherto  shown  more  humanity,  and 
their  colony  of  Otaheite  is  the  only 
Pacific  island  under  white  control 
where  the  native  population  is  in- 
creasing.1 

1  This  is  one  of  the  reasons  in  favour  of  the 
proposal  to  annex  the  New  Hebrides  to  France. 
Those  islands  are  already  developed  largely  by 
French  enterprise,  and  could  without  difficulty 
be  brought  under  French  influence.  Moreover, 
the  islands  are  geographically  attached  to  New 
Caledonia,  and  their  occupation  by  the  Eng- 
lish would  be  likely  to  give  rise  to  constant 
irritation  between  us  and  the  French.  If  the 
French  should  pledge  themselves  (as  they 
have  declared  their  willingness  to  do)  not  to 


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An  Australian  Appeal  to  the  English  Democracy. 


Accordingly,  the  honest  members 
of  the  missionary  party  denounce  the 
recent  annexations,  because  they  fear, 
not  that  the  Germans  will  establish 
arsenals,  but  that  they  will  neglect  to 
govern.  They  take  Prince  Bismarck  at 
his  word,  and  they  believe  that  it  will 
be  possible  even  for  Germany,  now  that 
she  has  assumed  at  least  a  nominal 
authority,  to  decline  the  responsibility 
of  preserving  order.  She  will,  un- 
doubtedly, require  pressure  to  be 
brought  upon  her;  but  let  her  go- 
vernment be  once  established,  and  she 
will  be  compelled  by  the  force  of  public 
opinion  to  give  protection  to  her  native 
subjects.  Our  object  ought  to  be  to 
bring  the  necessity  for  such  protection 
strongly  before  the  German  Govern- 
ment ;  and  if  the  English  journalists, 
when  they  are  tired  of  abusing  Lord 
Derby,  would  insist  that  we  should 
have  a  common  understanding  with 
France  and  Germany  as  to  the  pur- 
chase of  land  from  the  islanders,  and 
the  traffic  in  labour,  firearms,  and  rum, 
they  would  benefit  Australia  greatly, 
whilst  serving  the  cause  of  humanity. 
What  is  wanted  is  an  International 
agreement,  such  as  that  which  was 

use  these  islands  for  a  penal  settlement,  their 
presence  could  not  in  any  way  injure  or  menace 
Australia,  while  it  would  be  in  the  highest 
degree  beneficial  to  the  natives  and  to  the 
increase  of  commerce  in  the  Pacific  Ocean. 
The  agitation  against  the  French  has  been  got 
up  by  mining  and  land  speculators,  and  by 
the  Protestant  missionaries,  who  are  jealous  of 
their  Catholic  rivals.  It  has  actually  been 
made  a  formal  cause  of  complaint  by  the  Eng- 
lish missionaries  that  the  native  children  in 
the  Loyalty  Islands  are  instructed  in  the 
French  language  ;  while  it  is  hardly  necessary 
to  say  that,  while  the  French  Protectorate 
continues,  the  missionaries  cannot  act  as  they 
have  done  in  Tonga,  and  assume  the  reins  of 
government.  The  alternative  proposal,  to 
"internationalise"  these  and  every  other 
island  which  England  does  not  at  present 
covet,  is  one  which  can  only  have  emanated 
from  an  editorial  armchair.  To  "interna- 
tionalise "  in  the  Pacific  Ocean  is  simply  to 
create  an  Alsatia.  An  international  arrange- 
ment between  France,  Germany,  England, 
and  America,  for  police  purposes,  having  re- 
ference to  the  labour  traific,  the  acquisition  of 
land,  and  the  sale  of  rum  and  firearms,  would 
be  very  useful,  but  the  international  govern- 
ment of  the  islands  ought  to  be  under  some 
one  responsible  power. 


proposed  at  the  Congo  Conference,  to 
the  effect  that  all  annexations  of  bar- 
barous territories  should  carry  with 
them  the  responsibility  for  order  and 
government.  At  present  it  is  openly 
admitted  by  the  German  traders  in 
Sydney  that  commerce  is  their  only 
concern ;  and  unless  strong  pressure  is 
brought  to  bear  upon  the  Government 
by  France  and  England,  the  Imperial 
flag  will  only  float  in  the  Pacific  in 
order  to  conceal  the  present  infamies. 

But  even  supposing  that  the  acts 
of  Germany  should  justify  the  worst 
anticipations  of  those  who  have  already 
seen  the  conduct  of  her  traders  ;  yet, 
that  will  not  impose  upon  our  Govern- 
ment the  duty  of  immediate  annexa- 
tion. How  often  must  it  be  repeated 
that  we  have  no  mission  to  redress  the 
grievances  of  every  native  race,  even 
were  we  able  to  do  it  ?  Germany  may 
fail  to  treat  the  natives  well,  but  we 
ourselves  are  by  no  means  certain  to 
succeed  better,  although  our  points  of 
failure  might  be  different.  Yet,  in 
order  to  correct  the  possible  faults  of 
German  rule,  we  are  asked  ourselves 
to  assume  the  reins  of  government, 
before  we  have  tried  the  efficacy  either 
of  official  remonstrances  or  of  the  pres- 
sure of  well-informed  public  opinion  ! 

But  this,  the  annexationists  have 
said,  is  a  begging  of  the  question. 
Annexation  by  England  would  involve 
us,  they  say,  in  far  fewer  difficulties 
than  those  into  which  we  shall  cer- 
tainly fall  if  the  annexation  is  made 
by  any  foreign  power. 

The  most  baseless  assertion  comes  to 
be  believed  if  it  is  frequently  repeated  ; 
so  that  it  is  possible  that  honest  men 
may  really  believe  that  the  presence  of 
the  Germans  at  New  Britain,  or  the 
French  at  the  New  Hebrides,  will  be 
a  source  of  danger  to  Australia  !  Yet, 
how  is  such  a  view  borne  out  by  any 
facts  ?  Is  the  presence  of  the  French 
at  Pondicherry  any  danger  to  the 
Indian  Empire?  Or  does  the  ad- 
jacency of  Cuba  menace  the  United 
States  ?  Yet,  in  twenty  years  Aus- 
tralia will  be  to  the  Pacific  Islands  as 
the  United  States  are  to  Cuba  or 
Jamaica  They  will  just  as  little  be 


An  Australian  Appeal  to  the,  English  Democracy. 


171 


a  source  of  danger  to  our  ports  and 
commerce  ;  and,  in  the  event  of  war, 
we  could  snap  them  up  in  a  week — if 
we  wanted  to  do  so. 

If,  on  the  other  hand,  we  annexed 
those  islands,  instead  of  leaving  them 
to  foreign  powers,  we  should  be  scatter- 
ing instead  of  concentrating  our  re- 
sources. We  should  be  offering  a 
greater  number  of  vulnerable  points 
to  any  enemy,  instead  of  leaving  him 
to  offer  them  to  us. 

But  can  we  seriously  believe  that 
any  islands  taken  by  a  foreign  power 
are  to  be  turned  at  once  into  fortified 
posts  ?  Let  us  show  a  little  common 
sense  in  talking  about  foreign  politics. 
Let  us  remember  what  these  islands 
are — that  they  are  tropical  islands, 
with  malarious  climates,  lying  far 
from  civilised  settlement ;  that  they 
are  places  which  offer  no  inducement 
to  English  settlers,  and  no  work  for 
European  labourers.  What,  then,  do 
we  suppose  that  it  would  cost  a  Euro- 
pean power  to  establish  and  maintain 
a  Malta  at  a  place  like  one  of  these  ? 
And  if  an  annexationist  is  bold  enough 
to  face  this  question,  let  him  be  further 
asked  to  explain  the  motive  for  such 
waste  of  money. 

But  there  is  another  side  to  the 
question.  Suppose  it  to  be  granted, 
for  the  sake  of  argument,  that  the  pre- 
sence of  foreigners  in  the  Pacific  will 
cause  some  appreciable  danger  to  Aus- 
tralia !  The  risk  from  English  an- 
nexation might  still  be  out  of  all  pro- 
portion to  the  danger  which  we  would 
avoid.  The  Democratic  party  here 
believe  that  to  be  the  case ;  and  that 
the  exclusion  of  foreigners  from  the 
Pacific  would  not  only  involve  us  in 
responsibilities  that  would  seriously 
hamper  our  material  progress  but 
would  deprive  Australia  of  great  moral 
and  material  benefits. 

It  is  certain  that  England  is  in  no 
mood  to  acquire  new  responsibilities. 
If  the  islands  are  annexed,  it  is  Aus- 
tralia that  will  have  to  be  responsible. 
English  journalists,  particularly  those 
who  are  most  eager  to  display  their 
friendship  to  Australia,  talk  of  this  as 
though  it  were  a  matter  of  no  concern. 


Yet  the  popular  party  in  Australia 
takes  a  very  different  view. 

In  the  first  place,  we  have  not  got 
the  men  who  could  administer  the 
islands.  Our  parliaments  show  no 
superfluity  of  administrative  talent ; 
and  we  have  not  succeeded  well  in 
such  a  comparatively  simple  matter  as 
the  regulation  of  the  labour  traffic. 
Our  own  affairs  still  occupy  us  fully. 
Three-quarters  of  our  own  continent 
have  still  to  be  annexed.  And  yet  we 
are  advised  by  Englishmen  to  direct 
our  energies  into  other  fields ! 

Moreover,  there  is  another  argument 
in  favour  of  foreign  settlements,  which 
can  only,  perhaps,  be  fully  appreciated 
by  those  who  are  acquainted  with  Aus- 
tralia. We  suffer  at  present  from  our 
isolation.  We  are  outside  the  main 
current  of  European  thought ;  so  that 
in  spiritual  and  intellectual  matters 
"vre  are  somewhat  stagnant.  We  have 
but  one  type — that  of  the  British 
"  bourgeois,"  with  "  his  sombre  attire, 
his  repellent  manners,  his  gloomy  wor- 
ship, his  mechanic  habitudes  of  toil." 
Is  it  better  that  the  Pacific  Islands 
should  be  kept  for  the  perpetuation  of 
this  type,  or  that  other  types  should 
settle  there  for  our  example  and  im- 
provement? France  and  Germany 
have,  each  of  them,  political  and  intel- 
lectual ideas  which  differ  from  the 
English  ;  and  the  observation  of  new 
ideas  and  other  forms  of  social  life 
cannot  fail  to  stimulate  a  nation's 
mental  growth.  By  the  presence  of 
foreign  settlements  in  the  Pacific, 
Australia  would  be  brought  more  into 
the  stream  of  modern  thought, — and 
that  is  of  itself  a  great  advantage. 

But  besides  the  moral  advantages 
of  having  in  our  neighbourhood  the 
representatives  of  other  civilisations, 
there  are  great  material  advantages  to 
be  derived  from  this  propinquity. 

Sydney  is,  by  its  position,  the  em- 
porium of  the  island  trade.  Whatever 
develops  commerce  in  the  islands  must 
increase  the  wealth  of  Sydney.  The 
only  question  is,  whether  this  develop- 
ment is  to  be  effected  by  introducing 
fresh  capital  and  labour  from  new 
European  sources,  or  whether  it  is  to 


172 


An  Australian  Appeal  to  the  English  Democracy. 


be  effected  by  drawing  on  our  own 
stores,  which  are  already  insufficient  to 
properly  develop  our  own  country. 
No  Australian,  at  any  rate,  is  likely 
to  deny,  that  had  Fiji  been  exploited 
by  a  foreign  power,  millions  of  much- 
needed  capital  would  never  have  been 
taken  from  Australia. 

Penal  settlement  as  it  is,  New  Cale- 
donia has  already  caused  a  consider- 
able increase  in  the  volume  of  Austra- 
lian trade.  A  similar  result  must 
follow  the  establishment  of  every  new 
settlement.  Whatever  commerce  may 
spring  up  in  the  Pacific,  Australia 
must  obtain  the  larger  share  of  it. 
The  Germans  may  attempt  to  exclude 
English  trade,  but  the  position  of 
Australia,  as  the  nearest  source  of 
supply,  will  prevent  them  establishing 
any  insurmountable  barriers. 

Foreign  annexation  will  also  save 
us  from  another  danger  which  English- 
men cannot  be  blamed  for  not  appreci- 
ating. Those  tropical  islands  can  never 
form  a  coherent  part  of  our  political 
system.  They  can  only  be  worked  by 
coloured  labour,  and  coloured  labour 
will  be  a  permanent  source  of  disunion 
and  difficulty  to  Australia.  A  foreign 
power  can  face  this  danger,  because  it 
has  no  white  settlements  close  by; 
but  workmen  in  Australia  will  never 
consent  to  be  taxed  for  the  govern- 
ment of  coolie  plantations.  The 
coloured  labour  difficulty  is  at  this 
very  time  threatening  the  disruption 
of  Queensland,  and  we  cannot  forget 
that  it  is  not  twenty  years  since  the 
same  difficulty  menaced  the  existence 
of  the  United  States. 

These  are  the  ideas  that  we  look  to 
the  English  people,  and  especially  to 
English  Radicals,  to  enforce  in  their 
policy  and  writings.  For  it  is  in  points 
like  these  that  the  influence  of  one 
democracy  re-acts  upon  another.  Yet, 
if  a  certain  section  of  the  Liberal 
party  shall  prevail  in  England,  this  is 
just  the  help  that  we  shall  not  receive 
from  the  English  democracy. 


BEENHAED  WISE. 


Sydney. 


ADDENDUM. 

Since  writing  the  above,  a  cablegram 
has  been  published  declaring  the  inten- 
tion of  the  English  Government  to 
establish  a  joint  scheme  of  maritime 
defence.  It  is  proposed  either  to 
create  a  Federal  Australian  Navy,  or 
to  request  the  colonies  to  contribute 
a  certain  annual  sum  towards  the 
maintenance  of  an  English-Australian 
Squadron. 

Each  of  these  proposals  is  radically 
faulty.  An  Australian  navy  would 
be  both  costly  and  inefficient.  Having 
no  naval  building  yards,  we  should 
have  to  rely  upon  the  Admiralty,  both 
for  the  pattern  and  the  quality  of  our 
ships ;  and  at  the  present  rate  of 
naval  invention,  these  would  certainly 
become  antiquated  in  ten  years.  But 
we  have  no  use  for  a  reserve  squadron, 
and  the  cost  of  a  decennial  renewal  of 
our  whole  fleet  would  be  stupendous. 
Moreover,  it  is  certain  that  in  the 
event  of  war,  the  federal  fleet  would 
be  dispersed  among  the  different 
colonies,  since  each  colony  would 
demand  that  the  ships  for  which  it 
paid  should  be  specially  devoted  to  its 
protection.  The  same  demand  would 
be  made  in  respect  of  every  particular 
quota  of  any  Imperial  Squadron.  The 
federal  navy  would  thus  be  broken  up 
at  the  very  moment  that  united  action 
was  required.  Finally,  it  must  be 
remembered  that  it  would  be  no  light 
matter  to  pass  naval  estimates  through 
eight  colonial  legislatures.  There  will 
always  be  a  risk  that  their  rejection; 
should  be  made  a  popular  cry.  The 
people  will  insist,  foolishly  no  doubt, 
upon  having  all  the  handling  of  the 
money  that  they  vote.  To  have  pro- 
posed otherwise,  betrays  great  ignor- 
ance of  the  political  sentiment  of 
the  colonies.  The  right  principle  of 
joint  defence  is,  as  has  been  pointed 
out,  that  each  colony  should  provide 
for  its  harbour  and  coast  defences,  but 
that  the  ocean  defences  should  be  the 
sole  concern  of  the  Imperial  navy. 

B.  W. 


173 


MRS.  DYMOND. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

AFTERWARDS. 

AMONG  the  many  who  appeared  to 
show  their  respect  to  the  good  colo- 
nel's memory  was  Mr.  Marney,  in  a 
shining  and  easy  suit  of  deepest  black, 
an  appearance  of  prof  oundest  grief  tem- 
pered by  resignation,  to  which  a  new 
hat  swathed  in  crape  greatly  contri- 
buted. Aunt  Fanny,  strange  to  say, 
was  somewhat  taken  by  Mr.  Marney  ; 
his  frankness  (how  Susy  loathed  it), 
his  respectful  sympathy,  his  intelligent 
grasp  of  the  situation,  of  the  many 
youthful  failings  to  which,  with  all 
his  affection  for  his  wife's  daughter,  he 
could  not  be  blind,  his  full  apprecia- 
tion of  the  good  colonel's  strange  in- 
fatuation, his  easy  compliments,  his 
amusing  little  jokes  at  his  wife  and 
family,  uttered  in  a  subdued  voice  as 
befitted  the  circumstances,  all  amused 
Miss  Bolsover,  who  accepted  his  odious 
compliments  to  Tempy's  indignant 
amazement. 

Susy  had  not  asked  Mr.  Marney  to 
come ;  he  was  no  guest  of  hers ;  she 
was  unaffected  in  her  grief,  unselfish, 
anxious  to  spare  others.  She  would 
have  come  down  had  it  been  necessary, 
but  hearing  of  her  stepfather's  pre- 
sence, she  kept  away,  up  stairs  by  Jo's 
bedside,  or  in  her  own  room,  silent, 
and  apart  in  her  sorrow.  Some  in- 
stinct seems  to  warn  simple  and  de- 
fenceless creatures  of  the  dangers  of 
beasts  of  prey. 

Meanwhile,  in  Jo's  absence,  Miss 
Bolsover  received  the  company,  gave 
every  possible  direction.  She  was  in 
her  element.  Pens,  ink,  and  paper,  her 
flowing  hand  and  spreading  sheets  of 
platitude,  surrounded  by  broad  edges  of 
black,  filled  the  post  bags  to  the  brim. 
Mr.  Bolsover,  all  crushed  somehow, 
sat  dolefully  dozing  or  smoking  in 


his  cozy  gun-room.  Mrs.  Bolsover 
came  there  too  for  comfort,  or  moped 
silent  and  apart.  Sometimes  she  went 
over  to  the  Place.  Susy  liked  to  have 
her  there.  Aunt  Car  would  come  in 
looking  old  and  scared  into  the  little 
boudoir  where  Susy  sat  alone.  The 
young  widow  used  to  run  to  meet  her, 
and  without  a  word  would  put  little 
Phraisie  on  her  knee. 

Charlie  Bolsover  was  present  at  his 
uncle's  funeral,  naturally  and  un- 
affectedly shocked  and  overcome,  and 
yet  not  unnaturally  thinking  still 
more  of  Tempy  than  of  his  uncle, 
who  had  dealt  hard  measure  to  him 
and  never  done  him  justice.  He  had 
but  a  few  hours  to  remain  at  Tarnclale, 
and  he  had  determined  to  come  and  go 
without  obtruding  his  own  personal 
feelings  either  upon  Tempy  or  her  step- 
mother. But  man's  resolves,  espe- 
cially Charlie's,  are  apt  to  be  carried 
by  the  tide  of  the  moment,  and  the 
sight  of  poor  Tempy  in  her  black  with 
her  wistful  looks  was  too  much  for  his 
philosophy.  He  came  up  to  the  house 
late  in  the  afternoon  of  the  funeral 
day,  hoping  for  another  sight  of  her. 
She  was  alone  in  the  drawing-room. 

And  then  it  happened  that  when 
Charlie  would  have  gone  up  to  her, 
Tempy  for  the  first  time  in  all  her  life 
drew  back,  shrunk  from  him ;  she 
glanced  at  him,  and  then  dared  not 
look  again. 

"  Tempy  !  "  he  said. 

She  did  not  look  up,  but  she  stood 
pale  and  frozen,  with  averted  eyes. 

"  Go,  Charlie,"  she  said  at  last. 
"  This  is  no  time  to  think  of  our  selfish 
wishes  ;  ours  have  been  selfish.  I  see 
how  wrong — how  wrong  I  was  ail  along. 
Go,  dear  Charlie,"  she  said,  covering 
her  eyes  with  her  hand.  "  Go,"  she 
repeated  angrily.  "  Do  you  hear  me  1 " 
Her  overstrung  nerves  were  almost 
beyond  her  control. 


174 


Mrs.  Dymond. 


"I  hear  you,"  said  Charlie,  turning 
sick  and  pale ;  "  you  do  not  mean  it, 
Tempy." 

"  Yes,  I  mean  it,  I  mean  it,"  Tempy 
cried.  "  Why  do  you  doubt  it  ?  Go, 
I  tell  you ;  go." 

Charlie  stood  as  if  some  gun  had 
been  fired  at  him  ;  he  tried  to  speak  ;  no 
words  came.  With  ono  look  he  turned 
and  walked  straight  out  of  the  room. 
Tempy  waited  for  an  instant,  heard 
the  front  door  shut,  then  sank  into  the 
first  chair.  When  Susy  came  to  look 
for  her,  she  found  the  girl  still  sitting 
in  the  semi-darkness  on  a  chair  against 
the  wall.  She  had  not  moved  since 
Charlie  had  left  her  an  hour  before. 
Seeing  Susy  she  looked  up. 

"  You  are  satisfied,"  she  said  ;  "  I 
have  done  as  papa  wished.  I  have 
sent  Charlie  away." 

She  spoke  in  a  thick,  dazed  way, 
which  frightened  her  stepmother. 

"  Your  father  wished  it,"  Susy  re- 
peated, faltering.  "  Dear  Tempy,  you 
could  not  go  against  his  will.  He 
loved  us  so— no  wonder  we  loved 
him  ; "  and  Susy  took  Tempy 's  cold 
hand  and  put  her  arm  round  her  neck. 

"  You  did  not  love  him  as  I  did," 
said  Tempy,  tearing  her  hand  away 
and  flashing  her  blue  eyes  at  her  young 
stepmother.  "  He  loved  you,  but  you 
did  not  deserve  it,  and  Charlie  loves 
me  and  I  do  not  deserve  it."  The  girl 
was  in  a  frenzy  of  grief  and  despair. 

"  Ah,  papa  thought  I  did  not  care 
for  him  because  I  loved  Charlie,"  cried 
Tempy;  "but  I  have  given  poor 
Charlie  up  for  papa.  I  let  him  go, 
I  let  him  go,  and  now  I  am  all  by 
myself.  They  are  both  gone,  both 
gone  ;  they  will  never  come  any  more," 
and  she  wrung  her  two  hands. 

Susy  stood  in  silence  listening  to  the 
girl's  reproaches.  Were  they  deserved  ] 
She  did  not  know ;  she  did  not  ask. 
For  the  first  time  she  felt  herself  alone, 
silent,  helpless,  as  people  feel  who  have 
to  learn  to  live  anew,  without  the 
strength  of  long  use  to  hold  by. 

"  O  Tempy  !  "  Susy  said  at  last,  "  I 
do  honour  you  ;  I  can  only  feel  you  have 
done  right.  Let  us  put  all  doubts  and 


perplexities  away  just  for  the  present 
and  wait.  In  a  little  time  everything 
will  seem  more  clear."  And  Tempy 
took  heart  somehow  once  more.  Susy's 
cordials  were  more  to  her  mind  than 
Aunt  Fanny's  chloral. 

The  next  day  the  blinds  were  up, 
Miss  Bolsover  in  bugles  and  crape, 
was  still  occupied  with  her  own  and 
everybody  else's  feelings,  giving  every 
possible  direction  in  the  conduct  of 
affairs.  Charlie  and  Mr.  Marney  had 
departed.  Tempy's  tears  were  flow- 
ing ;  but  that  explanation  with  her 
stepmother  had  taken  some  of  the 
bitterness  from  her  heart.  She  had 
done  what  she  could.  She  sat  in  Jo's 
room,  languid,  by  an  open  window, 
looking  across  the  gardens  and  the 
lake,  and  the  beautiful  smiling  valley. 
The  valley  itself,  the  fringed  hills,  the 
moorlands  which  inclosed  them,  were 
all  a  part  of  Jo's  inheritance. 

There  are  also  other  things  entailed 
besides  farms  and  country  estates 
which  parents  leave  behind  them. 
They  leave  their  lives  to  their  child- 
ren, as  well  as  their  savings,  and  their 
looks  and  family  characteristics.  Jo 
and  Tempy  inherited  among  other 
things  their  father's  directness  and 
simplicity  of  character,  and  his  upright 
and  honourable  name,  and  the  memory 
of  his  many  kind  and  liberal  actions. 

When  the  will  was  read,  it  was 
found  that  the  colonel  had  left  a 
legacy  of  £5,000  to  each  of  his  daugh- 
ters, and  £1,000  a  year  to  his  widow 
during  her  widowhood.  Subject  to 
these  charges,  and  various  legacies 
enumerated,  he  bequeathed  the  whole 
of  his  property  to  his  son.  Jo  and 
Tempy  also  inherited  their  mother's 
property,  which  had  been  settled  on 
them  at  his  marriage. 

Strangely  enough,  the  colonel  had 
added  a  codicil  to  his  will  on  the  very 
day  of  the  fatal  accident,  for  he  had 
called  at  his  solicitor's  while  waiting 
at  County  side  for  Jo's  train.  By 
this  codicil,  the  colonel  executed  a 
power  of  appointment  contained  in  the 
settlement  made  on  his  marriage  with 
his  first  wife,  and  appointed  the  trust 


Mrs.  Dymond. 


175 


funds  in  equal  shares  to  his  son  and 
daughter ;  but  he  made  a  proviso  that 
the  whole  of  that  property  should  go 
to  Josselin  in  the  event  of  his  daughter 
Tempy  marrying  under  twenty-one 
without  the  consent  of  her  guardian ; 
and  he  appointed  his  widow,  Mrs. 
Susanna  Dymond,  to  be  the  sole  guard- 
ian of  his  three  children. 

In  the  event  of  Mrs.  Dymond' s 
re-marriage,  she  was  to  give  up  her 
right  to  her  jointure  as  well  as  to  the 
guardianship  of  the  elder  children. 
This  provision,  which  seemed  of  little 
importance,  was  not  in  the  codicil  but 
in  the  will,  and  had  been  suggested  by 
the  family  solicitor.  The  good,  loyal 
old  colonel  was  indignant  at  the  time 
at  something  his  sisters  had  said,  and 
which  the  family  adviser  had  quoted  ; 
and  protesting  his  wife's  indifference 
to  money,  had  agreed  to  the  clause 
without  wasting  much  thought  upon 
future  possibilities.  Susy  had  never 
cared  for  money,  of  that  he  required 
no  assurance,  and  as  for  re-marriage, 
what  should  she  want  to  marry  again 
for  ?  she  was  much  better  at  home  at 
the  Place,  looking  after  Phraisie  and 
the  other  two,  thought  the  colonel  to 
himself,  to  say  nothing  of  poor 
Mrs.  Marney  and  her  boys.  The 
kind  old  son-in-law  had  left  Mrs. 
Marney  a  hundred  pound  legacy  as 
a  token  of  friendly  regard,  together 
with  a  small  sum  to  each  of  the 
boys  ;  and  there  were  legacies  to  his 
sister  and  her  husband,  and  to  his 
sister-in-law.  Miss  Bolsover  was  of- 
fended by  the  portion  which  came  to 
her  share.  Mr.  Marney  was  also  dis- 
appointed, and  made  no  secret  of  his 
irritation.  It  was  a  shabby  concern, 
he  said,  from  beginning  to  end.  What 
is  a  hundred  pounds  ?  A  mere  nothing  ; 
and  we  owe  it  all  and  more  too.  The 
boys'  £50  won't  find  them  in  boots  for 
six  months  to  come.  As  for  Susy  and 
her  beggarly  jointure,  she  may  marry 
again  and  lose  it  all  to-morrow. 

"Susy  won't  marry;  she  knows 
there  is  her  brother's  education," 
said  Mrs.  Marney,  with  anxious  con- 
viction. She  has  Miky  and  Dermy  to 


consider  now,  and  she  is  not  one  to 
forget  her  own  people.  We  all  know 
the  colonel's  wishes,  and  that  he  meant 
them  to  be  properly  taught." 

"  It  would  have  been  more  to  the 
purpose  if  the  old  boy  had  written  his 
wishes  down  on  lawyer's  paper,  with 
a  couple  of  witnesses  to  see  them  car- 
ried out,"  said  Marney.  "  I  call  it  a 
d — d  unbusiness-like  proceeding — to 
say  nothing  of  having  to  pay  madame, 
as  you  propose.  I'm  getting  out  of 

patience  with  her  endless " 

"  Oh,  Michael !  "  said  poor  Mary, 
reproachfully  ;  "  Madame  lent  me  £20 
last  month ;  it  is  not  for  the  rent 
only  ! " 

Not  without  difficulty  was  Miky's 
legacy  reserved  for  Madame' s  just 
claim.  If  it  had  not  been  for  her 
genuine  love  for  the  little  boys 
and  their  mother,  Madame  du  Pare, 
the  sturdy  and  methodical,  would  long 
ago  have  got  rid  of  her  unpunctual 
lodgers,  but  she  had  grown  to  love  the 
children,  and,  above  all,  the  poor  lady, 
whose  troubles,  little  by  little,  had 
become  her  own. 

Susy  wrote  to  her  mother  at  once, 
telling  her  of  herself  and  of  all  in  her 
home,  promising  to  provide  for  the 
boys'  schooling  as  heretofore.  She 
was  to  keep  house  for  Jo,  and  she  had 
no  expense  and  plenty  of  spare  money, 
she  said,  and  she  knew  that  John 
in  his  kindness  would  have  wished 
her  to  continue  what  he  had  so 
generously  begun.  She  missed  him 
sorely,  mourned  him  with  a  tender, 
grateful  heart ;  she  seemed  at  first 
scarcely  able  to  live  without  him,  or 
to  have  a  wish,  or  to  to  be  able  to 
settle  the  commonest  things.  He  had 
been  a  man  of  methodical  habits  ;  he 
had  ruled  his  household,  and  drilled 
Susanna  to  his  own  ideas ;  she  had 
never  stood  alone.  We  know  she  was 
young  and  yielding  and  easy  by  na- 
ture ;  she  had  learnt  from  him  to  sort 
out  and  arrange  her  life,  her  events 
and  friends,  her  feelings  and  hospi- 
tality— to  use  certain  stock  phrases  to 
herself,  which  she  thought  she  believed 
in.  Now  that  he  was  gone,  it  seemed 


176 


Mrs.  Dymond. 


to  Susy  as  if  she  had  become  for  ever 
what  she  had  tried  to  be  before. 

"  Elle  etait  plus  femme  que  les  autres 
femmes"  has  often  been  quoted,  and 
never  too  often  ;  surely  it  applied  to 
my  heroine  as  she  sat  in  her  corner 
by  Jo's  sofa  a  few  weeks  after  her  hus- 
band's death.  Jo  looked  haggard,  but 
he  was  nearly  well.  Susy  in  black  and 
in  her  widow's  cap  looked  far  more 
beautiful  than  in  her  coloured  fashion- 
able dresses — younger,  gentler,  less 
reserved.  The  western  sunshine  was 
coming  in  at  the  open  window.  Jo 
had  fallen  asleep,  and  in  the  stillness, 
as  Susy  sat  in  the  low  chair  by  his 
couch,  she  could  also  hear  the  voice 
of  her  little  Phraisie  at  play  in  the 
garden  without,  and  the  hum  in  the 
distant  field,  and  the  sounds  coming 
across  the  lake. 

Josselin  liked  to  have  his  stepmother 
near  him.  Susanna  had  that  gift  which 
belongs  to  some  people  for  taking  care 
of  sick  people.  Tempy  was  too  abrupt 
and  nervous  from  very  affection.  Miss 
Bolsover  fussed  ;  she  also  wanted  to  do 
too  much.  Jo  found  in  his  stepmother 
the  most  comforting  of  nurses.  "  I  do 
believe  she's  made  of  sticking  plaster," 
he  used  to  say.  Day  by  day  his 
strength  seemed  to  return,  his  burning 
eyes  became  clear  and  soft.  He  rarely 
spoke  of  the  accident ;  but  he  told 
them  once  for  all  what  he  could 
remember  of  it.  His  father,  who  was 
driving,  had  suddenly  fainted  or 
fallen  from  his  seat ;  as  he  fell,  the 
horse  was  startled ;  Jo  trying  to  catch 
the  reins,  had  been  thrown  from  his 
seat.  He  lost  consciousness  ;  once  he 
revived  enough  to  hear  George  Tyson 
saying,  "The  boat  be  there,  shall  we 
take  them  home  ? "  and  then  all  was 
as  nothing  once  more,  until-  he  awoke 
in  his  own  bed  with  Tempy  hanging 
over  him. 

Nobody  pretended  to  be  anxious 
any  longer.  Jeffries  grinned  satisfac- 
tion at  his  patient's  progress.  When 
Aunt  Fanny  suddenly  appeared  with 
the  barouche,  announcing  that  change 
was  now  necessary,  and  that  she  had 
come  to  carry  Jo  off  then  and  there, 


broken  bones  and  all,  to  the  Hall,  Jo 
worked  himself  into  a  passion.  He 
didn't  want  to  go,  he  was  much  better 
at  home.  He  gave  an  unearthly  groan 
when  his  aunt  advanced  to  persuade 
him  in  her  most  dulcet  tones. 

"  You  may  as  well  say  at  once,  Jo, 
that  new  things  have  bewitched  you, 
that  flattery  has  divided  you  from  old 
friends,  that  your  old  home  has  lost 
all  interest  for  you,"  said  Aunt  Fanny, 
greatly  startled  by  his  noise,  and 
fairly  losing  her  temper  and  her  eter- 
nal melodious  inflexions. 

"  I  don't  want  to  be  tortured  all  the 
way  from  this  to  the  Hall,"  cried  Jo 
with  condoning  crossness.  "  Flattery  ! 
why,  don't  you  flatter  me?  you  and 
Aunt  Car  too ! "  And  then  Aunt 
Fanny  leaves  the  room,  followed  by 
Tempy  in  tears  trying  to  soothe  her. 

Poor  Tempy  !  tears  came  very  easily 
to  her  eyes  now. 

"I  don't  know  what  has  come  to 
Jo  and  Tempy,"  said  Miss  Bolsover, 
exasperated  on  her  return.  "  The  in- 
fluence she  has  gained  over  them  is 
most  painful,  and  scarcely  to  be 
believed." 

"  Ha  !  petticoat  influence,"  says  Mr. 
Bolsover  rashly  ;  "  we  all  know  what 
that  is — a  very  powerful  thing;  I  my- 
self could  imagine  it  difficult  to  resist 
Susanna  at  times."  .  .  . 

Miss  Bolsover  goes  into  a  peal  of 
silvery  laughter.  "  Another  victim  ! 
I  told  you  so,  Caroline  ;  another  of  her 
victims." 

"I  don't  know  about  that,"  says 
Mrs.  Bolsover,  speaking  to  herself,  in 
her  odd  mumbling  way.  "  Victims, 
victims ;  Fanny  has  had  plenty  of 
victims  in  her  days,  now  she  is  too 
old  and  too  fat  to  charm  people  any 
more." 

"  H'm,  h'm  !  A-h'm,  my  dear  !  "  says 
Frederick  with  warning  signs. 

So  Miss  Bolsover  fortunately  kept 
away,  indignant  almost  beyond  words 
or  expression.  Mr.  Bolsover  did  not 
come  very  often,  but  when  he  appeared 
it  was  generally  with  a  chastened  look, 
which  suggested  vicarious  suffering. 

Then  things  settled  clown  in  their 


Mrs.  Dymond. 


177 


new  state ;  Charlie  returned  no  more 
to  Bolsover,  Jo  went  back  to  college ; 
seasons  passed  on  their  course,  winter 
followed  the  autumn.  It  was  a  cold 
and  bitter  season.  Tempy  and  her 
stepmother  kept  indoors  and  by  the 
warm  fires,  while  the  winds  whistled 
shrill  and  the  snow  fell  upon  the  sur- 
rounding fells  and  moors.  But  Phraisie, 
a  frolicsome  little  breath  of  comfort 
and  new  hope  would  come  flying  to 
their  arms,  and  when  the  winter  was 
gone  and  the  soft  spring  came,  piercing 
the  frozen  ground,  Jo,  returning  home 
for  the  Easter  vacation,  found  Miky  and 
Dermy  also  established  for  their  holi- 
days at  Crowbeck,  and  Susy,  'in  some 
perplexity  as  to  what  she  should  do 
with  them  and  how  they  were  to  be 
conveyed  home  to  their  mother.  It 
was  Josselin  who  suggested  something 
which  every  one  agreed  to  then  and 
there  without  discussion.  They  all 
wanted  change  of  scene,  he  said ;  they 
all  shrank  from  London  and  from 
Wimpole  Street.  "  You  would  like 
to  see  your  mother,  wouldn't  you,  Mrs. 
Dymond  ? "  said  he.  "  Why  cannot 
we  take  the  boys  over."  Even  Tempy 
brightened  up  and  approved  of  the 
suggestion. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

AT  A  WINDOW. 

ONE  night,  as  if  by  magic,  the  whole 
party  found  itself  neatly  packed  away 
in  a  little  omnibus  at  Paris,  coming 
from  the  Northern  Station,  where  Mrs. 
Marney  had  met  her  boys,  and  carried 
them  off  home  to  Neuilly  in  joyful 
triumph. 

The  rest  of  the  party  were  mean- 
while jogging  deliberately  over  the 
stones  to  the  hotel,  Phraisie  asleep  in 
her  mother's  arms.  Wilkins  was 
buried  beneath  the  parcels  and  shawls 
and  umbrellas  which  well-bred  people 
always  carry  wherever  they  go. 

Jo  and  Tempy,  with  their  heads  out 
of  the  windows,  were  exclaiming, 
while  the  shops  jolted  past,  and  people 

No.  309.— VOL.  LIT. 


and  lights  and  public  buildings  ablaze, 
followed  by  black  spaces  crossed  with 
lines  of  lamps.  Finally,  the  omnibus 
turned  into  a  narrow  street  out  of 
a  wider  thoroughfare.  How  familiar 
the  echo  of  the  wheels  between  the 
high  houses  sounded  to  Susy's  ears ! 

More  lights  flash ;  the  omnibus  stops; 
the  landlord  and  landlady  appear  in 
the  doorway,  the  newly-arrived  com- 
pany is  officiously  escorted  and  assisted 
up  the  narrow  staircase  to  its  apart- 
ments ;  the  cloth  is  laid,  the  candles 
are  lighted  ;  Phraisie's  room  and  Susy's 
room  are  on  either  side  of  the  sitting- 
room  ;  Jo  and  Tempy  find  themselves 
established  across  the  landing,  with 
tall  windows  shaded  by  muslin  blinds 
and  red  curtains,  and  all  the  echoes 
of  Paris  without. 

The  hotel  had  been  recommended  by 
Madame   du  Pare  as  quiet  and  con- 
venient.    Their   apartments   were   on 
the    third    floor,    small    enough    and 
shabby  enough  compared  to  the  splen- 
dour  of    Crowbeck   Place ;   but   Mrs. 
Dymond  suddenly  felt  as  if  she  should 
like  nothing  so  well  as  to  spend  all 
that  remained  to  her  of  her  life  in  this 
little  noisy  place.     She  had  seen  her 
little  Phraisie  laid  snug  and  peaceful 
in  her  bed  ;  she  had  unpacked  some  of 
the  many  bags  and  parcels  (how  many 
more   she  had  to  unpack  of  different 
shapes  and  sizes  than  when   she  had 
first  come    to  Paris    some  four  years 
ago !).     Her   own  bed  was  in  a  cur- 
tained  alcove,   with  griffin   claws   to 
hang  the  curtains  to ;  a  grey  marble 
table  stood  in  the  centre  of  the  room  ; 
the  prints  on  the  walls  were  of  Napo- 
leon, and  Poniatowski  in  Polish  boots 
and  a  blue  helmet ;  the  walls  were  of 
faded    red,    shabby   even    by   candle- 
light.     Susanna  thought  the  place  a 
little  paradise.     Shabbiness  is  as  much 
of   a   treat   to  people    overdone    with 
luxury  as  a  silk  gown  is  to  a  little 
Cinderella  out  of  the  ashes. 

Susy  opened  her  casement  wide  and 
leant  out,  gazing  straight  down  the 
dark  precipice  of  walls  and  windows 
beneath  her  own  with  the  sense  of 
new  breath  and  life  which  most  people 

N 


178 


Mrs.  Dymond. 


feel  when  they  breathe  the  pleasant 
foreign  air. 

With  a  breath  of  relief  she  leant  out 
farther  and  farther,  looking  up  and 
down  the  chattering,  half -lighted  street, 
at  the  people  passing  by,  so  indifferent 
and  unconscious  of  her  existence,  at 
the  lamps  radiating  from  the  broad 
boulevard  beyond.  There  was  some 
heap  of  shadowy  blackness  at  the 
other  end  of  the  street,  but  Susy  had 
to  wait  till  morning  light  to  realise 
that  the  black  shadow  was  that  of 
the  church  of  St.  Roch. 

"  Susy,  Susy,  come  to  supper,"  cries 
Tempy  from  the  next  room,  where  she 
and  Josselin  are  already  hungrily  es- 
tablished, and  beginning  to  help  the 
fishes  and  fried  potatoes  by  the  light 
of  the  two  tall  tapers. 

Very  early  next  morning  Susanna 
woke  again,  for  she  had  not  closed  her 
window  all  the  night,  and  the  sun  was 
shining  in  with  dazzling  rays.  All 
the  world's  voice  seemed  calling  up  to 
her  from  the  street  below ;  water, 
fruit,  flowers,  old  clothes,  were  being 
proclaimed  with  different  intonations. 
Now  by  the  bright  daylight,  as  she 
leant  against  the  wooden  bar,  she 
could  see  into  the  stone  depths  below 
on  either  side  of  the  narrow  street 
and  the  tall  houses  rising  with  their 
many  balconies  and  shutters.  The 
Rue  du  Dauphin  is  a  sort  of  sunshine 
trap  leading  to  the  Tuileries  gardens, 
all  festive  with  spring  behind  the  rail- 
ing and  set  with  orange  trees,  beyond 
which  the  glittering  mansard  roofs 
and  pinnacles  of  the  old  palace,  where 
the  Henries  and  Louises  ruled  so  long, 
to  be  followed  by  the  Napoleons.  At 
the  other  end  of  the  street  the  church 
of  St.  Roch  was  standing  in  the  early 
shadow  still,  like  some  huge  -mountain 
with  flaming  peaks.  Already  its  doors 
were  swinging,  and  people  were  ascend- 
ing and  descending  the  great  flights 
of  steps ;  the  bells  were  tolling,  the 
clocks  were  chiming,  the  people  going 
in  and  coming  out  to  their  work  again  ; 
the  old  women  were  sitting  huddled, 
with  their  cloaks  and  their  foot- 
warmers,  at  the  church  doors,  with 


chaplets  and  religious  newspapers  to 
sell  \  the  carts  and  omnibuses  had 
long  since  been  rolling ;  the  inde- 
scribably gay  and  busy  chorus  reached 
the  travellers  in  their  high  lodging. 

The  little  party  could  scarcely  tear 
itself  away  from  the  windows  through 
which  so  much  was  to  be  seen  and 
heard.  Mrs.  Marney  had  promised  to 
come  to  Susy,  for  Marney  was  start- 
ing off  on  some  one  of  his  expeditions, 
and  she  meant  to  join  her  at  the 
hotel  with  the  boys.  Josselin  went 
out,  but  Susy  and  Tempy,  with  Phraisie 
between  them,  absorbed  in  the  con- 
templation of  another  little  girl  at 
play  on  a  balcony  opposite,  spent  their 
first  morning  looking  out  of  window. 
As  the  day  went  on  the  company  be- 
came more  and  more  varied ;  they 
watched  the  Frenchwomen  floating  by, 
walking  with  quick  and  pretty  steps 
and  with  neat  black  skirts,  leading 
children  drolly  attired,  elaborate  and 
bedizened,  and  well-mannered.  "  Mam- 
ma, look  at  the  funny  boy,"  says 
Phraisie,  pointing  to  a  little  fellow 
with  an  enormous  collar  covered  with 
anchors  and  emblems,  who  was  ad- 
vancing up  the  street  with  a  dignified 
and  monkey-like  bearing.  The  coun- 
try nurses  also  go  by  with  their 
bambinos  and  long  cloaks  and  cap 
ribbons  ;  coachmen  jog  past  with  their 
white  oil-cloth  hats;  a  gendarme  passes, 
cocked  hat,  epaulettes,  white  gloves  and 
all,  arm-in-arm  with  his  wife ;  finally, 
up  come  Dermy  and  Mikey  at  a  trot. 
Susy,  seeing  the  little  boys  down  be- 
low, followed  by  her  mother,  who  had 
stopped  to  speak  to  somebody  in  the 
street,  went  to  the  door  and  looked 
over  the  stairs,  as  people  do  who  are 
on  a  holiday  with  time  to  look  out  for 
one  another.  Mrs.  Marney  came  toil- 
ing up  the  winding  staircase,  breathless, 
but  still  conversing. 

"  Do  come  up.  Come  up,  I  tell 
you,"  Susy  heard  her  say.  "  My 
daughter  will  like  to  see  you,  and 
we  can  arrange  our  plans." 

She  heard  the  little  boys  also  join- 
ing hospitably  from  below  :  "  M.  Max, 
do — do  come ;  you  shall  not  go,"  from 


Mrs.  Dymond. 


179 


Dermy  ;  and  then  Mrs.  Marney,  look- 
ing up,  sees  Mrs.  Dymond  on  the 
landing,  and  calls — 

"  Here   we   are,  Susanna ;    we   are 
bringing  Max  du  Pare  to  see  you." 

Susanna  retreated  gently  and  rather 
shyly  into  the  dignified  safeguard  of 
her  own  room,  whither  they  all  fol- 
lowed her,  chattering  and  clattering 
up  the  wooden  staircase.  They  brought 
with  them  Du  Pare,  who  had  not  meant 
to  come  in,  but  who  could  not  help 
himself,  for  Mrs.  Marney  went  ahead 
announcing  him,  while  one  boy  held 
firm  by  his  coat  tails,  and  the  other 
by  his  hand.  Susy,  willing  to  please 
her  mother,  and  to  show  her  guest 
that  she  was  not  unmindful  of  all  his 
kindness  to  her  family,  came  forward 
in  her  crape  and  blackness  with  her 
handout.  DuParc,  who  was  shy  and 
French,  bowed  very  low  without  no- 
ticing the  friendly  gesture  and  the 
outstretched  hand,  and  then  Susy 
seemed  to  remember  suddenly  how 
stiffly  he  had  always  met  her  ad- 
vances. She  blushed,  withdrew,  and 
turned  shy  in  an  instant,  and  the 
young  man  saw  with  surprise  that  the 
colour  was  rising  in  her  pale  cheeks. 
He  had  imagined  her  belonging  to 
another  world  and  phase  of  life  far 
distant  from  his  own  simple  estate, 
and  absolutely  indifferent  to  his  pre- 
sence or  absence.  Was  it  possible 
that  such  blushes  sometimes  flashed 
out  of  marble  statues — that  such  looks 
sometimes  brighten  and  then  die  away, 
when  the  gods  come  in  contact  with 
mortal  beings  ? 

The  little  party  started  forth  that 
morning,  as  so  many  have  done  before 
and  since,  with  open  eyes  for  the  new 
sights  and  men  and  manners  —  Jo, 
Tempy,  Susanna  by  her  mother,  and 
the  two  boys  walking  on  either  side 
of  Du  Pare,  who  was  on  his  way  to 
a  bookseller's  in  the  Rue  du  Bac. 
What  a  walk  it  was  across  the  gar- 
dens by  the  great  Place  of  the  Car- 
rousel, with  its  triumphal  mythology  ; 
then  by  the  quais  and  the  noble 
chain  of  palaces  they  reach  the  river, 
and  so  cross  the  bridge  to  the  Quai 


Voltaire,  where  Mrs.  Marney  had 
some  mysterious  business  to  transact 
for  Marney  at  a  furniture  dealer's.  It 
began  with  some  discussion  on  the 
door-step,  it  had  then  to  be  carried  on 
in  private  into  the  dimmer  recesses  of 
the  store  among  the  bloated  chairs,  the 
gilt  and  ornamented  legs  of  the  Capet 
dynasty,  and  the  prim,  slim,  stinted 
graces  of  the  early  Napoleonic  times. 
Whatever  it  was  (Susy  would  not  ask 
what  it  was),  the  discussion  took  a  long 
and  confidentially  explosive  turn,  but 
the  young  folks  waiting  outside  upon  the 
quai  were  in  no  hurry.  They  watched 
the  river  and  the  steamers  and  the 
crowds  upon  the  quai,  where  the  lime- 
trees  were  coming  into  leaf — where 
shops  were  in  full  flower,  and  the  many 
twinkling  windows  were  full  of  varied 
hues  and  shapes.  Curious,  wonderful, 
century-old  stores  of  goods,  scattered 
from  the  past,  lined  these  streets  and 
shop  fronts.  Looking-glasses  reflecting 
the  blouses  and  the  white  caps  passing 
by  in  the  place  of  courtly  splendours, 
silent  music  in  tattered  covers,  time- 
less clocks,  flower-pots  empty  of  flowers, 
uncut  books,  fans  which  had  been  lying 
asleep  for  a  hundred  years  still  ready 
at  a  touch  to  start  into  fluttering  life, 
wreaths  of  lovely  old  lace,  there  were 
wonders  galore  to  amuse  the  country 
ladies.  Susy  looked  with  longing  eyes 
at  the  delicate  festoons  and  ivory-look- 
ing heaps.  The  Mechlin,  with  its  light 
sprays  flowering  on  soft  net,  care- 
lessly thrown  into  a  china  bowl ;  the 
point  d'Alencon,  like  jeweller's  work, 
chased  upon  the  delicate  honeycomb, 
devised  by  the  human  bees,  who  had 
worked  at  it  year  after  year.  Perhaps 
some  florid  scroll  from  Italy  would  be 
hanging  from  a  rusty  nail,  with  care- 
ful pattern  travelling  from  one  tendril 
to  another. 

"  What  lovely  lace  !  "  cried  Susanna. 
"  Look,  Tempy,  at  the  shells  upon  it ; 
how  exquisite  they  are  !  " 

"  Shall  I  ask  the  price  for  you  ?  " 
says  Tempy,  instantly  bursting  into 
the  low  shop  with  its  dark  panes, 
where  an  old  Rembrandt-like  woman 
sits  keeping  watch.  "  Combien  ? " 


180 


Mrs.  Dymond. 


cries  Tempy,  in  her  confident  British 
tones. 

"  Four  hundred  francs  !  " 
"  Bocoo  tro  !  "  cries  the  young  lady, 
dashing    out   again    into    the   warm 
sunshine. 

"  Did  you  ever  hear  of  such  extor- 
tion?" cries  Tempy,  whose  experience 
of  lace  does  not  reach  very  much 
beyond  her  tuckers. 

"It  is  a  great  deal  of  money,"  says 
Susanna. 

"  Quite  out  of  the  question,  Sus- 
anna," cries  Tempy,  decidedly,  and 
her  stepmother  blushed  a  little  at  the 
rebuke. 

Sometimes  Tempy's  voice  sounds  so 
like  the  colonel's  that  Susy  could  al- 
most imagine  he  was  there  to  control 
her  still. 

"  Why  is  it  quite  out  of  the  ques- 
tion ?  "  says  Jo,  stopping  short ;  "  six- 
teen pounds  won't  ruin  the  family 
altogether.  What  did  your  new 
habit  cost,  Tempy  ?  " 

"  A  habit ! "  says  Tempy,  with  a 
laugh,  "  that  is  something  one  really 
cares  to  have ;  but  Sunanna  will  not 
care  to  wear  lace  again,  Josselin." 

"  Aunt  Fanny  is  all  over  lace,  and 
stuffed  birds,  and  things,"  says  Jo. 

"  She  is  not  a  widow,"  said  Tempy, 
gravely.  "  Jo,  you  should  remember 
before  you  say  such  things." 

Mrs.  Marney  came  out  of  her  shop 
at  that  minute,  and  Max  du  Pare,  who 
seemed  only  to  have  waited  for  her 
return,  took  leave  of  the  party.  They 
asked  him  to  come  again.  He  hesi- 
tated, and  suddenly  said,  yes  he  would 
come,  and  he  walked  away  with  a 
swinging  step  along  the  quay.  They 
saw  him  disappearing  under  the  lime- 
trees,  looking  across  the  river  as  he 
went  along. 

CHAPTER  XVIII. 

INCENSE   AND    VIOLETS. 

Du  PARC  came,  shyly  at  first,  because 
they  had  asked  him  to  do  so,  but  very 
soon  he  got  into  the  habit  of  coming 
as  a  matter  of  course.  The  English 
ladies  were  not  used  to  Paris  and  its 


ways.  Du  Pare  acted  as  their  guide 
and  leader,  thanks  to  whom  they  en- 
joyed many  a  pleasant  expedition  and 
sight  of  the  old  city,  many  an  amus- 
ing experience.  They  had  one  other 
acquaintance,  a  Mr.  Bagginal,  at  the 
Embassy,  who  was  from  their  own 
country  and  glad  to  be  of  use  to  them  ; 
but  Max  knew  more  of  Paris  and  of 
its  aspects  than  the  young  attache,  who 
moved  in  fashionable  and  restricted 
circles,  and  brought  invitations,  and 
callers,  and  bouquets,  but  who  was  of 
little  use  as  a  cicerone. 

How  delightful  is  the  dinning  sound 
of  a  melodious  church  bell  going  in 
the  early  morning  sunshine ;  it  comes 
floating  into  the  room  and  seems  to 
be  a  part  of  the  very  morning  and  of 
its  joy,  a  hint  of  other  things  to 
heighten  the  feast  of  life. 

"  Well,"  says  Mrs.  Marney,  who  has 
just  come  in  as  usual  with  her  boys 
and  her  friend  Du  Pare,  "  what  are 
we  going  to  do  ?  " 

An  exclamation  from  Tempy,  who 
is  still  leaning  from  the  window, 
replies  to  this  pertinent  question. 

"Come  here!  What  is  this?"  she  cries. 

All  along  the  Rue  du  Dauphin,  from 
every  quarter  people  are  assembling  in 
crowds  that  gather  thicker  every  mo- 
ment— youthful  white  figures  led  by 
parents  and  relations  in  their  Sunday 
clothes,  boys  in  shiny  shoes  and  white 
trousers,  girls  dressed  like  brides. 

"  It  is  the  premierecommunion," 
says  Mrs.  Marney  all  in  one  word. 
"  Susy,  you  should  take  them  to  see 
it.  Let  Wilkins  go  too,  dear,  and  I 
will  mind  Phraisie." 

Phraisie  thought  herself  quite  old 
enough  for  any  amount  of  sight-seeing, 
but  she  was  never  happier  than  when 
alone  with  her  grandmother,  and  she 
made  no  objection. 

"  But  all  of  us  in  this  crowd, 
mamma  1 "  said  Susy,  doubtfully. 

"Max  will  take  the  boys.  Won't 
you,  Max,  like  a  good  fellow  ? "  cries 
Mrs.  Marney,  determined  that  every- 
body shall  see  everything  that  is  to  be 
seen  anywhere  ;  and  so  the  party,  after 
some  further  demur,  starts  off. 


Mrs.  Dymond. 


181 


Max  goes  first  with  the  boys,  then 
come  Susy  and  Tempy  in  their  black 
dresses ;  then  follows  Jo,  with  his 
hands  in  his  pockets.  He  wears  a 
Scotch  cap,  a  rough,  cut-away  coat,  a 
pair  of  knickerbockers,  less  commonly 
worn  in  those  days  than  they  are 
now.  The  tidy  French  people  turn 
to  stare  at  him,  ejaculate  "Anglais  !  " 
They  also  look  at  Susy  with  more 
respectfully-admiring  eyes.  Old  St. 
Roch  had  prepared  a  welcoming  bene- 
diction for  them  all,  heretics  and 
Catholics  alike,  that  morning.  The 
centre  aisle  was  full  of  a  white  snow- 
storm of  muslin  figures.  The  church 
was  crowded  from  end  to  end ;  the 
altars  were  lighted,  the  candles  were 
burning,  hundreds  and  hundreds  of 
heads  were  bent  in  childish  adoration, 
the  little  restless  snowy  figures  swayed 
and  tossed  their  white  veils.  The 
chorister  boys  were  clustering  round 
about  the  altars,  the  priests  were  pass- 
ing up  and  down  the  middle  of  the 
church.  The  old  abbe,  in  his  silver 
and  embroidered  shining  dress,  leant 
from  the  pulpit  and  seemed  to  be  call- 
ing a  blessing  upon  the  eager  con- 
gregation. By  the  high  altar  stood 
the  cure  of  the  Madeleine,  a  noble 
looking  figure,  also  in  splendid  robes. 
The  sisters  and  nuns  who  had  had 
the  teaching  of  so  many  of  the  chil- 
dren were  keeping  guard  over  their 
flock  from  beneath  their  bent  white 
coiffes  as  they  knelt.  The  priests  beat 
time,  processions  come  swaying  from 
one  chapel  and  another  bearing  virgin 
and  saints  on  satin  with  golden  fringes. 
The  great  organ  strikes  up,  and  all 
the  children's  voices  break  out  into 
a  shrill  sweet  morning  hymn,  as  the 
whole  dazzling  tide  sweeps  in  proces- 
sion towards  the  high  altar,  carrying 
its  thousand  lights  and  emblematic 
candles,  and  followed  by  crowding 
parents,  friends,  sightseers.  Then  after 
a  pause  another  discourse  begins  in 
sing-song  from  another  pulpit.  A  monk, 
in  his  Benedictine  dress,  stands  up  to 
address  the  assembled  congregation. 
His  words  are  full  of  affectionate 
warnings,  exhortations,  incitements  to 


religious  life  in  the  midst  of  the  world 
and  its  temptations.  He  raises  his 
worn  hands  as  he  appeals  to  his  lis- 
teners— to  the  pale  motionless  sisters, 
the  rosy  awe-struck  children.  It 
struck  one  man  present  strangely  and 
sadly  to  hear  these  passionate  warn- 
ings from  those  who  had  not  lived, 
to  those  whose  life  was  not  yet  begun. 
He  looked  round  at  the  sea  of  faces,  at 
the  blooming  company  of  youthful 
postulants,  at  the  nuns  who  stood  with 
bent  coiffes  and  folded  hands  by  the 
column  where  he  was  standing.  Poor 
souls  !  what  hearts  had  they  wounded, 
what  unfair  advantages  had  they 
grasped  from  the  world  ?  What  had 
all  this  to  do  with  them?  .  .  .  And 
a  sudden  revolt  rose  in  his  mind,  an 
indignant  outcry  against  the  creed 
which  superadded  these  cruel  mortifi- 
cations and  sufferings  to  the  stresses 
and  starvation  of  daily  life,  where  the 
poor  day  by  day  are  expiating  the  ease 
of  the  rich.  He  thought  of  Caron's 
teaching,  of  his  wider  horizons,  some 
strange  impatience  came  over  him, 
he  would  wait  no  longer  in  this  at- 
mosphere of  artificial  light  and  smoke ; 
the  incense  stifled  him ;  he  had  an 
odd  feeling  that  if  he  stayed  he  should 
find  himself  standing  up  protesting 
against  the  golden  pulpit.  What  was 
that  written  up  on  the  wall,  Mene,  mene  ? 
Was  the  church  feasting  in  pomp  while 
multitudes  were  dying  of  hunger  and 
ignorance  ]  There  stood  his  English 
friends  in  a  shy  group,  the  beautiful 
young  mother  with  eyes  full  of  tears, 
the  young  lady  with  an  odd  scowling 
expression ;  let  them  look  on ;  how 
could  they  know  the  meaning  of  it  all, 
or  realise  the  commonest  truths  of  life  ? 
Du  Pare  repeated  to  himself,  "  May 
they  never  know."  "  Go  to  your  sister," 
he  said,  suddenly,  to  the  boys,  "  I  will 
wait  outside." 

Susy  saw  Du  Pare  go ;  she  was  not 
surprised ;  but  she  was  glad  neverthe- 
less to  find  him  still  standing  in  the 
doorway  when  she  came  away  followed 
by  her  little  court.  Her  eyes  were 
dazzled,  her  ears  ringing  with  the 
music  and  the  voices  of  the  people  :  the 


Mrs.  Dymond. 


great  clouds  of  incense,  the  thousand 
lights  of  the  tapers,  all  intoxicated 
and  excited  her.  Her  heart  beat, 'she 
looked  up  with  almost  childish  delight. 
Du  Pare  looked  grave,  impenetrable, 
very  handsome  as  he  stood  in  the 
shadow  of  the  arch.  As  Susy  turned 
to  Tempy,  who  was  following,  she 
wondered  to  find  her  cold,  with  a  look 
of  something  which  was  almost  disgust 
in  her  face.  Good  old  Wilkins  herself 
could  not  have  seemed  more  scandalised 
by  "them  popes  and  virgins,"  as  she 
called  them.  Jo  followed,  he  had 
been  well  amused,  admiring  and  scru- 
tinising the  ceremony  from  a  more 
artistic  and  dilettante  point  of  view  ; 
now  he  was  staring  at  the  church,  at 
the  people,  at  the  crowds  in  the  street. 
Susanna  stood  for  a  moment  on  the 
steps  looking  out.  Not  long  after- 
wards she  remembered  this  minute, 
so  strangely  to  be  repeated  by  a  grim 
freak  of  chance.  Here  were  peaceful 
crowds  in  a  fanciful  excitement  and 
ecstasy,  in  a  rapture  of  white  muslin 
and  candlelight,  shaken  by  the  echoing 
organ-sounds.  The  next  time  she  stood 
there,  she  was  watching  these  same 
people  fighting  for  their  lives,  flying 
from  death — worshippers  at  another 
shrine,  fiercer,  more  terrible,  and  yet 
not  less  remorseless  in  its  expiations 
and  demands. 

"  Here  you  are  ! "  said  Du  Pare, 
with  a  sort  of  impatient  cheerfulness. 
"  Well,  now  you  have  seen  the  great 
ceremony  and  the  abb6  and  his  eleven 
hundred  virgins.  They  call  him  1'Abbe 
des  Demoiselles  in  the  Quartier." 

"  Why  did  you  go  away  2 "  Susy 
asked. 

"  I  cannot  stand  it — the  smell  of  in- 
cense always  disagrees  with  me.  You, 
madame,  look  as  if  you  did  'not  mind 
being  half  suffocated;  but  you  will 
like  the  lilacs  down  in  the  gardens 
better  still." 

"It  seemed  to  me  very  beautiful," 
said  Susy,  with  dancing  eyes.  "  My 
daughter  here  disapproves  of  it  as  much 
as  you  do.  It  seemed  all  so  wonder- 
ful to  me — so  beautiful,  so  full  of 
interest." 


Ternpy  looked  daggers.  She  had  a 
vague  idea  Susanna  was  going  over  to 
the  Roman  Catholic  persuasion,  that 
Du  Pare  was  a  Jesuit  pretending 
indifference,  that  the  whole  thing  was 
a  plot  got  up  to  influence  and  persuade 
her  too-yielding,  too-persuadable  step- 
mother. She  too  came  down  step  by 
step  with  the  crowd,  following  the 
stream  of  people.  Some  seemed  still 
in  a  sort  of  dream,  some,  on  the  con- 
trary, wide  awake  and  most  keenly 
alive  to  the  dignity  of  the  moment, 
to  the  splendour  of  their  sons  in 
varnished  boots,  with  fringed  ribbons 
on  their  arms,  of  their  daughters  in 
white  muslin,  with  veils  and  white 
caps,  and  a  general  unction  of  new 
clothes  and  new  blessings.  And 
indeed  there  can  be  but  one  feeling 
when  the  boys  and  girls  at  the  outset 
of  life  come  up  one  by  one  with  beam- 
ing faces  to  ask  a  blessing  upon  their 
future  from  the  old  time-worn  bishop 
and  pastor,  whose  own  life  is  so  nearly 
at  an  end.  This  was  what  Susy  said 
as  they  walked  down  the  crowded 
street  which  led  to  the  Tuileries  gar- 
dens, when  Du  Pare  again  made  some 
bitter  joke.  "I  am  like  the  gamin, 
who  put  aside  the  faith  of  a  Pascal 
with  a  joke,"  said  du  Pare.  "  I'm 
afraid  it  is  no  use  talking  to  me." 

The  little  shops  were  bristling  with 
their  treasures,  the  people  were  stand- 
ing in  their  doorways  to  see  the 
company  disperse,  the  carts  and  carri- 
ages cumbering  the  road.  They 
passed  a  flower  cart  standing  in  a 
gutter  ;  a  country  woman  with  a  red 
handkerchief  on  her  head  was  chang- 
ing the  beautiful  bunches  of  fragrance 
into  halfpennies  and  pennies.  It  was 
another  version  of  the  old  lamps  for 
new.  Many  of  the  flowers  were 
delicate,  such  as  we  grow  with  elaborate 
care  in  greenhouses  and  hothouses — 
white  lilacs,  and  pink  carnations  with 
their  long  blue  stalks,  some  sort  of 
early  flowering  poppy,  pale  and 
feathery,  and  then  narcissus  and  roses 
in  heaps,  and  white  daisies  in  their 
modest  garb,  looking  as  if  they  too  had 
been  to  their  first  communion. 


Mrs.  Dymond. 


183 


The  violets  in  their  fragrant  heaps 
were  piled  together,  all  their  sweetness 
tied  with  a  wisp  of  straw.  Susanna 
stopped,  exclaiming,  but  Du  Pare 
hurried  her  on.  "  Pass  on,  pass  on 
Madame,"  he  said  almost  impatiently  ; 
"  you  are  stopping  the  way."  Again 
Tempy  drew  herself  up  with  a  look  of 
absolute  amazement  and  impatience ; 
what  did  this  man,  this  drawing- 
master,  mean  by  speaking  in  this  im- 
perious tone  to  her  stepmother  ?  She 
deliberately  stopped  and  began  to  ask 
the  price  of  the  flowers,  and  bought  a 
bunch  of  somewhat  faded  rosebuds 
which  the  flower  woman  thrust  into 
her  hand  ;  the  others  waited  while  she 
bargained,  not  that  she  cared  for 
pennies,  but  from  an  Englishwoman's 
sense  of  duty. 

"  Why  didn't  you  get  violets  ? "  said 
Susy  ;  "  they  seemed  so  sweet." 

A  minute  after  they  were  crossing 
the  Rue  de  Rivoli  to  the  side  gate  of 
the  Tuileries  gardens. 

"One  crosses  at  the  risk  of  one's 
life,"  said  Susanna,  smiling  and  turn- 
ing to  speak  to  Du  Pare, — but  he  was 
gone.  When  he  rejoined  them  a 
minute  after  at  the  iron  gate  he  was 
carrying  a  huge  bunch  of  the  sweet 
violets  Susanna  had  liked. 

"  I  ventured  also  to  add  some  lilies 
of  the  valley  ;  such  flowers  were  created 
for  you,"  he  said. 

There  was  something  indescribable 
in  his  tone  which  startled  her;  she 
looked  up,  she  saw  a  look  of  such 
bright  admiration,  such  pride  and 
homage  combined,  that  her  thanks 
suddenly  failed  her. 

"Violets  and  lilies,"  said  Tempy, 
wanting  to  say  something  to  break  the 
momentary  silence,  which  seemed  al- 
most significant ;  "  violets  are  not  so 
nice  as  roses  after  all." 

"Unhappy  France  has  heard  more 
than  enough-  of  them,  mademoiselle," 
said  Du  Pare,  recovering  himself 
quickly,  but  with  a  very  well-pleased 
expression  still  showing  in  his  dark 
eyes.  "  This  is  the  first  time  for  years 
I  have  cared  to  buy  any  of  them  ;  but 
to-day  they  have  seemed  to  me  em- 


blems of  peace  and  sweetness,  instead 
of  greed  and  wicked  rapacity." 

Susy  could  not  answer  all  this.  She, 
a  mother,  a  widow  who  should  have 
known  life,  to  be  silenced  suddenly, 
confused  like  a  very  school  girl,  it  was 
not  to  be  endured. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

ST.    DAMIAN    AND    OTHEES. 

ALL  their  time  was  not  given  to  Paris, 
delightful  as  Paris  was ;  it  was  a 
pleasure  to  escape  the  city  on  those 
glorious  spring  days.  Marney  was  still 
away,  and  Susy  and  her  children  often 
found  their  way  to  the  Villa  du  Pare, 
and  from  thence  to  the  Bois  de  Bou- 
logne or  the  outlying  country  places. 
Little  Phraisie  used  to  remain  with 
her  grandmother ;  the  others  used  to 
stroll  further  afield,  and  Du  Pare,  who 
so  rarely  left  his  work,  who  never 
allowed  himself  a  holiday,  now  seemed 
to  have  nothing  better  to  do  than  to 
escort  his  mother's  friend  and  her 
companions.  One  afternoon  he  took 
them  to  a  village  about  a  mile  off  ;  he 
led  the  way  with  his  big  stick  along 
the  high  road  for  a  time,  then  across 
a  dirty  field,  then  by  a  country  cross- 
road leading  to  a  village  not  far  from 
the  Seine.  There  was  an  old  church, 
one  of  the  very  oldest  in  the  neigh- 
bourhood, that  he  wanted  them  to  see. 
He  had  done  an  etching  of  it  for  the 
Beaux  Arts. 

The  lamp  was  burning  dimly  in  the 
little  church  before  the  high  altar, 
where  a  black  verger  stood  in  his 
robes.  There  was  a  silver  dove  hang- 
ing from  the  middle  of  the  roof,  and  a 
gilt  sun,  with  brassy  rays  like  an 
organ,  which  shone  upon  the  altar. 
Little  pictures,  bright  coloured,  mira- 
culous, covered  the  bare  walls  with 
representations  of  benevolent  marvels 
— heavenly  hands  and  protruding  arms 
interposing  from  the  clouds  to  pre- 
vent disaster  here  on  earth ;  runaway 
horses  arrested,  falling  houses  caught 
in  the  act.  There  was  a  huge  black 
crucifix  with  a  coloured  figure  of  Death 


184 


Mrs.  Dymond. 


—  a  somewhat  terrible  and  strik- 
ing reminder  to  the  living  of  the 
future  and  the  past.  More  cheerful 
tinselled  ornaments  were  piled  upon 
the  altar,  whose  fine  cloth  was  guarded 
by  a  chequered  linen  top.  The  wooden 
pulpit  was  painted  to  look  like  pre- 
cious veined  marble,  so  was  the  bat- 
tered old  confessional  with  the  thumb 
marks  of  the  penitents.  Outside  the 
little  church,  in  the  Place,  the  cocks 
and  hens  cackled,  becketed  in  the 
grass  ;  a  little  stream  ran  close  by  the 
opened  door  with  a  pleasant  wash  of 
water.  They  had  passed  the  cure's 
house  close  at  hand,  with  its  labur- 
nums, and  the  field  beyond  where  the 
linen  strips  were  bleaching,  and  the 
children  squatting  in  the  dust,  and  the 
man  with  the  wooden  shoes  and  the 
oilskin  hat  and  the  torn  blouse, 
breaking  flints  in  the  sunshine. 
Everything  outside  looked  hot  and 
bright  and  delicate  and  business-like, 
while  everything  inside  was  dark 
and  dreamily  fervent.  To  people  ac- 
customed from  childhood  to  Catholic 
chapels,  the  scent  of  the  lingering  in- 
cense seems  to  be  the  breath  of  the 
prayers  and  hymns  of  the  pious  who 
have  lingered  here  generation  after 
generation  on  their  way  from  the 
streets  and  the  sunshine  outside,  to 
the  quiet  churchyard  across  the  field. 

Max  looked  round  to-day  with 
friendly  eyes  at  his  old  playmates, 
St.  Cosmo  and  St.  Damian,  those  fa- 
vourite martyrs — at  St.  Dominic  in  his 
black  robe,  St.  Catharine  with  her 
pointing  finger,  St.  Barbara  with  her 
wheel,  good  St.  Ursula  with  a  de- 
tachment of  maidens,  standing  by 
the  well-remembered  sketch  of  the  Day 
of  Judgment,  where  six  or  seven  just 
persons  escorted  by  two  virtuous  little 
angels  were  being  trumpeted  up  to 
heaven,  while  over  a  dozen  wicked 
were  being  swallowed  then  and  there  by 
aVhuge  green  monster.  All  these  quaint 
familiar  things  hung  undisturbed  as 
they  had  hung  in  the  young  man's  re- 
collection for  the  quarter  of  a  century 
he  could  look  back  to.  The  bright 
silver  hearts  and  tokens,  the  tallow 


candles  peacefully  smoking  on  the 
triangle — all  meant  childhood  and 
familiar  faces  and  everyday  innocent 
life  to  him.  He  did  not  feel  here  in 
the  little  village  church  as  at  St.  Roch 
on  the  day  of  the  great  celebration. 
There  he  had  chafed  and  revolted. 
Tempy  herself  could  not  have  felt 
more  repelled  than  Max  du  Pare ;  but 
this  was  his  whole  childhood,  one  of 
his  simplest  and  most  intimate  asso- 
ciations. How  curiously  the  same 
emblems  affect  different  minds.  To 
Tempy  they  meant  terrors  and  super- 
stition ;  to  Jo  a  picturesque  and  cha- 
racteristic episode  of  foreign  travel ; 
and  to  Susanna  they  meant  something 
like  a  strange  dream  of  reality,  like  an 
image  of  all  that  was  in  her  heart  just 
then.  There  was  the  charm,  the  in- 
tense attraction  of  that  which  was  not 
and  must  never  be  her  creed  ;  and  also 
a  terror  of  that  remorseless  law  which 
spared  not,  which  accepted  martyrdom 
and  self-renunciation  as  the  very  be- 
ginning of  the  lesson  of  life — -of  that 
life  which  since  the  world  began  had 
been  crying  out  so  passionately  for  its 
own,  for  its  right  to  exist,  to  feel,  to 
be  free.  This  afternoon  Mrs.  Dymond 
seemed  to  have  caught  something  of 
du  Parc's  antagonistic  mood  on  that 
day  at  St.  Roch's ;  she  was  thinking 
how  these  pale  saints  had  turned  one 
by  one  from  the  sunshine  and  the 
storms  of  daily  life,  from  the  seasons 
in  their  course,  from  the  interests  and 
warm  fires  of  home,  to  a  far-away 
future,  of  which  these  ead  tapers, 
winking  and  smoking,  these  glittering 
silver  trinkets,  were  the  symbols  ;  they 
had  given  earnest  and  passionate 
prayers  in  the  place  of  love  and  living 
desires  and  the  longing  of  full  hearts  ; 
they  had  taken  pain  and  self-inflicted 
sufferings  in  place  of  the  natural  sub- 
mission and  experience  of  life,  and  the 
restraints  of  other's  rights  and  other's 
needs. 

"  I  can't  think  how  people  can 
endure  such  superstition,"  said  Tempy, 
flouncing  out  into  the  porch.  "  Come, 
Jo,  it  makes  me  sick,"  and  she  nearly 
tumbled  over  an  old  couple  who  had 


Mrs.  Dymond. 


185 


been  kneeling  in  the  shadow  of  the 
doorway. 

Susy  blushed  up,  as  she  often  did, 
for  Tempy's  brusquerie,  and  looked 
anxiously  at  Du  Pare,  who  had  caught 
the  young  lady  by  the  arm  as  she 
stumbled. 

Tempy  seemed  to  rouse  some  latent 
opposition  in  Max  du  Pare. 

"  Take  care,"  he  said  in  English  ; 
"  g°  gently>  and  don't  upset  those  who 
are  still  on  their  knees.  After  all 
there  are  not  many  people  left  upon 
their  knees  now,"  he  added  as  they 
came  out  together,  "  and  I  don't 
see  that  much  is  gained  by  having 
everybody  running  about  the  streets 
instead." 

"At  all  events  it  is  something 
gained  to  hear  people  speaking  the  real 
truth,  and  saying  only  what  they  really 
think,  as  we  do  in  our  churches,"  said 
Tempy,  with  one  of  her  stares. 

Du  Pare  made  her  a  low  bow. 

"  If  that  is  the  case,  mademoiselle, 
I  shall  certainly  come  over  to  England 
and  get  myself  admitted  into  your 
religion  by  a  reverend  with  a  white 
tie." 

Tempy  didn't  answer,  but  walked 
on. 

Jo  burst  out  laughing.  Susy  didn't 
laugh  ;  she  was  in  this  strange  state  of 
emotion,  excitement,  she  could  not 
laugh.  Something  had  come  to  her, 
something  which  in  all  her  life  she  had 
never  felt  as  now,  a  light  into  the 
morning,  a  tender  depth  in  the  even- 
ing sky,  a  meaning  to  the  commonest 
words  and  facts.  There  is  a  feeling 
which  comes  home  to  most  of  us  at 
one  time  or  another  ;  philosophers  try 
to  explain  it,  poets  to  write  it  down 
only,  musicians  can  make  it  into  music, 
it  is  like  a  horizon  to  the  present — a 
sense  of  the  suggestion  of  life  beyond  its 
actual  din  and  rough  shapings.  This 
feeling  gives  a  meaning  to  old  stones 
and  fluttering  rags,  to  the  heaps  and 
holes  on  the  surface  of  the  earth,  to 
the  sad  and  common  things  as  well  as 
to  those  which  are  brilliant  and  suc- 
cessful. Had  this  supreme  revelation 
come  to  Susanna,  now  1  or  was  it  only 


that  in  France  the  lights  are  brighter, 
the  aspects  of  life  more  delightful — 
that  with  the  sight  of  all  this  natural 
beauty  and  vivacity  some  new  spring 
of  her  life  had  been  touched  which 
irradiated  and  coloured  everything? 

But  it  was  not  France,  it  was  the 
poetry  of  to-day  and  the  remem- 
brance of  yesterday  which  softened 
her  sweet  looks,  which  touched  her 
glowing  cheek.  It  was  something 
which  Susy  did  not  know,  of  which 
she  had  never  guessed  at  until  now, 
widow  though  she  was,  mother  though 
she  was. 

Susanna  for  the  last  few  years  had 
been  so  accustomed  to  silence,  to  a  sort 
of  gentle  but  somewhat  condoning 
courtesy,  that  it  seemed  to  her  almost 
strange  to  be  specially  addressed  and 
considered. 

Tempy  could  not  understand  it 
either.  Once  or  twice  Susanna  met  the 
girl's  surprised  half  laughing,  half  dis- 
approving glance,  and  the  elder  woman 
would  blush  and  look  amused,  appeal- 
ing ;  she  seemed  to  be  asking  her  step- 
daughter's leave  to  be  brilliant  for 
once — to  answer  the  friendly  advances 
of  the  French  gentlemen  who  called 
with  red  ribbons,  and  the  French 
ladies  with  neatly-poised  bonnets.  One 
or  two  invitations  came  for  them 
through  Mr.  Bagginal.  Sometimes 
Susy,  animated,  forgetting,  would  look 
so  different,  so  handsome,  that  Tempy 
herself  was  taken  aback.  Mrs.  Dy- 
mond's  black  dignities  became  her — 
the  long  lappets  falling,  the  silken 
folds  so  soft,  so  thick,  that  moved  with 
her  as  she  moved.  She  had  dressed 
formerly  to  please  her  husband,  who, 
in  common  with  many  men,  hated 
black,  and  liked  to  see  his  wife  and 
his  daughter  in  a  cheerful  rainbow  of 
pink  and  green  and  blue  and  gilt 
buttons.  Now  that  she  was  a  widow 
she  wore  plain  long  dresses,  soft 
and  black,  suiting  her  condition  and 
becoming  to  her  sweet  and  graceful 
ways.  She  had  bought  herself  a  straw 
hat,  for  the  sun  was  burning  in  the 
avenues  of  Neuilly,  and  with  her 
round  hat  she  had  given  up  her 


186 


Mrs.  Dymond. 


widow's  cap.  A  less  experienced 
hand  than  Max  du  Pare  might  have 
wished  to  set  this  graceful  blackness 
down  for  ever  as  it  stood  on  the 
green  outside  the  little  chapel  that 
summer's  day.  The  children  were  still 
playing,  the  geese  were  coming  up  to 
be  fed,  the  dazzle  of  light  and  shade 
made  a  sweet  out-of-door  background 
to  the  lovely  light  and  shade  of 
Susy's  wistful  pale  face  as  she  stood 
facing  them  all,  and  looking  up  at 
the  carved  stone  front  of  the  shabby 
little  church. 

They  walked  home  slowly  two  by 
two.  Tempy,  who  had  not  yet  for- 
given Du  Pare  his  religion  or  his  bow, 
took  her  brother's  arm. 

Two  figures  that  were  hobbling 
along  the  path  a  little  way  in  front  of 
them,  stopped  their  halting  progress, 
and  turned  to  watch  the  youthful 
company  go  by.  They  were  forlorn 
and  worn  and  sad,  and  covered  with 
rags  and  dirt ;  the  woman  carried  a 
bundle  on  a  stick,  the  man  dragged  his 
steps  through  the  spring,  limping  as 
he  went. 

"  Yes,"  said  Max,  answering  Susy's 
look  of  pity,  "  one  is  happy  and  for- 
gets everything  else,  and  then  one 
meets  some  death's-head  like  this  to 
remind  one  of  the  fact.  Think  of  one 
man  keeping  all  that  for  himself,"  and 
he  pointed  back  to  a  flaming  villa  with 
pink  turrets  beyond  the  field,  "and 
another  reduced  to  such  shreds  of  life." 

"I  don't  think  people  in  England 
are  ever  quite  so  miserable,"  said 
Susy. 

"  You  think  not  1 "  said  Max.  "  I 
have  seen  people  quite  as  dirty,  quite 
as  wretched  in  London.  I  remem- 
ber. ..." 

Susy  wondered  why  he  '  stopped 
short.  Max  had  suddenly  remembered 
where  and  when  it  was  he  had  seen 
two  wretched  beggars  thrust  from  a 
carriage  door,  and  by  whom.  "  And 
in  Soho  near  where  you  lived,"  the 
young  man  continued  after  a  moment, 
speaking  in  a  somewhat  constrained 
voice  and  tone.  "  Any  night,  I  think, 
you  might  have  seen  people  as  sad  and 


wretched  as  these.  I  used  to  go  to  a 
street  in  that  quarter  for  my  dinner 
very  often,  and  while  I  dined  they 
walked  about  outside.  Once,"  he 
added  more  cheerfully,  as  another 
remembrance  came  into  his  mind,  "  I 
met  a  member  of  your  family,  madame, 
at  my  dining-place,  Monsieur  Charles 
Bolsover.  Poor  fellow,"  said  Max, 
returning  to  his  French,  "  I  hope  he 
is  in  happier  conditions  than  he  was 
then — lie  had  a  friend  whom  I  met 
afterwards.  He  seemed  in  a  doleful 
state." 

"  Were  you  there  on  that  dreadful 
occasion  ?  "  said  Susanna,  turning  pale. 
"  Oh  !  Monsieur  du  Pare,  he  had  been 
drinking  to  forget  his  trouble  1 " 

"  What,  madame,  even  you,"  said 
Max,  "  do  you  find  nothing  kinder  to 
say  of  the  poor  boy  ?  Drinking  !  He 
had  not  been  drinking  any  more  than 
I  had — he  was  ill,  he  was  in  a  fever 
for  a  week  afterwards.  I  used  to  go 
and  see  him  in  his  friend's  lodgings.  .  . 
They  told  me  the  story."  .  .  .  Max 
glanced  ahead  at  Tempy  laughing,  and 
twirling  her  parasol — "  Forgive  me," 
he  said,  "  I  am  meddling  with  what  is 
not  my  concern  !  " 

"  But  it  concerns  me,  Monsieur  du 
Pare,"  said  Susy,  trembling  very  much. 
"  It  concerns  me  very  very  nearly  ;  if 
Charlie  has  been  unjustly  accused — if 
he  was  ill,  poor  boy,  and  we  did  not 
know  it." 

"  It  is  a  fact,  madame,"  said  Max, 
dryly;  "if  you  were  to  ask  his  friend, 
the  Reverend  White,  he  will  tell  you 
the  same  thing  Your  nephew  is  not 
the  first  of  us  who  has  been  overcome 
by  an  affair  of  the  heart.  I  gathered 
from  him  that  your  .  .  .  that  you  dis- 
approved of  his  suit." 

"My  husband  was  afraid  to  trust 
his  daughter's  happiness  to  any  one  of 
whom  we  had  heard  so  much  that  was 
painful,"  said  Mrs.  Dymond  coldly, 
and  remembering  herself. 

Max  civilly  assented. 

"A  father  must  judge  best  for  his 
child,"  she  continued,  melting  as  he 
froze,  and  speaking  with  an  uncon- 
scious appeal  in  her  voice  and  her 


Mrs.  Di/mond 


187 


eyes.  Why  we,  s  it  that  she  felt  as  if 
Du  Fare's  opinion  mattered  so  much  ? 
She  could  not  bear  him  to  misjudge 
things  ;  to  think  any  one  cold,  or  hard. 

"  Of  course  you  have  to  consider 
what  is  best,"  said  the  young  man, 
softening  to  her  gentleness  ;  "  but  be- 
lieve me  that  is  not  a  bad  young  fellow. 
Poor  boy,  it  was  a  heart  of  gold.  I 
can  scarcely  imagine  the  young  lady 
having  inspired  such  a  devotion,"  he 
said,  for  a  moment  forgetting  the  near 
relationship  between  the  two  women ; 
"  but  to  me  she  seems  strangely  fortu- 
nate," 

"Ah!  You  don't  know  her,"  said 
Susy  eagerly ;  "  you  don't  know  how 
noble  she  is,  how  good,  how  lovable." 

"  What  would  you  have,  madame  1 " 
said  Du  Pare,  laughing.  "  Of  you  I 
am  not  afraid,  but  of  the  Miss  I  am 
in  terror,  and  she  detests  me  too.  Ask 
madame,  your  mother." 

They  had  come  to  the  gates  of  the 
villa  by  this ;  Phraisie  appeared  in  the 


doorway  with  madame  to  welcome 
them  back.  Mrs.  Marney's  loud  voice 
was  heard  calling  from  within.  Max 
was  not  over-pleased  to  see  a  visitor 
under  the  tree  waiting  the  ladies 
return.  It  was  their  north-country 
neighbour,  Mr.  Bagginal  from  the 
Embassy,  who  had  been  making  him- 
self agreeable  to  madame  in  the  mean- 
while. He  had  a  scheme  for  a  walk 
in  the  wood  at  St.  Cloud,  and  a  dinner. 
The  Court  was  there,  and  the  gardens 
closed,  but  the  young  man  with  some 
pride  produced  an  order  of  admission. 

"  Thank  you,  we  shall  like  it  very 
much  indeed,"  says  Tempy. 

Susy  looked  at  Du  Pare.  "Shall 
you  have  time  to  come,  too  ? "  she 
asked, 

"  Monsieur  Caron  is  in  the  studio 
waiting  for  you,  Max,"  said  his  mother; 
"  he  has  got  his  pocket  full  of  procla- 
mations, as  usual,"  and  without  an- 
swering Mrs.  Dymond,  Du  Pare  slowly 
turned  and  walked  into  the  studio. 


To  be  continued. 


188 


MARLBOKOTJGH. 


THE  old  town  of  Marlborough  and  the 
school  which  now  carries  its  name  into 
every  quarter  of  the  globe  are  unques- 
tionably under  great  mutual  obligations 
to  each  other.    The  former  has  to  thank 
the   latter  for  coming   to  the  rescue 
just  as  the  collapse  of  coaching  threat- 
ened  a  stagnation   that  would    have 
possibly  deepened  into  something  like 
actual  decay.     The  school  in  its  turn 
may   feel  that   the    crudeness   of   its 
youth  has  been  much  softened  by  the 
quaint  old  town  which,  unpolluted  by 
villa,  terrace  or  parade,  terminates  at 
its  gates — one  of  the  most  picturesque 
streets  in  England.     Mellowness,  too, 
was  supplied,  and  tradition  ready  to 
hand  in  the  very  walls  that  welcomed  its 
first  scholars  forty  years  ago  ;  while  the 
peculiar  freshness,  and  the  wild  freedom 
of  the  regions  which  divide  it  from  the 
outer  world  would  seem  as  if  they  were 
especially  made  for  the  development 
of  youthful  brain  and  youthful  muscle. 
But  where,  after  all  this,  the  reader 
may  remark,  is  Marlborough  ?    To  say 
that    it  lies   in   the   eastern    part   of 
Wiltshire,  just  north  of  the  line  that 
divides  the  southern  from  the  northern 
portion  of  the  county,  is  rather  geo- 
graphically accurate  than  suggestive 
to  the  general  reader.       Moreover,  I 
have  always  had  an  impression  that 
Wiltshire  as  a  county,  in  spite  of  its 
size  and  position,  and  in  spite  of  the 
Chronicles  of  Barset,  has  a  somewhat 
faint  hold  upon  the  public  mind.     As 
a  matter  of  fact,  however,  it  is  a  most 
characteristic  county.     There  are  deep 
lanes  in  Wiltshire,  it  is  true,  where 
the   violet   and   the   primrose     nestle 
round  the  roots    of    elms    that   later 
on  shut  out  the  summer  sun.     There 
are,    as    elsewhere,    heavy,  low-lying 
lands    where  big  crops    of    mangolds 
grow,  or   in   the  good  times  used  to 
grow,  and  where  steam  -  ploughs  and 


steam-harrows  wrestle  in  wet  seasons 
with  the  stubborn  clods  of  deep  clay 
soils.  There  are  pasture  lands,  too,  as 
fat  as  those  of  Cheshire,  broken  into 
small  areas  by  blooming  hedges  and 
rows  of  elms  as  symmetrical  as  those 
of  Warwickshire  ;  but  the  Wiltshire 
that  comes  to  the  mind  of  most  men, 
familiar  with  that  part  of  England, 
recalls  wilder  and  ruder  scenes  than 
these — a  country  rather  of  great  dis- 
tances and  of  swelling  downs  streaked 
with  the  white  lines  of  chalk  roads  that 
go  ever  rising  and  falling  till  they  dis- 
appear over  some  bleak  horizon.  A 
land  where  the  winds  riot  over  bleak 
uplands,  with  nothing  to  mark  their 
violence  but  the  whitening  leaves  of 
vast  turnip-fields  in  autumn,  and  no- 
thing to  break  their  force  but  here  and 
there  some  clump  of  tall  and  naked 
firs  that  roar  and  groan  as  if  in  pro- 
test of  their  inability  to  bend  their 
stiff  and  shattered  tops  to  the  gale  ;  a 
region  of  tinkling  sheep-bells  and  of 
wattled  hurdles;  of  stout  hares  that 
run  for  ever,  and  of  partridges  that 
ignore  all  conventional  limits  of  flight ; 
of  yokels  not  yet  wholly  "  unsmocked," 
whose  gait  and  accent  in  these  level- 
ling days  are  a  delight  to  see  and  hear, 
and  of  red-roofed  gabled  boroughs  that 
the  tide  of  progress  has  left  untouched, 
as  it  has  left  few  other  parts  of  acces- 
sible England  untouched,  to  stand  as 
monuments  of  a  time  gone  by.  Nor, 
in  recording  Wiltshire  memories,  either 
would  it  be  possible  to  forget  those 
huge  relics  of  a  prehistoric  age — those 
grass-grown  mounds  and  giant  stones 
that  lie  scattered  over  the  land  with  a 
thickness  that  has  no  parallel  else- 
where in  England.  Nor  yet  again 
would  the  picture  be  complete  if  we 
forgot  those  rich  green  valleys  that 
here  and  there  break  the  long  mono- 
tony of  down-land,  where  in  summer 


Marlborough. 


189 


time  the  perpetual  scent  of  hay-fields 
hangs  among  the  elms  that  shoot  up 
tall  from  the  alluvial  soil,  and  where 
clear,  willow-bordered  streams,  famous 
in  Waltonian  lore,  steal  down  from 
hamlet  to  hamlet  and  from  mill  to 
mill. 

It  is  in  one  of  these  green  oases  in 
the  very  heart  of  the  down-country 
that  Marlborough  lies.  To  put  it 
more  plainly  :  as  the  traveller  upon  the 
Great  Western  Railroad  approaches 
Swindon,  he  will  see  upon  his  left 
hand  a  long  bank  of  downs  bounding 
for  many  miles  the  southern  horizon. 
On  leaving  Swindon,  a  place  whose 
reputation  as  a  busy  workshop  is 
forgotten  in  its  wider  associations  of 
sandwiches  and  bath-buns,  this  high 
rampart  of  hills  will  be  seen  to  abandon 
the  course  of  the  railroad  and  to  trend 
away  to  the  south-west.  This  is  the 
high  step  by  which  the  Marlborough 
Downs  drop  into  the  valley  of  the 
Thames,  and  when  the  traveller's  eye 
lights  upon  a  solitary  clump  of  firs, 
crowning  what  seems  to  be  their 
loftiest  crest,  it  will  have  struck  a 
point  that  is  "within  measurable  dis- 
tance" of  the  town  itself;  for  that 
crest  of  pines  is  popularly  known  in 
Marlborough  as  the  "  six-mile  clump." 
The  face  of  the  down  once  scaled  at 
this  point,  a  two  hours'  walk  through 
a  wild  region,  haunted  only  by  sheep 
and  shepherds,  brings  you  to  that 
dip  in  the  hills  where,  on  the  banks 
of  the  Kennet,  the  ancient  borough 
stands. 

Marlborough,  from  its  isolated  posi- 
tion in  the  midst  of  a  thinly-peopled 
and  purely  agricultural  or  pastoral 
region,  has  been  long  in  emerging 
from  a  state,  so  far  as  railroads  go, 
of  total  inaccessibility  to  a  condition 
of  communications  that  is  at  least  of 
an  average  description. 

Twenty-five  years  ago,  and  twenty 
after  the  founding  of  the  school,  no 
railway  whistle  was  heard  within  a 
radius  of  a  dozen  miles.  In  those 
scarcely  remote  days,  all  travellers 
from  the  west,  and  most  of  those  from 
London,  found  themselves  on  the  plat- 


form of  Swindon  station,  with  thirteen 
miles  of  hilly  road  yet  between  them 
and  their  destination.  Here,  it  is 
true,  the  more  exclusive  passenger  of 
those  days  with  some  patience  and  per- 
severance might  procure  an  ancient 
fly  that,  for  a  consideration  commen- 
surate with  the  task,  would  undertake 
the  expedition.  To  the  initiated,  how- 
ever, there  was  known  to  be  an  element 
of  adventure  in  this  course  :  for,  if  the 
horses  and  the  vehicle  were  equal  to  the 
strain,  there  was  always  a  doubt  whe- 
ther the  moral  principles  of  the  driver 
were  proof  against  that  line  of  public 
houses  which  from  point  to  point 
almost  alone  lit  up  the  chilly  solitude 
of  his  way. 

There  was.  moreover,  if  memory  serves 
me  right,  a  traditional  dog-cart,  which 
many  a  rash,  unwary  traveller  lived  to 
curse,  as  with  the  fall  of  a  winter  night 
he  mounted  the  downs  and  faced  the 
bleakest  drive  insouthernEngland.  But 
whatMarlburian  of  that  epoch,  whether 
schoolboy  or  citizen,  is  there  who  does 
not  connect  it  with  one  immortal 
name?  Who  is  there  that  could  re- 
call that  period,  between  the  collapse 
of  coaching  and  the  tardy  advent  of 
the  steam-horse  upon  the  Marlborough 
Downs,  without  a  tear  of  tribute  for 
that  illustrious  worthy  who  for  so 
long  maintained  the  connection  be- 
tween the  ancient  borough  and  the 
outer  world. 

Historic  Marlborough,  as  we  shall 
presently  show,  commences  with  the 
name  of  King  John.  It  may  be  said 
to  terminate  with  that  of  "Jerry 
'Ammond,"  whose  purple-faced  lieu- 
tenant's "  Be  you  for  Maarlborough, 
zur1?"  has  cheered  many  a  lonely 
heart  gazing  helplessly  into  the  dark- 
ness from  the  railway  stations  of 
Swindon,  Hungerford,  or  Devizes. 

How  well  I  can  recall  the  venerable 
omnibus  that  painfully  but  regularly 
crawled  over  the  thirteen  hilly  miles 
to  Swindon  in  the  morning  and  back 
again  to  Marlborough  in  the  darkness 
of  the  night.  The  sensations  of  a  ride 
in  that  primeval  chariot  come  vividly 
back  to  me  from  a  time  in  life  when 


190 


Marlborough. 


hours  seemed    to   be  days   and  miles 
leagues.     How  hopeless  then  the  look 
of  the  distant  downs,  fast  settling  into 
the  gloom  of  a  winter's  night — thrice 
murky  perhaps  with  storms  of  driving 
rain.     .How  reassured  and  close  to  the 
goal  one  used  to  feel  for  a  deceptive 
moment  as  the  familiar  voice  and  ac- 
cents  beckoned    us,     "  This  way    for 
Maarlborough  ;    any  loogidge,    zur  ?  " 
How  hope  again  grew  cold,  and  the 
long  miles  in  anticipation  longer,  as 
the  lights  of  the  train  vanished  into 
the    darkness,    and    the    vehicles    for 
Swindon  town  disappeared,  one  after 
the    other,   with   their  loads  of   com- 
mercial travellers  intent  on  smoking 
suppers.     How  we  sat  and  sat  on  the 
well-worn  seats  of  the  omnibus,  kick- 
ing our  heels  upon  the  straw-strewn 
floor,  long  in  to  the  night  as  it  used 
to  seem,  till   the  sense  of   desertion, 
intensified  by  the  drear  beating  of  the 
rain  against  the  windows  and  occasional 
hollow  echoes  from  the  now  empty  sta- 
tion, was  terminated  by  the  advent  of 
the  "loogidge."  What  "Ohlawkeses!  " 
and   "  Lord  a'   mussys !  "   used  to  be 
forced   from   the   inevitable   old  lady 
passengers,  as  each  trunk  was  hurled 
on  to  the  roof  with  a  crash  upon  our 
very  crowns,  as  it  seemed,  that  might 
well    have   made   the    stoutest    heart 
quail.      And    when  that  fearful   per- 
formance was  over,  when  the  tarpaulin 
was  stretched  upon  the  towering  pile, 
and  we  were  congratulating  ourselves, 
or   one  another,  that   the   expedition 
was  in  the  act  of  setting  out — just  as 
our  hopes,  in  fact,  were  wrought  up 
to  the  highest  pitch  of  expectation — 
there  would  come  an  ominous  slam  of 
the  inn  door.     The  gin-laden  stream 
of  light  that  had  shone  upon  us  from 
that  festive  haunt  would  become  on  a 
sudden  quenched.     The  suspicion  that 
we  were  abandoned  by  our  crew  ripened 
into  a  certainty,  and  as  the  slow  mi- 
nutes dragged  on,  we  began  to  realise 
that  we  were  in  the  power  of  a  mono- 
polist to  whom  time,  at  this  end  of 
his  journey  at  any  rate,  was  of  little 
moment.    What  survivor  of  those  long 
night   rides  to  Marlborough  does  not 


recall  their  weary  details.  The  long 
drag  from  Swindon  town  to  the  sum- 
mit of  the  far-away  downs ;  the  slow 
transition  from  the  heavy,  grinding 
roads  of  the  valley  to  where  the  sticky 
chalk  highway  shone  white  in  our 
track  on  the  darkest  of  nights ;  the 
gradual  cessation  of  the  hedge-row 
trees  that  passed,  one  by  one,  in  end- 
less procession,  across  the  disc  of  our 
lanterns,  seen  glistening  with  rain- 
drops for  a  moment  and  then  vanishing 
into  the  gloom ;  the  final  tug  up  to 
the  crest  of  the  downs,  when  the  steam 
from  the  horses  floated  like  clouds  of 
smoke  across  the  lantern's  rays :  the 
groans  of  the  labouring  caravan  as  at 
last  it  lumbered  forward  with  an  energy 
all  too  brief  on  to  the  wild  plateau, 
where  no  tree  or  hedgerow  caught  our 
light,  and  no  roadside  house  but  some 
isolated  tavern,  where  the  mere  force 
of  habit  brought  the  steaming  horses  to 
an  invariable  halt.  What  spots  were 
those  wan-faced  houses  of  good  cheer 
upon  such  nights  as  these !  None  of  your 
fine  old  coaching  inns,  but  poor,  thatch- 
roofed,  weather-beaten  publics,  where 
melancholy  ploughmen  from  the  downs 
might  be  imagined  sadly  shaking  their 
heads  over  sugared  small  beer  and  the 
rate  of  wages,  on  Saturday  nights,  to  the 
music  of  the  storms  without.  On  such 
occasions  they  were  quite  capable  of 
suggesting  to  the  youthful  mind  more 
dismal  scenes  even  than  these  ;  for  as 
their  faded  sign-boards  swung  to  and 
fro  in  the  night  wind,  creaking  on 
rusty  hinges,  they  might  without  much 
effort  of  fancy  have  seemed  to  echo 
the  stifled  groans  of  some  entrapped 
wayfarer  with  the  knuckles  of  a  wicked 
landlord  at  his  throat. 

Not  that  the  average  inmates  of  the 
Swindon  "  bus "  were  disturbed  by 
such  fancies  as  these.  The  old  women 
prattled  in  the  dark  about  their  neigh- 
bours, and  the  solid  burghers,  return- 
ing from  Swindon  market,  crooned 
over  the  price  of  barley  and  of  ewes 
till  the  effects  of  the  day's  good  cheer 
gradually  lulled  them  into  still  more 
uninteresting  music.  The  last  crest 
was  surmounted,  the  old  shoe-drag  was 


Marlborough. 


191 


dropped  for  the  last  time  under  the 
wheel,  and  down  the  steep  street  into 
Marlborough  town  we  used  to  go  at 
a  speed  unprecedented,  straining  and 
creaking  and  rattling  past  the  lighted 
shops,  and  turning  the  sharp  corner 
into  the  High  Street  with  a  reck- 
lessness that  owes  something,  no 
doubt,  to  the  frequent  halts  upon  the 
road.  Such  was  the  approach  to  Marl- 
borough  in  the  year  of  grace  1860. 
The  last  coach  that  ran  along  the 
edge  of  the  Kennet  valley  from  Hun- 
gerford  to  Marlborough  and  on  to 
Devizes  and  Bath,  and  woke  the 
echoes  of  their  streets  with  its  cheery 
horn,  became  about  that  time,  if  I 
remember  right,  a  roosting-place  for 
fowls.  Four  years  later  Marlborough 
had  a  railway  of  its  own,  and  now  the 
traditions  of  the  road,  which  clung  to 
the  town  till  quite  lately,  have  been 
finally  destroyed  by  a  new  railway 
from  Swindon  to  Andover,  that  runs 
through  it. 

The  town  of  Marlborough  is  one  of 
those  quiet  old-world  spots  upon  which 
the  tide  of  modern  progress  has  made 
no  visible  impression.  Just  as  the  pure 
air  of  the  surrounding  country  is 
polluted  by  no  smoke  more  noisome 
than  that  of  a  steam  plough  or  a 
threshing  machine,  so  the  old  town 
itself  has  little  that  would  startle  the 
shade  of  a  Camden,  or  be  obvious  to 
the  first  gaze  of  a  Jacobin  Rip  van 
Winkle.  Nowhere,  it  always  seems  to 
me,  is  the  real  history  of  an  earlier 
England — the  history  of  the  people  as 
opposed  to  that  of  kings  and  courtiers 
so  eloquently  presented  as  in  the  bricks 
and  stones,  and  lanes  and  churchyards 
and  traditions  of  old  towns  such  as 
this — towns  which,  like  Marlborough, 
have  covered  almost  the  same  ground, 
and  contained  almost  the  same  popula- 
lation  for  generations.  The  historical 
interest  of  Marlborough,  however,  is 
by  no  means  merely  domestic,  while  its 
prehistoric  traditions  are  illustrious. 
Its  very  name,  one  of  the  earlier 
forms  of  which  was  Merlin-berge, 
justify  its  claim  to  connection  with 
the  great  enchanter,  more  especially 


as  the  huge  prehistoric  monuments  of 
the  immediate  neighbourhood  mark  it 
as  a  spot  of  most  supreme  importance 
in  those  misty  times  which  that  name 
recalls.  From  the  times  of  the  Norman 
conquest,  and  probably  even  long  before 
that,  a  castle  of  some  sort  stood  at  the 
end  of  the  town  in  the  grounds  now 
occupied  by  the  College.  In  the  reign 
of  Henry  I.  Marlborough  Castle  is 
first  mentioned  as  a  royal  residence, 
that  monarch  on  one  occasion  holding 
his  court  there.  In  the  Stephen  and 
Matilda  wars  Marlborough,  like  most  of 
the  West,  held  for  the  Queen,  and  was 
more  than  once  the  head-quarters  of 
her  armies.  After  this  the  castle 
became  a  favourite  dower  residence  of 
the  Plantagenet  queens.  In  1267 
Henry  III.  held  there  his  twenty- 
fourth  parliament,  and  enacted  the 
"  Statutes  of  Marleberge."  It  is  with 
the  reign  of  King  John,  however,  that 
the  present  site  of  Marlborough  is 
most  intimately  connected,  and  it  is 
his  name,  and  that  of  his  queen,  that 
are  the  most  prominent  upon  the 
earlier  pages  of  its  history.  A  hospital 
dedicated  to  St.  John  the  Baptist — 
transformed  in  the  time  of  Edward  VI. 
into  a  grammar-school  —  traces  its 
origin  to  this  reign.  A  formerly 
existing  priory  of  Gilbertine  canons, 
with  a  hospital  of  St.  Thomas  of 
Canterbury  dates  from  the  same  period, 
while  a  house  of  Carmelite  friars  was 
established  in  the  reign  of  Edward  II. 
It  was  at  Wolfhall  in  the  immediate 
neighbourhood  of  Marlborough  that 
Henry  VIII.  married  Jane  Seymour. 
Her  father  was  ranger  of  the  royal 
forest  of  Savernake  which  occupied 
then  a  large  slice  of  the  country  con- 
tiguous to  the  town.  To  Jane  Sey- 
mour's brother,  the  Protector  Somerset, 
was  afterwards  granted  the  whole  of 
the  forest,  and  the  Marlborough  pro- 
perty as  well.  A  small  principality 
was  then  established  with  Marlborough 
as  its  centre,  which  at  this  day  is  still 
owned  and  presided  over  by  a  repre- 
sentative of  the  old  Seymour  family, 
the  present  Marquis  of  Ailesbury.  The 
typical  English  squire,  has  little  place 


192 


Marlborough. 


in  the  annals  of  Marlborough.  Sug- 
gestive as  its  steep  gables  and  quiet  old 
streets  are  of  his  burly  form  we  should 
have  listened  generally,  I  think,  in  vain 
for  his  broad  jests  and  loud  laugh  in 
the  inn  parlours,  and  in  vain  for  the 
cry  of  his  hounds  upon  the  hills  around. 
Farmers  and  corn  factors,  lawyers  and 
traders,  doctors  and  divines  lie  by 
scores  in  the  long  disused  churchyards. 
Kings  and  queens,  great  nobles  and 
fine  ladies,  historic  figures  are  scat- 
tered plentifully  enough  all  through 
its  history,  but  the  social  gap  between 
has  never  been  filled.  The  connecting 
link  that  in  most  places  there  would 
have  been  between  the  great  house 
beyond  the  town  and  the  burghers 
within  it,  has  scarcely  had  an  exist- 
ence in  the  Marlborough  country. 
Marlborough,  in  short,  has  always  been 
without  what  people  are  pleased  to 
call  "  a  neighbourhood,"  and  for  many 
miles  upon  every  side  the  country 
— without  noteworthy  exceptions — 
still  belongs  to  the  representatives  of 
the  great  Protector. 

In  the  civil  war  the  "  men  of  Marie- 
berg  "  were  ferociously  roundhead,  and 
it  was  hotly  besieged  by  the  king's 
forces  whose  cannon  balls  to  this  day 
have  left  their  mark  on  its  church 
towers.  The  town  was  partially  burned 
during  this  siege,  but  a  few  years 
later  an  accidental  fire  swept  it  almost 
away.  "  Thus,"  concludes  a  local 
chronicler  of  the  time,  "  was  the  stately 
and  flourishing  town  of  Marleberge 
consumed  with  fire  on  a  sudden.  It 
would  make  a  heart  drop  tears  of 
blood  that  had  but  heard  the  doleful 
cryes  and  heavy  moanes  that  pass  be- 
tween men  and  their  wives,  parents, 
and  their  children."  In  the  days 
when  England  was  the  Australia  of 
Europe,  and  wool  was  its  principal 
export,  Marlborough,  doubtless,  as  the 
centre  of  a  famous  sheep  district  had 
no  difficulty  in  retaining  its  modest 
prosperity.  Later  on,  too,  when  the 
wealth  of  the  nation  increased,  and 
with  it  the  desire  and  facilities  for 
travel  it  became  a  famous  posting  and 
coaching  depot  on  the  great  highway 


which  connected  the  metropolis  with 
the  west.  There  are  plenty  of  people 
still  living  who  can  recall  the  stir  and 
bustle,  the  cracking  of  whips,  the 
rumbling  of  wheels,  and  the  notes  of 
coach  horns  that  all  day  long,  and 
night  too,  used  to  wake  the  echoes  of 
that  now  quiet  street. 

Marlborough  may  be  almost  said  to 
consist  of  that  one  broad  highway 
which  springing  from  the  College 
gates  upon  the  west  stretches  itself 
for  half  a  mile  towards  the  east  along 
the  banks  of  the  Kennet.  It  is  said 
to  be  the  widest  street  in  England. 
However  that  may  be,  the  large 
church  dedicated  to  S.  Peter  in  the 
fifteenth  century  which  stands  at  its 
western  end  leaves  ample  room  for  the 
traffic  of  a  country  town  ;to  pass  with- 
out inconvenience  on  either  side.  It  is 
not  only  the  breadth  of  the  Marl- 
borough  High  Street  that  at  once 
arrests  the  stranger's  attention,  but 
the  slope  upon  which  it  lies  is  so  steep 
that  rival  towns  who  register  perhaps 
a  few  more  quarters  of  barley  at  their 
weekly  markets,  but  are  a  trifle  jealous 
may  be  of  the  presence  of  the  school, 
are  wont  to  make  huge  jokes  at  the 
expense  of  the  famous  Marlborough 
highway.  The  people  of  Devizes,  for 
example,  are  wont  to  declare  that  a 
bicycle  is  the  only  machine  that  can 
be  driven  down  the  street  which  is  the 
pride  and  joy  of  their  neighbour  town 
without  a  risk  of  capsizing. 

Marlburians,  however,  may  regard 
such  facetiousness  with  complacency, 
as  they  stand  at  their  doors  and  look 
up  the  charming  old  street.  Upon  the 
upper  side  especially,  the  long  half- 
mile  of  gabled  houses  are  scarcely  two 
of  them  alike,  while  for  some  distance 
they  are  still  further  set  off  by  an  old 
"  pent  house,"  which  called  forth  the 
remarks  of  seventeenth-century  tra- 
vellers. There  is  nothing  behind  these 
two  long  rows  of  quaint  houses  that 
stand  facing  one  another,  so  far  apart, 
and  upon  such  different  levels.  The 
back  windows  of  the  one  look  on  to 
green  fields  that  trend  upwards  till 
they  melt  away  in  the  downs.  The 


Marlborough. 


193 


gardens  of  the  other  slope  down  to 
where  the  clear  slow  waters  of  the 
Kennet  wind  under  rustic  bridges  and 
rustling  poplar  trees. 

At  the  head  of  the  broad  street 
there  is  the  town-hall,  standing  in 
front  of  the  rugged  and  time-beaten 
church  tower  of  St.  Mary's.  At  its 
foot,  facing  the  former,  and  occupying 
the  same  central  position,  the  church 
of  St.  Peter  shoots  its  tall  tower 
heavenwards,  and  still  flings  the  notes 
of  the  curfew  on  winter  nights  far 
over  the  distant  downs. 

Here  at  the  foot  of  the  High  Street, 
beneath  this  tall  church  tower,  the 
town  of  Marlborough  comes  abruptly 
to  an  end.  Before  a  high  barrier  of 
iron  gates  the  close-built  street  sud- 
denly ceases,  and  parts  into  two 
country  roads,  leading  to  the  right 
and  left — to  Bath  and  the  Pewsey 
vale  respectively.  Stepping  through 
the  gates,  the  stranger  finds  himself 
amidst  that  curious  combination  of  the 
past  and  the  present — of  the  new  and 
the  old — which  to-day  represents  the 
flourishing  school  of  Marlborough. 

The  large  modern  building  that 
immediately  overlooks  the  town,  and 
first  arrests,  unfortunately,  the 
stranger's  gaze,  is  perhaps  an  object 
rather  of  affectionate  association  than 
of  architectural  pride  to  Marlburians. 
The  ivy,  it  is  true,  has  long  been 
desperately  struggling  to  hide  its 
homely  face,  and  a  row  of  tall  and 
venerable  lime  trees,  which  rustle  their 
leaves  above  the  roof,  do  much  to  atone 
for  its  artistic  failings.  Follow  the 
broad  gravel  walk,  however,  a  little 
further  on,  and  you  will  forget  and 
forgive  the  rash  erection  of  1843  in 
the  beautiful  old  mansion  of  Inigo 
Jones,  which  rises  before  you,  and 
constitutes  the  main  building  of  the 
school — ithe  nucleus  from  which  it 
sprang. 

It  is  not  the  tine  old  house  alone, 
with  its  time-mellowed  bricks,  its 
tiled  roofs,  its  big  stacks  of  chimneys 
and  wide  sunny  windows,  that  Marl- 
burians recall  with  fond  memory,  but 
the  scene  also  over  which  it  looks  : 

No.  309.— VOL.  LIT. 


the  soft  and  yielding  lawns ;  the 
quaint  yew-trees,  cut  generations  ago 
into  fantastic  shapes ;  the  noble  ter- 
race, the  mossy  banks,  and  the  tall 
groves  of  elm  and  lime,  noisy  with  the 
sound  of  countless  rooks;  the  mea- 
dows, fresh  and  green  the  summer 
long  with  the  waters  of  a  hundred 
rushing  rills  ;  the  old  mill  under  the 
trees,  and  the  lasher  where  the  Kennet 
churns  and  foams  with  ceaseless  sound 
over  the  heads  of  lusty  and  expectant 
trout ;  and  behind  all,  the  soft  swell 
of  the  overhanging  down,  with  its 
hazel  thickets,  dear  to  generations  of 
nutters;  with  its  honoured,  if  not 
ancient,  white  horse,  and  its  tinkle  of 
innumerable  sheep  bells. 

If  the  College  at  Marlborough  can 
lay  no  claim  to  an  academic  history 
such  as  that  of  Eton  or  Winchester,  it 
has  at  least  been  grafted  on  a  stem 
whose  roots  run  more  back  beyond  the 
reach  of  dim  tradition,  much  less  of 
history.  This  might  be  true,  indeed, 
and  yet  the  record  and  the  figures 
it  contains  might  be  so  insignificant 
and  obscure  as  to  fail  in  interest. 
Marlborough,  however,  from  the  pre- 
sent time  back  for  centuries,  generally 
keeps  touch,  in  some  shape,  with  the 
leading  event  and  the  noted  characters 
of  successive  periods.  The  only  ob- 
scurity into  which  it  sinks  is  the  ob- 
scurity that  experts  try  in  vain  to- 
pierce  as  they  stand  before  those  vast 
and  silent  monuments  that  mark  it  as 
a  metropolis  of  some  prehistoric  age. 

Rising  above  the  roof  of  the  western 
end  of  the  college,  and  so  close  that  it 
darkens  the  very  windows,  stands  a 
gigantic  tumulus.  With  the  exception 
of  its  fellow,  a  few  miles  up  the  Ken- 
net  valley,  this  huge  mysterious  mound 
has  no  equal  in  Europe.  Who  shall 
say  of  what  people — of  what  warriors 
— of  what  mysterious  rites  this  gi- 
gantic work  of  unknown  hands  stands 
as  a  silent  and  imperishable  witness  1 
Whether  a  vast  altar  of  Druidical 
sacrifice,  or  the  resting  place  of  some 
mighty  chief,  are  questions  for  the 
archaeologist  who  wanders  with  de- 
light through  this  corner  of  Wiltshire, 

0 


194 


Marlborough. 


so  incomparably  rich  in  prehistoric 
relics.  To  the  "  Arcadian  "  age  of  the 
early  Georges  the  Marlborough  mound 
owes  the  spiral  terraces  which  ascend 
its  grassy  sides,  and  probably  to  the 
same  period  the  trees,  which  now  give 
it  the  distant  appearance  of  a  wooded 
hill. 

These  earliest  monuments  of  man's 
dominion  are  more  enduring  than  the 
walls  of  masonry  which  heralded  in 
the  period  when  this  spot  first  appears 
upon  the  page  of  authentic  history. 
From  the  time  that  Marlborough 
Castle  is  first  mentioned,  soon  after 
the  Conquest,  figures  famous  in  history 
find  refuge  and  hold  state  within  its 
walls.  As  if,  too,  in  derisive  testimony 
to  the  change  of  human  fortunes,  a 
Norman  keep  towered  high  upon  the 
summit  of  the  British  mound,  and 
commanded  the  old  Roman  road  from 
Cunetio — three  miles  east  of  Marl- 
borough — to  Bath,  twenty-seven  miles 
to  the  westward.  Immediately  be- 
neath it  stood  the  royal  residence 
that  for  five  centuries  belonged  to 
the  crown,  and  for  two  was  the  fre- 
quent habitation  of  kings  and  queens. 
To  touch  upon  the  stirring  scenes  of 
sieges  and  of  battles — from  the  arrows 
of  the  Stephen  and  Matilda  wars,  to 
the  cannon  balls  of  Prince  Rupert — is 
not  here  possible ;  nor  perhaps  would 
such  details  be  interesting  to  other 
than  those  who  have  associations  with 
the  place  itself. 

Times  have  changed.  Where  once 
upon  a  time  a  Norman  dungeon  de- 
scended into  the  depths  where  lay 
perhaps  the  bones  of  British  chief- 
tains, the  exigencies  of  modern  needs 
have  placed  a  water  cistern.  Where 
the  moat  once  ran  between  rows  of 
fierce  warriors — a  long  pool  formed  by 
the  inducted  waters  of  the  Kennet — 
reflects  the  tall  limes  and  grassy  banks 
of  the  College  gardens,  and  in  summer 
days  resounds  with  the  splash  and 
shout  of  a  hundred  youthful  swimmers. 

Katherine  Parr  was  the  last  name 
that  connected  Marlborough  Castle  with 
the  reigning  house.  She  married  into 
the  Seymour  family,  who  then  were, 


and  whose  representatives  still  are,  the 
grand  seigneurs  of  Marlborough.  At 
this  period  the  castle,  as  a  fortified 
stronghold,  disappears  from  history. 
Leland,  visiting  Marlborough  in  1538, 
says,  "  There  is  a  ruin  of  a  great  castle 
hard  at  the  west  end  of  the  town, 
whereof  the  dungeon  tower  partly  yet 
standeth."  It  was  to  Wolf  Hall,  in 
the  neighbourhood  of  Marlborough,  I 
have  already  said,  that  Henry  VIII. 
— when  the  tower  guns  proclaimed  the 
death  of  Anne  Boleyn — rode  at  post 
haste  to  his  nuptials  with  Jane  Sey- 
mour. An  old  barn  is  still  in  exist- 
ence that  is  said  to  have  witnessed  the 
wedding  ceremonies  of  that  insatiable 
monarch. 

Wolf  Hall  stands  near  to  the  pre- 
sent station  of  Savernake,  between 
Hungerford  and  Devizes,  and  is  only 
separated  from  Marlborough  by  the 
wooded  dells  and  beech  avenues  of 
Savernake  forest. 

The  latter,  in  the  sixteenth  century, 
was  probably  twice  the  size  it  is  now — 
and  was  royal  property,  though  even 
to-day  it  is  sixteen  miles  in  circumfer- 
ance.  The  Seymours  of  Wolf  Hall  were 
then  comparatively  obscure.  They 
held,  before  the  King's  wedding,  the 
"  rangership  "  of  Savernake,  and  their 
horn  of  office  is  still  in  the  hands  of 
their  representatives,  the  Ailesbury 
family,  who  now  own  the  estate  which 
was  granted  in  the  reign  of  Edward 
VI.  to  the  Protector  Somerset,  the 
brother  of  the  queen.  In  the  reign 
of  Charles  II.,  Francis,  Lord  Seymour, 
received  that  monarch  in  the  stately 
mansion  already  alluded  to,  which  had 
been  erected  upon  the  ruins  of  the 
ancient  castle  by  Inigo  Jones.  Of  all 
its  Seymour  owners,  however,  none  are 
so  intimately  connected  with  its 
fortunes  as  the  well  known  Countess 
of  Hertford.  The  rural  charms  of  her 
seat  at  Marlborough  enraptured  to 
ecstasy  this  celebrated  lady,  who  was 
one  of  the  chief  exponents  of  the 
Arcadian  mania  that  raged  during  the 
beginning  of  the  eighteenth  century. 
Hither  came  courtiers  and  fine  ladies 
to  pose  as  Strephons  and  Chloes.  amid 


Marlborough. 


195 


the  green  paradise  where  the  famous 
Countess  held  her  court.  Hither,  too, 
came  poets  and  authors.  Dr.  Watts, 
Pope,  Thomson,  were  summoned  to  aid 
with  their  lyres  in  the  worship  of  this 
unequalled  Arcadia.  The  latter,  his 
biographers  tell  us,  took  more  pleasure 
in  carousing  with  his  lordship  than  in 
assisting  her  ladyship's  poetical  com- 
positions. That  he  had,  however,  his 
lucid  intervals  and  his  romantic  moods, 
may  be  inferred  from  the  fact  of  his 
poem  of  Spring  having  been  composed 
here.  "Here,"  says  that  poetical 
bon  vivant, 

"  Let  me  ascend 

Some  eminence,  Augusta,  in  thy  plains, 
And  see  the  country  far  diffused  around, 
One  boundless  blush,  one  white  empurpled 

shower 
Of  mingled  blossoms."  .  .  . 

In  bygone  days  a  stone  used  to  mark 
the  spot  upon  the  down  above  the 
College  where  the  poet  was  supposed  to 
have  sat  and  received  his  inspirations. 
It  was  during  this  period,  probably, 
that  the  wide  terraces  were  made,  and 
one  can  easily  picture  the  dainty  figures 
passing  up  and  down  upon  them,  or 
grouped  upon  the  velvety  banks,  in- 
dulging in  the  astounding  fiction  that 
they  were  Wiltshire  swains.  The  mill 
still  stands  silent  in  the  foreground, 
whose  dusty  occupant  stirred,  accord- 
ing to  her  letters,  the  Countess's 
Arcadian  emotions  to  their  very  depth 
a  century  and  a  half  ago.  The  sheep 
still  bleat  and  cluster  on  the  adjoin- 
ing hill  behind  their  shepherds  as 
they  did  when  these  aforesaid  tinsel 
shepherds  enacted  the  cant  of  their 
day  in  the  groves  below;  but  times 
have  changed.  The  white  lines  of  the 
ubiquitous  tennis  court  now  desecrate 
the  shadow-chequered  turf,  where  even 
twenty  years  ago  the  twang  of  the 
bow  and  the  click  of  the  bowl  used  to 
seem  so  much  more  in  keeping  with  the 
bygone  age,  whose  memory  the  aspect 
or  the  spot  so  eloquently  pleads.  The 
grottoes  and  the  spiral  walks  upon  the 
mound,  the  dark  shades  of  the  over- 
arching groves  are  the  haunt  no  longer 


of  impassioned  swains,  but  of  Marl- 
borough  prefects  intent  on  nothing  more 
romantic  than  scholarships  and  cricket 
scores. 

In  the  reign  of  the  second  George 
the  Marlborough  manor  house  passed 
through  the  female  line  of  the  Sey- 
mours into  the  Northumberland 
family.  Solitude  now  reigned  in  its 
panelled  halls,  and  money  from  dis- 
tant and  grudging  Percy  coffers  was 
required  to  arrest  dilapidations  that 
came  rather  of  neglect  than  age.  In 
1753  a  quaint  and  characteristic  adver- 
tisement announced  to  the  travelling 
public  that  the  stately  mansion  of 
Inigo  Jones  had  been  opened  as  an 
hostelry.  Thenceforward  for  nearly 
a  century  the  Castle  Inn  at  Marl- 
borough  was  the  favourite  halting 
place  between  London  and  the  west, 
and  during  the  latter  part  of  that 
period  was  one  of  the  most  celebrated 
and  best  managed  coaching  inns  in 
England. 

Travellers  must  indeed  have  been 
glad  to  exchange  the  chalky  dust  of 
the  Bath  road  for  the  refreshing 
shades  and  the  cool  oak  corridors  of 
the  old  Marlborough  house.  There 
are  scores  of  men  still  living  who  can 
recall  the  time  when  over  forty  coaches 
thundered  daily  down  the  now  quiet 
street  of  the  old  town — when  the 
echoes  of  one  horn  had  scarcely  died 
away  upon  the  London  road  when 
others  came  sounding  down  the  roads 
that  enter  the  town  at  its  western  end 
from  the  directions  of  Salisbury  and 
Bath. 

As  coaching  and  posting  gradually 
withered  before  the  inroads  of  the 
iron  horse,  the  future  of  the.  historic 
borough  began  to  look  very  blue  in- 
deed ;  and  when  the  Great  Western 
railway  left  Marlborough  far  to  the 
south  and  no  other  lines  seemed  to 
think  that  the  town  was  on  the  road 
to  anywhere,  certain  stagnation  and 
very  probable  decay  stared  its  people 
in  the  face. 

Most  happily  for  Marlborough  cer- 
tain philanthropic  gentlemen  in  London 
o  2 


196 


Marlborough. 


conceived  about  this  time  the  then 
novel  idea  of  founding  a  great  school 
that  should  give  an  economic  but  high 
class  education  to  the  sons  of  gentle- 
men and  of  clergymen  more  especially. 
The  idea  very  soon  took  practical 
shape.  The  deserted  Seymour  mansion 
and  the  now  lifeless  town  of  Marl- 
borough  stood  gazing  blankly  at  one 
another,  wondering  doubtless  what  in 
the  world  they  were  to  do  next.  Here 
the  founders  of  Marlborough  College 
saw  their  opportunity,  and  happily  for 
all  concerned  seized  upon  it.  But  alas ! 
the  Seymour  mansion  and  Castle  Inn, 
huge  as  it  was,  could  be  but  the 
nucleus  of  such  an  establishment  as 
these  well-meaning  founders  contem- 
plated, and  large  buildings  were  at 
once  and  hurriedly  erected  at  the  back 
and  on  the  town  side  of  the  old  house. 

Not  all  the  tender  associations  of 
nearly  half  a  century;  not  the  most  des- 
perate attempts  of  perennial  creepers 
or  the  frantic  endeavours  of  modern 
art  to  relieve  their  blank  walls  with 
oriel  windows ;  not  the  contiguous 
shade  of  the  venerable  limes  nor  the 
mellowing  neighbourhood  of  the  old 
mansion  house — nor  the  mossy  lawns, 
nor  the  clipped  yew  trees.  Alas ! 
not  all  these  modifying  influences  can 
make  even  the  most  patriotic  Marl- 
burians  blink  those  rash  creations  of 
the  early  founders.  The  exact  work- 
house that  supplied  a  model  for  the  one 
block,  or  the  particular  house  of  cor- 
rection which  inspired  the  designs  of 
the  other  has  ever  been  a  mystery. 
He  can  only  look  on  them  with  mingled 
feelings  of  personal  regard  and  vain 
regrets,  and  inwardly  hope  that  they 
may  with  even  greater  celerity  follow 
the  example  of  their  predecessor,  the 
vanished  Norman  keep  rather  than  of 
that  other  one — the  imperishable 
mound  of  the  Druids. 

August,  1843,  was  a  date  of  import- 
ance not  only  to  Marlborough,  for  I 
think  I  may  say  the  founding  of  that 
school  marked  the  commencement  of  a 
new  departure  in  English  higher  edu- 
cation. The  important  schools  of  that 


date  had  grown  from  old  foundations  ; 
but  now  there  was  about  to  commence 
an  era  of  ready-made  rivals,  of  which 
Marlborough  was  the  first.  Many  of 
these  have  swept  past  both  socially, 
numerically,  and  intellectually  all 
but  three  or  four  of  the  most  distin- 
tinguished  of  their  seniors,  and  forced 
some  of  these  even  to  reforms  that 
seemed  almost  humiliating  at  the  time 
to  their  admirers.  Rossall,  Wellington, 
Haileybury,  Malvern,  and  many  other 
now  prosperous  and  influential  schools, 
may  in  some  sort  regard  as  the  germ 
of  their  own  existence  that  August 
day,  forty-two  years  ago,  when  200 
boys  from  every  part  of  England 
crossed  the  Wiltshire  downs  and  took 
possession  of  the  old  halls  of  the  Sey- 
mours. 

It  is  not  my  purpose  to  enlarge  on 
that  decade  of  turbulence  and  misfor- 
tune by  which  Marlborough  bought 
her  experience,  or  to  dwell  on  the 
thorny,  untried  paths  through  which 
she  groped  in  the  dark  to  a  success 
that  gave  heart  unquestionably  to  a 
host  of  imitators,  and  that  I  think  I 
may  say  has  never  for  a  moment 
waned. 

Those  early  days  of  trial,  however, 
had  doubtless  their  good  uses,  and 
taught  their  lesson  not  to  Marlborough 
only,  but,  as  I  have  said,  to  her 
younger  rivals.  A  greater  contrast 
in  every  particular  between  the  past 
and  the  present  could  hardly  be  con- 
ceived. Indeed  the  survivor  of  those 
Spartan  days,  who  now  and  then  re- 
turns with  grizzled  hair  from  some 
distant  clime  to  look  upon  the  scene 
of  his  youthful  adventures,  is  apt  to 
gaze  with  as  much  scorn  as  bewilder- 
ment on  the  transformation  that  meets 
his  eye. 

The  Marlburian  of  '45  is  apt  to  be- 
little the  civilisation  of  '85,  as  the 
Calif ornian  "  forty-niner  "  deplores 
the  vanished  rowdyism  of  the  Pacific 
coast.  Whether  he  be  a  war-scarred 
colonel  or  a  respectable  incumbent  it 
is  noticed  that  he  generally  betrays  a 
species  of  pride  in  having  borne  a  part 


Marlborough. 


197 


in  an  epoch  of  public  school  life  that 
probably  -has  no  equal  for  lawlessness 
in  modern  academic  history.  He  is 
apt  to  look  with  a  feeling  something 
akin  to  contempt  on  the  law-abiding 
exemplary  young  man  who  constitutes 
his  remote  successor.  He  seems  not 
unfrequently  to  regard  with  some- 
thing like  regret  the  long  series  of 
boarding-houses  and  masters'  resi- 
dences that  stretch  up  the  valley  of 
the  Kennet,  and  the  tasteful  gardens, 
long  shorn  of  their  crudeness  tha,t 
cover  the  slopes  where  forty  years  ago 
he  used  to  poach  hares.  "  Those  were 
days,  sir,  in  which  young  fellows  were 
made  hardy,"  he  is  often  heard  to 
mutter,  while  his  eye  marks  with  evi- 
dent disapproval  the  flower-beds  that 
bloom  over  spots  in  the  court-yard 
that  in  his  day  were  sacred  to  dog- 
fights and  pistol  shooting.  He  even 
breathes  forth  a  sigh  of  real  regret  as 
he  looks  fondly  up  at  the  high  window- 
ledges  from  which  he  declares,  as  a 
small  boy  he  used  to  be  dangled  by 
ropes  on  winter  nights  in  the  "  brave 
days  of  old." 

Turning  once  more  to  the  town  and 
its  neighbourhood  one  remembers  that 
the  name  of  Marlborough  is  insepar- 
able from  the  great  forest  of  Savernake, 
whose  northern  limits  crown  the  hills 
immediately  above  the  town.  I  have 
already  mentioned  this  as  the  remnant 
of  the  old  royal  forest  granted  to  the 
Seymours  in  the  reign  of  Edward  VI. 
It  is,  however,  a  great  and  no  insigni- 
ficant remnant  covering  from  fifteen 
to  twenty  square  miles  of  ground. 
Grand  avenues  of  immense  beech-trees 
run  for  miles  this  way  and  that, 
crossed  by  green  drives  which  lead  the 
traveller  for  hours  through  what 
Monsieur  de  Lesseps  declared  to  be 
the  finest  forest  scenery  of  the  kind 
in  Europe. 

Some  half  a  dozen  miles  above  the 
town,  almost  at  the  head  of  the  Kennet 
valley,  stands  the  gigantic  tumulus  of 
Silbury — the  largest  in  Europe.  From 
its  summit  you  look  down  upon  what 
is  left  of  the  scarcely  less  wonderful 


temple  of  Avebury.  Before  the  once 
vast  proportions  of  this  ancient  shrine 
the  now  more  celebrated  monuments 
of  Stonehenge  (twenty  miles  distant) 
shrink  into  an  almost  insignificant 
place.  The  local  vandalism  of  the 
seventeenth  and  eighteenth  centuries, 
which  built  farm-houses  and  paved 
roads  with  these  gray  veterans  of  un- 
numbered years,  is  minutely  chronicled. 
The  process  by  which  the  vast  stones 
were  crumbled  by  fire  into  blocks  suit- 
able for  the  new  house  of  Farmer 
Green,  or  shivered  into  fragments  for 
the  new  road  to  Farmer  Browne's,  can 
be  read  in  detail  by  the  curious. 

This  whole  country,  indeed,  from 
Devizes  to  Marlborough,  and  fi'om 
Marlborough  to  the  fir-crowned  crests 
that  look  down  upon  the  Pewsey  vale, 
teems  with  imperishable  records  of  an 
unknown  age.  Silbury  and  Avebury 
are  but  the  centre  of  a  host  of  lesser 
satellites.  Turn  almost  where  you 
will  the  grass-grown  mounds  of  those 
mysterious  days  crown  the  summits 
of  the  lonely  hills,  and  grey  boulders 
clustered  or  piled  in  shapes  uncanny 
lend  terror  in  the  rustic  mind  to  many 
a  lonely  dell. 

It  is  hard  for  an  angler  to  say  fare- 
well to  the  banks  of  the  Kennet  with- 
out a  word  as  to  the  delights  of  that 
renowned  stream.  I  use  the  word 
"  renowned,"  of  course  in  reference  to 
initiated  brothers  of  the  angle  only. 
I  feel  that  I  have  already  given  a 
somewhat  formidable  list  of  possessions 
which  are  a  source  of  honest  pride  to 
the  people  of  Marlborough.  It  would 
never  do,  however,  to  forget  the  trout, 
for  the  Kennet  is  accredited  in  the  most 
august  angling  quarters  with  the  three 
largest  English  brook  trout  that  have 
been  placed  on  record — namely,  a  nine- 
teen and  two  seventeen  pounders.1 
That  such  leviathans  are  in  the  habit 
of  lurking  beneath  the  mill-dams,  by 
which  the  infant  Kennet  descends  by 
slow  degrees  from  the  hill  of  Silbury 
to  the  groves  of  Marlborough  is  not, 

1  Within  the  last  month  a  trout  of  16|  Ibs. 
has  teen  taken  in  the  Kennet. 


198 


Marlborough. 


I  need  hardly  say,  the  case.  As  a 
matter  of  fact,  however,  the  largest 
fish  in  a  river  celebrated  for  large  fish, 
haunt  these  rich  feeding  grounds  far 
up  among  the  downs.  But  these  four 
and  five  pounders  are  fat,  lazy,  and 
luxurious  fellows,  who  scorn  the  efforts 
of  the  greatest  expert  to  bring  them 
to  the  top  when  such  ample  provision 
lies  below.  It  is  immediately  below 
Marlborough — in  the  broader  waters — 
that  the  angler  who  is  privileged  to  do 
so  most  rejoices.  There  are  people 
who  cannot  separate  the  habitat  of  the 
trout  in  their  minds  from  the  neigh- 
bourhood of  beetling  crags  and  rushing 
torrents,  and  are  apt  to  speak  even 
with  contempt  of  the  finny  denizen  of 
more  homely  scenes.  The  former  sen- 
timent is  of  course  only  a  matter  of 
taste  and  habit.  The  latter  would  be 
returned  with  interest  by  your  Kennet 
trout  on  the  head  of  any  uninitiated 
gentleman  from  the  north  or  west, 
who  came  randomly  nicking  at  him 
with  a  cast  full  of  flies.  The  clear 
slow  stream  in  which  the  veteran  two 
pounder  lies  eying  the  surrounding 
landscape  with  eagle  glance,  is  a  differ- 
ent field  of  attack  from  the  whirling 
tail  of  a  mountain  pool  alive  with 
three  ouncers.  Let  the  surface  of  the 
stream  be  churned  into  mimic  waves 


by  the  western  breeze,  let  the 
willows' 

"  Whistling  lashes,  wrung 
By  the  wild  winds  of  gusty  spring," 

whiten  against  a  background  of  sun- 
less sky — then,  if  it  is  late  enough  in 
the  season,  almost  any  one  can  at  least 
hook  trout  upon  the  Kennet. 

But  in  the  still  summer  days,  when 
no  air  is  stirring,  or  only  light  puffs 
that  barely  shake  the  bulrushes ; 
when  the  sun  is  shining  bright,  and 
the  feeding  fish  can  be  seen  trailing 
their  long  length  above  the  streaming 
weeds  twenty  yards  away — then  it 
requires  something  more  than  a  slayer 
of  Devonshire  doyens  to  drop  a  sedge 
fly  again  and  again  lightly  above  that 
wily  fellow's  nose,  so  that  it  floats 
with  dry  wings  and  life-like  look 
across  his  vision.  And  if  he  should  be 
good  enough  to  accept  the  snare,  what 
a  five  minutes  ensues  !  what  a  leap- 
ing and  splashing  and  whizzing  of 
reels !  what  moments  of  breathless 
suspense,  as  desperate  rushes  for  banks 
of  weeds  or  roots  of  trees  have  to  be 
stopped  by  an  absolute  reliance  on  the 
strength  of  the  thin  gut !  what  triumph 
and  relief  as  at  last  he  measures  his 
bright  length  on  the  grass !  and  scales 
a  pound  and  three  quarters. 


A.  G.  BRADLEY. 


199 


INTERNATIONAL   CO-OPERATION   IN   SCANDINAVIA. 


"THERE  never  was  a  time,"  a  pessi- 
mist might  say,  "  in  which  the  so-called 
civilised  nations  of  Europe  were  more 
cynical  than  now  in  their  strivings  to- 
wards self-aggrandisement.  The  old 
political  doctrine  of  the  balance  of 
power  had  at  least  sometimes  the 
effect  of  a  principle  of  protection  to- 
wards the  weak.  The  eighteenth 
century  would  not  have  allowed  the 
tearing  asunder  of  little  Denmark  on 
so  false  a  pretence  that  the  jurists 
of  Prussia  afterwards  solemnly  pro- 
nounced their  sovereign  to  be  entitled 
to  Schleswig  -  Holstein,  because  the 
King  of  Denmark,  whom  he  had 
robbed  of  the  Duchies,  had  been  their 
rightful  owner.  The  snappings  and 
snarlings  of  the  so-called  great 
powers  over  sick  Turkey  are  as  those 
of  beasts  of  prey  over  a  wounded  ox 
or  camel.  Any  pretext  is  good  for 
Russia  towards  swallowing  up  a 
Central- Asian  Khanate  ;  or  for  France 
to  appropriate  Tunis,  or  Tonquin,  or 
Madagascar ;  whilst  Italy  will  yelp 
like  a  discontented  jackal  when 
mightier  claws  than  hers  carry  off 
the  prey  before  her  eyes.  And  look 
at  Africa  or  the  Pacific.  The  eigh- 
teenth century  stole  the  black  man 
from  his  country  ;  the  nineteenth 
steals  his  country  alike  from  black, 
brown,  and  yellow.  Was  there  any- 
thing ever  more  shameless  than  the 
scramble  which  we  have  just  witnessed 
between  a  few  European  powers  for 
every  foot  of  coast  which  the  African 
dared  yet  to  call  his  own?  unless  it 
be  that  Congo  Treaty,  by  which  a 
number  of  powers — all  but  one  pro- 
tectionist at  home — combine  to  force 
free- trade  on  poor  savages  ?  We  may 
pharisaically  flatter  ourselves  that  we 
are  better  than  our  neighbours.  But 
what  power  ever  displayed  such  in- 


sanity of  insolence  as  we  in  the  second 
Afghan  War?  In  breaking  up  the 
Zulu  monarchy  have  we  done  any- 
thing but  enlarge  the  sphere  of 
anarchy  in  South  Africa  1  Did  Russia 
or  France  ever  commit  such  folly  as 
Englishmen  when  the  loyal  Basutos 
were  driven  into  rebellion  and  crushed 
with  dynamite  for  the  sake  of  a  petty 
tax  1  Did  we  do  more  mischief  by 
seizing  the  Transvaal,  or  by  giving  it 
up  ?  Can  any  human  creature  under- 
stand what  we  have  done,  are  doing, 
or  are  about  to  do  in  Egypt  ?  What 
we  have  been  doing  in  the  Soudan — 
butchering  in  their  own  country  tribes 
whom  we  at  the  same  time  declared  to 
have  a  full  right  to  it ;  wasting  the 
precious  lives  of  our  own  countrymen 
for  a  purpose  which,  since  the  death 
of  Gordon,  was  altogether  spent  and 
gone  1 " 

"  E  pur  si  miiove,"  might  another 
answer.  "The  death-throes  of  the 
old  order  are  the  birth -throes  of 
the  new.  Side  by  side  with  all 
this  snatching  and  grabbing,  these 
no  doubt  cynical  and  shameless  out- 
bursts of  national  rapacity,  there  is 
at  the  same  time  a  growing  tendency 
among  the  nations  towards  concert  in 
matters  of  common  interest.  The  era 
of  separate  treaties  between  two  or 
three  states  for  offensive  or  defensive 
purposes  has  well-nigh  passed  away. 
The  era  of  Conventions  among  large 
numbers  of  states  for  the  settlement 
of  particular  details  of  national  life  is 
setting-in  more  and  more.  Look  at 
our  Postal  and  Telegraph  Conventions. 
Do  you  suppose  that  Aristotle,  with 
all  his  wisdom,  would  have  been  able 
even  to  conceive  of  such  a  thing  as 
that,  by  common  agreement  between 
nation  and  nation,  a  letter  should 
travel  safely,  regularly,  day  by  day, 


200 


International  Co-operation  in  Scandinavia. 


not   only  through  all  the   world   as 
known  to  him,  but  from  America,  a 
continent  which  he  had  never  heard 
of,  to  Japan,  islands  which   he   had 
heard  of  as  little  ?  or  yet  that  money 
should  be  paid  by  the  official  of  one 
country  on  the  direction  of  an  official, 
wholly  unknown   to   him   personally, 
in  another  country  thousands  of  miles 
away  ?      The    Monetary    Convention 
among  the  Latin  nations  is  no  less 
remarkable.     The  Congo  Conference, 
and  the  rules  laid  down  for  occupa- 
tion and  protectorates  in  Africa,  what- 
ever  the   natives   may   have   to    say 
against  them,  show  again  this  wonder- 
ful tendency  towards  European    con- 
cert.     The  late   Sanitary  Conference 
in  Rome  represents  another  attempt, 
though  not  apparently  a  very  success- 
ful one,  in  the  same  direction.     The 
International    Control    in    Egypt,  to 
whatever  extent   exercised,  and  how- 
ever little  we  may  nationally  relish 
it,   represents    another    step    out   of 
mere  self-willed  national  individualism. 
The  time  is  probably  not  far  distant 
when  the  nations  of  Europe  will  be 
compelled  in  self-defence  to  agree  upon 
common   measures    against   dynamite 
and  its  congeners.     Opportunity  may 
very  likely  be  taken  to  transform  the 
numberless    extradition    treaties    be- 
tween  state  and  state  into  a  general 
International    Convention.      The   De- 
claration of  Paris,   the  Geneva   Con- 
vention,   exhibit    the    sense    of    the 
necessity  of  concert  to  mitigate  war's 
horrors.       Switzerland     has     already 
taken  the  lead,  though  unsuccessfully 
as  yet,  in  proposing  an  International 
Convention  for  mitigating  the  evils  of 
the  social  warfare  of  competition  by 
fixing  the  hours  of  labour." 

And  now  from  Northern  Europe 
have  come  attempts  in  an  entirely 
new  direction  towards  what  may  be 
called  International  Co-operation,  in 
the  shape  of  a  "  draft  of  a  law  on 
registers  of  trades,  firms,  and  pro- 
curations, prepared  by  the  Danish- 
Swedish  -  Norwegian  Commission  "  x 

1  Udkast  til  lov  om  Handelsregistre,  Firma 
log  Prokura,  udarbeitet  of  de  Dansk-  Norsk- 


(composed  of  six  members,  two  from 
each  country)— -a  law,  be  it  understood, 
which,  with  occasional  agreed-upon 
modifications  to  suit  the  circumstances 
of  each  country,  is  proposed  to  be  put 
in  force  in  all  three.  It  is  not,  indeed, 
the  first  step  of  the  kind.  As  far 
back  as  1877,  a  Joint  Commission  was 
appointed  to  prepare  a  law  on  bills  of 
exchange  and  promissory  notes,  which 
became  law  in  all  three  kingdoms  in 
1880.  The  present  Commission  has 
already  (in  1882)  prepared  a  law  for 
the  common  protection  of  trade-marks 
in  the  three  kingdoms,  which  has  been 
enacted  in  Sweden  and  Norway,  but 
not  yet,  owing  to  political  dissensions, 
in  Denmark.  The  present  Report 
of  the  Commission,  dated  November 
22nd,  1884,  contains,  besides  the  pro- 
posed law  itself,  an  "Expose  de  Motifs" 
in  Danish  and  Swedish,  and  a  long 
appendix  containing  a  digest  of  the 
law  of  foreign  countries  on  the  sub- 
ject, prepared  by  the  Secretary  of  the 
Commission,  Mr.  V.  C.  Thomson,  a 
young  Danish  official,  who,  during  a 
visit  which  he  paid  to  this  country  in 
the  year  1883,  impressed  all  those 
who  met  him  with  a  sense  of  his 
marked  ability. 

Now,  let  it  be  observed,  that  this 
International  Scandinavian  Commis- 
sion has  pursued  and  carried  to  an 
end  its  peaceful  labours,  while  two 
out  of  the  three  nations  represented 
upon  it  were  being  subjected  to  the 
gravest  national  crises — whilst  the 
Norwegian  ministry  were  being  im- 
peached and  found  guilty,  and  during 
that  yet  pending  struggle  in  Denmark 
between  the  crown  and  the  Folksthing 
which  probably  nothing  but  the  per- 
sonal popularity  of  the  sovereign  has 
prevented  from  breaking  out  into 
open  violence.  Yet  whilst  either 
country  might  seem  on  the  edge  of 
revolution,  its  jurists  were  quietly 
carrying  on  a  work  which  essentially 


Svcnske  Kommitterede. — Forslag  till  lag  an- 
gaende  Handclsregister,  Firma  oeh  Procura, 
ittarbitadt  af  de  Damk- Norsk- Svenske  Komi- 
tcrade.  Stockholm.  1884. 


International  Co-operation  in  Scandinavia. 


201 


belongs  to  peace,  and  implies  trust 
in  the  mutual  amity  of  nations.1 

The  special  provisions  of  the  draft 
law  (or,  as  we  should  call  it,  Bill — 
though  there  appears  to  be  no  doubt 
that  it  will  pass  into  law  in  all  three 
countries)  are  of  course  of  much  less 
importance  than  the  fact  of  its  pre- 
paration, although  the  subject  is  one 
of  interest  both  to  traders  and  to 
students  of  comparative  jurisprudence. 

That  registration  of  firms,  which  in 
England  has  been  so  long  called  for 
and  never  yet  carried  out,  our  Scandi- 
navian cousins  are  prepared  to  esta- 
blish by  common  agreement  in  all  their 
three  kingdoms.  The  Bill  provides  in 
the  first  place  for  the  establishment  of 
district  registers,  for  the  insertion  by 
the  registrar  in  certain  newspapers  of 
a  notice  of  all  matters  entered  on  the 
register,  and  the  publication  of  a 
general  abstract  and  annual  index. 
Every  person  or  partnership  carrying 
on  certain  specified  trades  (which  ap- 
pear, however,  only  to  exclude  com- 
panies established  by  statute,  mere 
handicrafts,  and  those  who  carry  on 
a  trade  subject  to  laws  answering  to 
our  Workshop  and  Factory  Acts)  is 
bound  to  send  to  the  registrar  con- 
cerned a  memorandum,  specifying  the 
name  or  firm  in  which  the  trade  is 
carried  on.  It  is,  very  wisely,  pro- 
vided that  the  designation  of  any 
single  trader  should  contain  his  own 
name,  and  should  not  contain  anything 
leading  to  the  inference  that  the  con- 
cern is  that  of  a  partnership.  The 
firm  of  a  partnership  proper,  again, 
must  contain  the  name  or  names  of 
one  or  more  partners  responsible  for 
the  liabilities,  with  something  added, 
in  the  event  of  there  being  partners 
with  limited  liability,  to  indicate  the 
existence  of  such.  Lastly,  the  desig- 
nation of  a  company  with  limited 
liability  should  either  contain  no  in- 

1  There  has  been,  indeed,  also  appointed  a 
third  Joint  Commission  with  the  more  ambi- 
tious object  of  preparing  a  Scandinavian 
Maritime  Code,  but  it  does  not  appear  to  have 
made  much  progress  as  yet  in  fulfilling  its 
task. 


dividual  name,  or  if  it  contains  such, 
must  contain  something  to  indicate 
that  it  is  a  limited  company  (a  few 
exceptions  are  allowed  for  the  sake 
of  preserving  old-established  names). 
Any  person,  partnership,  or  company 
whose  name  has  been  duly  registered 
acquires  the  exclusive  right  to  the 
same,  within  certain  local  limits.  The 
form  of  the  memorandum  and  its  con- 
tents are  next  fixed,  for  the  different 
cases  of  a  single  trader,  a  partnership 
proper,  a  commandite  partnership,  a 
company  limited  by  shares,  or  any 
other  company  with  limited  liability ; 
the  object  being  that  the  register 
should  show  clearly  who  is  responsible 
for  the  engagements  of  the  concern, 
and  in  what  manner,  and  who  is  en- 
titled to  enter  into  contracts.  Notice 
is  required  to  be  sent  to  the  registrar 
of  any  change  taking  place  in  any 
of  the  particulars  registered.  Every 
person  authorised  to  sign  for  a  firm 
or  concern  is  required  either  to  sign 
on  the  register  the  official  trade  signa- 
ture, or  to  send  it  to  the  registrar, 
duly  verified.  The  register  is  made 
primd  facie  notice  to  all  persons  of  all 
matters  entered  in  it,  subject  to  proof 
that  a  person  could  not  possibly  be 
cognisant  of  the  particular  matter. 
The  Bill  then  goes  on  to  regulate  com- 
mercial procurations,  and  to  provide 
for  registering  such,  as  well  as  all 
revocations  of  the  same.  Fees  and 
matters  of  procedure  are  also  regu- 
lated. 

"  A  very  small  matter  after  all," 
some  may  say.  To  which  it  may  be  an- 
swered in  the  first  instance  :  "  Nothing 
is  really  small,  from  a  European  point 
of  view,  which  tends  to  bring  closer 
together  the  Scandinavian  kingdoms. 
A  strong,  united — not  unified — Scan- 
dinavia, holding  with  a  firm  hand  the 
keys  of  the  Baltic,  penning  up  Russia, 
capable  of  holding  Germany  in  check, 
would  be  one  of  the  most  powerful 
factors  in  the  maintenance  of  Euro- 
pean peace  ;  more  especially  if  at  some 
future  time  the  '  rising  nationality  ' 
of  Finland  were  able  to  enter  the 
union  on  equal  terms.  What  can  do 


202 


International  Co-operation  in  Scandinavia. 


more  to  promote  such  union  than  unity 
of  legislation,  worked  out  by  the  com- 
mon deliberations  of  the  representa- 
tives of  all  three  kingdoms  ?  " 

But  it  is  chiefly  as  an  example  that 
the  work  of  the  Scandinavian  jurists 
is  of  promise  to  the  world.  There  is 
not  the  least  reason  why  what  has 
been  done  in  the  three  northern  king- 
doms should  not  be  done  in  any  three 
other  states,  or  any  thirty.  Viewing 
law  as  the  rules  under  which  mankind 
do  their  work,  it  cannot  but  be  con- 
ducive to  the  intercourse  of  men  among 
themselves  that  trade  should  be  car- 
ried on  under  the  same  rules  in  as 
many  countries  as  possible.  The  joint 
legislation  in  Scandinavia  on  some 
particular  matters  of  trade  thus  leads 
up  to  the  idea  of  a  common  com- 
mercial code,  not  only  for  Scandinavia, 
but  for  civilised  nations  generally. 
And  the  idea  of  such  a  code  is  already 
in  the  air.  It  is  to  be  seriously  dis- 
cussed this  very  autumn,  at  an  inter- 
ternational  congress  to  be  held  in 
Brussels.  Should  an  agreement  be 
come  to  and  bear  fruit,  the  time  may 
be  when  the  year  1885  will  be  re- 
membered, not  for  any  slaughter  of 
men  that  may  have  taken  place  in  the 
Soudan  or  in  Central  Asia,  in  Tonquin, 
Madagascar,  Central  America — not  for 
the  downfall  of  a  French  Cabinet  or  an 
English  Redistribution  of  Seats  Act, 
but  for  the  birth  of  an  international 
commercial  code.  And  with  the  story 
of  that  birth,  the  fact  of  joint  legis- 
lation in  Scandinavia  on  certain  points 
of  commercial  law  will  be  inseparably 
connected. 

"  As  if  trade,"  growls  again  the 
pessimist,  "were  itself  anything  but 
warfare  between  trader  and  trader  ! 
As  if  half,  at  least,  of  all  the  actual 
wars  that  have  ever  taken  place  had 
not  had  trade  either  for  an  open  pre- 
text, or  for  a  secret  cause  !  As  if  the 
most  commercial  nations,  from  the  days 
of  Carthage  downwards,  had  not  been 
engaged  in  the  most  bloody  wars  !  As 
if  the  vast  development  of  modern 
commerce  had  not  been  accompanied 
pari  passu — nay,  outstripped,  by  the 


development  of  the  means  of  destroy- 
ing human  life  !  Much  less  than  half 
a  century  ago,  there  were  fools  who 
saw  in  the  Hyde  Park  International 
Exhibition  of  1851  the  forerunner 
of  the  millennium.  Where  was  the 
peace-making  power  of  trade  when 
the  '  stars  and  stripes '  were  rent 
from  top  to  bottom  by  the  "War  of 
Secession  ?  Where  was  it,  when  Para- 
guay was  virtually  blotted  out  from 
the  list  of  nations  by  the  coalition  of 
two  republics  and  an  empire  ?  Where 
was  it  during  the  Franco-German  war  1 
Where  was  it  when  the  Paris  Com- 
mune gave  to  the  world  the  hideous 
spectacle  of  a  nation  lacerating  itself 
with  its  own  hands  beneath  the  mock- 
ing eyes  of  an  enemy  encamped  before 
its  capital?  Where  is  it  now,  when 
England  and  Russia  are  all  but  flying 
at  each  other's  throats  for  the  sake  of 
a  strip  of  virtual  desert1?  Where  is 
it,  when  meanwhile  every  capital  in 
Europe  feels  itself  secretly  but  con- 
tinuously threatened  by  a  few  hand- 
fuls  of  desperadoes,  who  literally  glory 
in  having  anarchy  for  an  object  ?  " 

Most  assuredly,  so  far  as  trade  is 
mere  competition,  it  never  will  help  to 
put  down  warfare,  for  it  is  nothing 
else.  And  that  is  why  no  International 
Exhibition  can  ever  hold  the  promise 
which  some  have  seen  in  it.  It  is  no- 
thing if  it  is  not  competitive.  The  exhi- 
bitor's main  hope  is,  by  the  excellence 
or  the  cheapness — real  or  apparent — of 
his  own  wares,  to  drive  his  rivals  out 
of  the  market,  which  he  either  pos- 
sesses or  seeks  to  appropriate.  But 
international  agreements  for  the  regu- 
lation of  trade  stand  on  a  wholly 
different  footing.  These  represent 
the  co-operative,  not  the  competitive 
side  of  trade,  the  side  by  which  it  ex- 
hibits itself  to  us,  not  as  the  selfish 
striving  of  the  individual  to  draw 
money  into  his  own  out  of  other 
men's  pockets — or  it  may  be  only 
waistbands — but  as  the  orderly  inter- 
change of  services  and  commodities 
between  man  and  man,  nation  and 
nation.  When  traders  ask  for  or  ac- 
cept a  law  on  trade- marks,  that  means 


International  Co-operation  in  Scandinavia. 


203 


that  they  agree,  for  the  benefit  of  all, 
that  none  should  palm  off  his  own 
goods  as  those  of  another.  When 
they  ask  for  or  accept  a  law  for  the 
registration  of  firms,  that  means  that 
they  agree,  for  the  benefit  of  all,  that 
a  creditor  should  know  precisely  whom 
he  is  dealing  with,  should  feel  certain 
that  his  money  will  not  vanish  away 
into  the  pockets  of  some  unidentifiable 
nominis  umbra.  When  such  laws  are 
made  international,  that  means  that 
the  fair  dealing  which  they  seek  to 
secure  from  man  to  man,  is  extended 
from  country  to  country.  Compare 
such  international  agreements  with 
the  old  commercial  treaties,  and  you 
will  see  that  they  belong  to  a  different 
moral  world.  The  old  commercial 
treaty  aims  simply  at  securing  to  the 
subjects  of  the  one  contracting  power 
as  against  all  the  world  besides,  cer- 
tain advantages  either  exclusive,  or  at 
all  events  special,  in  dealing  with  the 
subjects  of  the  other  contracting 
power.  In  the  new  international 


agreements  there  is  nothing  antago- 
nistic to  any  nation.  On  the  con- 
trary, it  is  to  the  interest  of  every 
contracting  power  that  as  many  other 
states  as  possible  should  enter  into  the 
same  compact  of  fair  dealing ;  and  at 
the  same  time  the  whole  world  is  bene- 
fited, although  the  compact  should  be 
confined  to  two  or  three.  For  the 
practice  of  righteousness  between  man 
and  man  is  a  common  human  in- 
terest, and  international  agreements 
to  secure  that  righteousness  are  the 
recognition  that  it  is  such. 

Hence  it  is  no  anti-climax  to  say 
that  a  modest  little  Scandinavian  law, 
with  what  may  unfold  itself  out  of  it, 
may  be  of  more  weight  ultimately  in 
the  history  of  the  world  than  all  the 
more  stirring  events  of  its  time.  To 
the  eye  that  can  see,  it  bears  witness 
that — quarrel  and  fight  as  they  may — 
an  unseen  force,  mightier  than  artillery 
or  ironclads,  than  nitro-glycerine  or 
panclastite,  is  drawing  the  nations  to- 
gether for  their  good. 


204 


FROM  MONTEVIDEO  TO  PARAGUAY. 


II. 


THE    neighbourhood   of    Asuncion   is 
not    ill-described  by  C.  B.  Mansfield 
in    a    letter    dated     from    Asuncion 
thirty -three    years    ago,   but    which 
might,    for    correctness    in    what    it 
states,  have  been  written  yesterday. 
"The  country,"  says  Charles  Kings- 
ley's  friend,  "round  the  town  is  the 
very  perfection  of  quiet,  rural  beauty  ; 
the  scenery  has  the  beauty  of  some  of 
the   prettiest  parts   of   England,  en- 
hanced by  the  richness  of  the  verdure 
of    the    palm-trees,   with   which    the 
whole  country  is  studded.     The  great- 
est part  of  the  country  here  seems  to 
have    been    originally   covered    with 
wood,  a  good  deal  of  which   still  re- 
mains ;  but  now  its  general  aspect  is 
one  of   tolerably  industrious  cultiva- 
tion.     The    cultivated    land    is     all 
divided    into    fenced   fields,   wherein 
grow  maize,  manioca,  and  sugar-cane  ; 
and  the   cottages   dotted  about   com- 
plete the  pleasantness   of  the  aspect 
of  nature.     There  are  roads  in  every 
direction,  not    kept   in   first-rate  con- 
dition, but  still  decently  good ;   the 
cross-roads,  which    are    not  so   much 
worked,  are  beautiful  green  lanes,  or 
rather  lawns,  for   they   are  often   of 
considerable  width,  and  for  the  most 
part     perfectly    straight.      In     some 
places     the     country     presents     the 
appearance  of  a  splendid  park,  stud- 
ded    with    rich    coppices,   &c."      To 
which,  if  we  add   a   diminutive  race- 
course, situated   in   a   kind  of  public 
garden,  and  several  pretty  "  quintas," 
or   country-villas,  of    the    same  Pom- 
peii-like    construction     as     those    of 
Montevideo,  but  larger,  and  less  ela- 
borately furnished,  and  a  few  tenta- 
tive plantations  of  coffee,  not  likely, 
I    think,  to    come    to    much    in    this 
extra-tropical    climate,    we     have     a 
tolerable     general    likeness     of     the 


suburban  surroundings  of  the  capital 
of  Paraguay. 

It  is  here,  nor  could  it  be  otherwise, 
in  the  capital,  here  in  the  chief  resort 
of  traffic  and  strangers,  that  the  fatal 
contagion   of   a   mimic   Europeanism, 
the  mania  for  discarding  whatever  is 
not   in   accordance   with    the   stereo- 
typed   monotony    and    tasteless   con- 
ventionalism  of   Boulevard   or   Fifth 
Avenue    existence,   the    blight    that, 
like  Tennyson's  "vapour,  heavy,  hue- 
less,  formless,  cold,"  creeps   on  with 
Western-European    intercourse     over 
land  after  land,  withering  up  and  ob- 
literating in  its  advance  all  individual 
or   local   colour,   form,   beauty,   life ; 
this  pseudo-civilisation  or  progress,  by 
whatever  name  it  be  called,  has  done 
most  to   obliterate  the   national   and 
characteristic  features   of    the  Para- 
guayan race,  and    to    substitute  for 
them  the  servile  imitation  of  affected 
cosmopolitanism    and    denationalised 
uniformity.     Happily  the  evil  has  but 
partially     and    superficially    infected 
Asuncion  itself  as  yet ;  while  beyond 
its  radius,  and  the  actual  line  of  the 
Paraguari  railway,  life  in  the  bulk  of 
Paraguay,  and  life's  accessories,  differ 
but  little,  if  at  all,  from  what  they 
were  and  have  ever  been  from  the  first 
days   of    the    compound    nationality, 
down  to  the  constituent  assembly  of 
1870.     Long  may  they  remain  so. 

But  an  up-country  journey  in 
Paraguay,  let  us  own,  has  its  difficul- 
ties ;  many  of  them,  indeed,  relative 
merely,  or  imaginary — others  real  and 
positive  enough.  The  latter  are  to  be 
summed  up  chiefly,  if  not  wholly,  in 
the  want  of  organised  inter- communi- 
cation, both  in  regard  of  roads  and 
conveyances,  between  district  and  dis- 
trict ;  a  terrible  want,  which  the 
vigorous  administration  of  the  Lopez 


From  Montevideo  to  Paraguay. 


205 


dynasty  had  already  done  something 
to  remedy,  but  which  long  war  and 
succeeding  desolation  have  renewed 
and  intensified  by  destroying  what- 
ever that  ill-fated  family  had  organised 
or  constructed.  Bad  inns,  or  none, 
and  in  their  defect  a  copious  and 
freely-offered  hospitality,  which,  how- 
ever, of  necessity,  supposes  in  those 
who  accept  it  a  readiness  to  be  con- 
tent with  Paraguayan  fare  and  lodging 
such  as  is  rarely  found  among  the  "  fat 
and  greasy  citizens "  of  European  or 
even  South  American  towns ;  hot  suns, 
frequent  thunder-showers,  rough  way- 
tracks,  streams  to  be  swum  or  forded, 
mosquitoes,  foot-perforating  chigoes, 
here  called  "  piques  " — though  these 
are  of  such  rare  occurrence  as  to  be- 
long rather  to  the  purely  imaginary 
catalogue  of  disagreeables — and  other 
insects  ;  and  last,  not  least,  difficulty 
of  converse  with  a  population  to  which 
Guarani,  or  "  Indian,"  is  much  more 
familiar  than  Spanish.  Such  are  what 
may  be  called  "  relative "  obstacles, 
things  to  be  accounted  or  disregarded 
by  the  traveller  according  to  his  own 
individual  acquirements  and  idiosyn- 
crasies ;  while  lions,  tigers,  alligators, 
wild  Indians,  poisoned  arrows,  &c., 
however  terrible  in  the  lively  fancy  of 
many  narrators,  may  be  safely  classed 
among  imaginary  perils.  Lions,  that 
is  pumas ;  tigers,  that  is  leopards ; 
Indians  more  or  less  wild,  poisoned 
arrows  too,  exist,  doubtless,  in  the 
mountains  and  among  the  deep  forests 
of  Paraguay,  but  of  these,  and  such  as 
these,  the  traveller,  so  long  as  he  keeps 
to  the  inhabited  districts,  or,  if  beyond 
their  limits,  to  the  ordinary  routes  of 
transit,  will  hear  little,  and  see  less. 

Still  the  negative  difficulties — want 
of  means  of  conveyance,  want  of  roads, 
want  of  occasional  interpreters,  want 
of  sufficient  lodging — have,  each  in 
some  measure  and  degree,  to  be  taken 
into  account ;  and  against  these  the 
Asuncion  administration,  with  the 
true  courtesy  and  hospitable  liberality 
of  Paraguayan  tradition,  hastened  to 
provide  on  my  behalf.  An  officer,  well 
acquainted  with  the  country,  a  soldier 


for  attendant,  and  three  good  horses, 
were  placed  at  my  disposition  for  the 
proposed  journey,  and  a  programme,  or 
carte  de  voyage,  was  supplied,  of  a  nature 
calculated  to  make  me  acquainted  with 
as  much  as  circumstances  might  allow 
of  village  life  and  land. 

Having  but  a  short  time,  barely 
four  weeks  in  fact,  at  my  disposal,  I 
determined,  at  the  advice  of  my  kind 
hosts,  to  select  for  my  visit  what  I 
may  best  summarily  designate  as  the 
south-centre  of  the  country  ;  a  district 
of  hill  and  dale,  rivers  and  lakes, 
thickly — for  Paraguay,  that  is — set 
with  villages,  and  having  on  its  east 
the  high  forest-clad  mountain  ranges, 
beyond  which  flows  the  Parana,  here 
the  frontier  of  Brazil ;  on  the  south 
the  rich  plains  and  reedy  marsh-lands 
of  the  province  of  Misiones,  so  named 
from  the  well-known  Jesuit  missions 
of  former  times,  which  here  attained 
their  fullest  development;  northward 
the  successive  hill  ranges  and  wide 
mate  plantations  of  Upper  Para- 
guay ;  west,  a  low  screen  of  broken 
ground  and  copse,  behind  which  flows 
the  great  river  that  gives  its  name  to 
all  the  rest.  After  which  geographi- 
cal outline,  I  will  only  add,  by  way 
of  general  description,  that  if  any  of 
my  readers  have  had  the  good  fortune 
to  visit  beautiful  Auvergne,  in  Central 
France,  and  the  scarce  less  beautiful 
Eifel  district  by  the  Moselle,  they 
may,  by  blending  the  chief  topo- 
graphical characteristics  of  these  two, 
clothing  the  surface  of  hill  and  dale 
with  the  graceful  yet  vigorous  growths 
of  a  half-tropical  vegetation,  and  over- 
arching the  whole  with  a  sky  borrowed 
from  Titian's  Bacchus  and  Ariadne — 
a  sky,  pace  even  Mr.  Ruskin,  by  no 
means  "  impossible "  in  Paraguay, 
though  I  can  well  believe  it  so  in 
Western  Europe, — having  done  this, 
I  say,  they  will  have  before  their 
mind's  eye  at  all  events  a  tolerable 
likeness  of  the  country  I  would  gladly 
sketch,  though  I  cannot  worthily 
paint. 

One  name,  judiciously  selected 
from  among  the  rest,  may  often  serve 


206 


From  Montevideo  to  Paraguay. 


as  a  peg  whereon  to  hang  a  whole 
chain  of  ideas,  or,  if  the  comparison 
be  preferred,  as  a  centre  round  which 
the  vagueness  of  general  description 
may  crystallise  into  definite  form.  A 
secret  of  mental  chemistry  well  known 
to  poets  ;  few  readers  of  the  Paradise 
Lost  have,  probably,  hunted  out 
"  Imans "  on  the  map,  yet  all  have 
the  picture  of  Milton's  mountain- 
dwelling  vulture  distinct  in  their 
imagination ;  nor  is  it  for  nothing 
that  the  "  sons  of  Eden  "  were  inha- 
bitants of  "  Telassar,"  though  I  have 
not  been  able  to  discover  the  where- 
abouts in  any  atlas-index  as  yet.  But 
we  all  feel  that  a  place  with  such  a 
name  must  have  been  worthy  of  the 
race.  For  us,  wanderers  in  an  else 
unlocalised  region,  the  mountain  of 
Akai  shall  serve  our  turn. 

The  word  itself,  in  aboriginal 
Guarani,  means  "  burning  "  or  "  con- 
flagration ; "  and  the  mountain  that 
bears  it  is  a  water- formed  mass  of 
comparatively  recent  volcanic  debris, 
situated  in  the  midst  of  a  region 
studded  with  at  least  a  dozen  smaller 
lava-cones,  over  which  Akai  towers 
to  a  height  of  2,000  feet  and  more.  Its 
abrupt  sides,  partly  clothed  with 
patches  of  thorny  brushwood,  partly 
bare,  are  made  up  of  loose  masses  of 
laterite  and  volcanic  tufa,  among  which 
huge  angles  of  harder  lava  project  far 
out,  rendering  the  ascent  of  the  slope 
very  difficult,  indeed  almost  impractic- 
able ;  while  the  few  points  at  which 
an  upward  path,  though  no  easier  than 
"  Tra  Lerici  a  Turbia,  lapiu  diserta,  La 
piu  ruinita  via  "  of  Dante's  experience, 
is  yet  possible,  are  guarded  by  colonies 
of  wasps,  the  "  Spanish  soldiers  "  of 
the  Antilles,  long,  gaunt,  bronzed, 
vicious-looking  creatures,  df  a  tenaci- 
ously spiteful  disposition,  who  have, 
for  reasons  best  known  to  themselves, 
made  of  these  rocky  gullies  their 
favourite  homes,  and  resent  intrusion. 
The  peasants  of  the  neighbourhood  are, 
as  a  matter  of  course,  little  disposed 
to  the  labour — from  their  point  of  view 
a  very  unprofitable  one— of  scrambling 
up  barren  heights ;  but  some  German 


tourists  had,  I  was  informed,  about 
two  years  before  climbed  the  mountain, 
and,  on  their  re-descent  reported  a 
large  and  well-defined  crater  at  the 
summit,  long  since,  it  seemed,  quiescent, 
and  strewed  at  the  bottom  with  a 
heavy  metallic-looking  kind  of  sand, 
whereof  they  brought  back  with  them 
a  sample.  This,  for  whatever  cause, 
they  left  in  a  house  of  the  village, 
close  by,  where  I  saw  and,  so  far  as 
I  could,  examined  it ;  finding  it  in 
the  result  identical  with  the  Sicilian 
Palagonite  described  by  Lyell  in  his 
Elements  of  Geology.  That  volcanic 
energy  is  still  at  work  within,  or,  more 
probably,  at  some  depth  below  the 
mountain,  though  of  active  eruption 
no  record  survives  in  that  most  brief 
and  inaccurate  chronicle  termed 
"  human  memory,"  this  narrative  as 
it  proceeds  will  sufficiently  show. 

Round  Akai  the  soil,  deep  furrowed 
with  rain-torrents,  is  almost  exclu- 
sively composed  of  volcanic  ash  and 
decomposed  lava,  reminding  me  not  a 
little  of  the  neighbourhood  of  "  Aghri 
Dagh,"  or  Mount  Argaeus,  in  Csesarea, 
of  Asia  Minor,  like  that  region  too  in 
its  wonderful  fertility,  almost,  though 
not  quite,  rivalling  the  prodigal  luxuri- 
ance of  plantation,  field  and  grove  at 
the  base  of  the  ever-burning  Mayon 
pyramid  in  Philippine  Albay.  Most 
of  the  ground-springs  hereabouts — and 
if  each  of  them  has  a  naiad  of  its  own, 
the  country  must  be  thickly  peopled 
with  the  daughters  of  Zeus — are 
ferruginous,  some  strongly  so ;  thermal 
springs  too  were  reported  to  me,  but 
with  the  true  vagueness  of  localization 
proper  to  the  Hodges  of  every  land 
and  country,  nor  did  I  myself  come 
across  any. 

It  is  just  a  short  half-hour  before 
sunset,  and  a  large  yellow  moon,  nearly 
full — for  it  is  the  thirteenth  or  four- 
teenth day  of  the  lunation — balances 
on  the  east  the  yet  larger  orb  of  clear 
gold  now  near  the  western  margin, 
while  our  party,  some  seven  in  all, 
myself,  my  military  escort,  and  four 
chance  companions  of  the  road-side, 
ride  our  unkempt,  but  clean-limbed, 


From  Montevideo  to  Paraguay. 


207 


spirited,  and  much  enduring  Para- 
guayan nags  into  the  village  of  .... 
I  have  my  motives  for  not  giving  the 
name.  We  are  all  of  us,  the  riders  at 
least,  well-tired,  for  the  afternoon  has 
been  intensely  hot,  and  we  have  come 
from  far.  Paraguayan  villages,  or 
country  towns  if  you  choose,  though 
perhaps  the  title  of  "  town  "  should 
be  reserved  to  such  as  are  the  residence 
of  a  "  Jefe  Politico,"  or  sheriff  of  the 
county,  are  all,  large  or  small,  much  of 
a  pattern ;  and  that,  in  its  general 
outlines,  a  Spanish  one.  Central  is  a 
large  open  grass-plot  or  square,  and  in 
the  midst  of  that  again  the  church, 'a 
barn-like  building,  utterly  plain  out- 
side ;  the  ornament  within  is  of  wood- 
work, sometimes  very  old  and  curiously 
carved  ;  painting — if  there  be  any — is 
of  the  crudest ;  occasionally  relieved  by 
dingy  silver  ornament,  recalling 
Byzantine  or  Armenian  reminiscences, 
an  unartistic  whole.  Whatever  may 
have  been  the  case  in  the  days  of 
clerical  or  Jesuitical  leadership, 
religion  has  long  since  ceased  to  be  the 
central  occupation  of  the  Paraguayan 
mind.  It  is,  now  at  all  events,  an 
accessory,  rather  than  a  principle,  of 
life,  nor,  I  am  inclined  to  think,  was 
it  ever,  in  spite  of  outward  and,  to  a 
certain  extent  constrained  appearances, 
anything  more  among  the  Guaranis. 
Yet  so  far  as  it  goes  it  is  quite  genuine, 
and  its  influence  beneficial,  much  in 
the  same  degree,  and  to  the  same 
result,  as  Buddhism  in  Burmah  or 
Siam.  Happily  too  it  is  here,  as 
there,  practically  undisturbed  either 
by  missionary  meddling  on  the  one 
hand,  or  anti-clerical  fanaticism  on  the 
other. 

Close  by  the  church  is  the  bell- 
tower,  square,  and,  with  its  cage-like 
wooden  upper-story,  twice  the  height 
of  the  building  or  more.  In  this  land 
of  electricity,  for  such  is  the  entire 
Paraguay,  Parana,  and  La  Plata 
valley  from  Asuncion  to  Montevideo, 
that  belfries  should  be  often  struck 
by  lightning  need  excite  no  surprise. 
Jove  of  old  had  a  noted  predilection 
for  thus  demolishing  his  own  temples  ; 


perhaps  he  remembered  Semele.  Next 
to  a  belfry,  the  most  frequent  victim — 
sadly  frequent  indeed — of  a  thunder- 
bolt in  Paraguay  is  a  white  horse,  its 
rider  included  ;  not  only  did  I  hear  of 
many  such  catastrophes,  but  one 
actually  happened,  the  human  victim 
being  a  widow's  son  of  eighteen  or 
thereabouts,  close  by  a  village  where 
I  was  taking  shelter  during  the  storm. 
Should  a  dog,  as  is  very  generally  the 
case,  be  of  the  party,  it  escapes  unhurt. 
Of  all  which  I  can  suggest  no  explana- 
tion ;  doubtless  it  is  "  for  the  best," 
nor  do  the  Paraguayans,  a  very  practical 
race,  greatly  vex  their  souls  about  that 
over  which  they  have  no  control. 

The  houses  that  make  up  the  square 
itself,  are  all  one-storied  cottages,  in 
English  nomenclature,  but  with  several 
rooms  inside,  and  almost  invariably 
fronted  by  a  verandah — good  shelter 
against  sun  or  rain ;  the  roof  is  of 
thatch ;  the  flooring  of  trodden  earth, 
and  scrupulously  clean.  Cleanliness  is 
the  rule  in  Paraguay,  and  it  extends 
to  everything,  dwellings,  furniture, 
clothes,  and  person,  nor  are  the  poorer 
classes  in  this  respect  a  whit  behind 
the  richer.  Above  all,  the  white 
sacques  and  mantillas  of  the  women, 
and  the  lace-fringed  shirts  and  drawers 
of  the  men,  are  scrupulously  clean ; 
nor  is  any  one  article  in  greater 
demand,  though  fortunately  with  pro- 
portional supply,  throughout  the 
country  than  soap.  But  to  return  to 
the  village  itself.  Each  house  has 
behind  it  a  garden,  small  or  large  as 
the  case  may  be,  in  which  flowers  are 
sedulously  cultivated :  they  are  a 
decoration  that  a  Paraguayan  girl  or 
woman  is  rarely  without,  and  one  that 
becomes  the  wearer  well.  Without 
pretensions  'to  what  is  called  clas- 
sical or,  ethnologically  taken,  Aryan 
beauty,  the  female  type  here  is  very 
rarely  plain,  generally  pretty,  often 
handsome,  occasionally  bewitching. 
Dark  eyes,  long,  wavy,  dark  hair,  and 
a  brunette  complexion  do  most  prevail ; 
but  a  blonde  type,  with  blue  eyes  and 
golden  curls,  indicative  of  Basque 
descent,  are  by  no  means  rare.  Hands 


208 


From  Montevideo  to  Paraguay. 


and  feet  are,  almost  universally, 
delicate  and  small ;  the  general  form, 
at  least  till  frequent  maternity  has 
sacrificed  beauty  to  usefulness,  simply 
perfect ;  as  to  the  dispositions  that 
dwell  in  so  excellent  an  outside,  they 
are  worthy  of  it ;  and  Shakespeare's 
"Is  she  kind  as  she  is  fair?"  might 
here  find  unhesitating  answer  in  the 
affirmation  that  follows,  "  Beauty 
dwells  with  kindness."  A  brighter, 
kinder,  truer,  more  affectionate,  more 
devotedly  faithful  girl  than  the 
Paraguayan  exists  nowhere.  Alas  that 
the  wretched  experiences  of  but  a  few 
years  since  should  have  also  proved, 
in  bitter  earnest,  that  no  braver,  no 
more  enduring,  no  more  self-sacrificing 
wife  or  mother  than  the  Paraguayan  is 
to  be  found  either  ! 

My  readers  will,  I  am  sure,  pardon 
this  digression.  Let  us  back  to  our 
village ;  and  first  of  all,  as  in  duty 
bound,  to  the  "  Jefatura  "  or  govern- 
ment house ;  in  general  appearance 
and  architecture  no  way  differing 
from  the  dwellings  to  its  right  and 
left,  except  that  it  is  less  subdivided 
internally,  and  consists  of  only  one 
or  two  large  apartments;  to  which 
sometimes  a  lock-up  with  a  pair  of 
stocks  in  it  for  minor  offenders  is 
added.  Criminals  are  sent  under 
guard  to  Asuncion.  But  crime  is  rare 
in  Paraguay ;  though  petty  larcenies, 
and  some  trifling  offences  against 
village  decorum  and  law  are  not  in- 
frequent. The  authority  of  the  "  Jefe  " 
or  sheriff,  is  chiefly  that  of  a  police 
magistrate  ;  though  a  general  superin- 
tendence of  roads  and  bridges,  or,  to 
speak  more  exactly,  of  where  roads 
and  bridges  were  or  ought  to  be,  but 
in  the  present  poverty  of  the  land 
are  not,  falls  also  within  his  depart- 
ment. "  Evidently  these  Guarani- 
Vasco  Paraguayans  have,  like  their 
Malay  half-cousins  a  wonderful  talent 
for  quiet  self-government,  and  little 
need  of  state-machinery  or  official 
direction  and  control,"  was  a  reflection 
forced  on  me  by  what  I  heard  or  saw 
at  every  step  of  my  journey,  but  not 
least  when  visiting  the  sanctuaries 


themselves  of  provincial  authority  or 
law. 

Prefect,  commissioner,  judge,  and  so 
forth,  have  each  of  them  his  private 
and  family  dwelling  somewhere  else  in 
the  square.  An  omnium-gatherum 
shop  or  store,  combining  ironmongery, 
drapery,  grocery,  liquor,  dry  goods, 
toys,  everything  useful  or,  in  its 
degree,  ornamental,  is  sure  to  occupy  a 
much-frequented  corner — it  is  certain 
to  be  kept,  not  by  a  Paraguayan,  but  a 
foreigner ;  generally  an  Italian,  some- 
times a  Spaniard  or  a  Corrientino. 
Indeed,  of  such  shops  the  larger  villages 
Boast  up  to  three  or  more.  Adjoining 
the  principle  square  may  be  a  second, 
of  which  the  central  object  is  an  open, 
wood-supported  shed  with  a  raised 
floor,  doing  duty  as  market-place, 
whither  meat,  fish,  vegetables,  and  so 
forth  are  brought  for  sale ;  or  this 
useful  construction  may  be  situated  in 
a  straggling,  irregular  street,  which  in 
such  case  forms  the  backbone  of  the 
village.  Somewhere  in  the  neighbour- 
hood is  the  public  burying-ground,  sur- 
rounded by  a  wall,  and  with  a  large 
wooden  cross  in  the  centre  ;  monuments 
or  inscriptions  denoting  the  stories  of 
the  several  dead  are,  I  think,  unknown. 

We  have  made  for  the  prefect  or 
sheriff's  house,  and  have,  by  his  readily- 
given  invitation,  alighted  in  front  of 
the  door.  A  further  invitation,  to 
enter  the  house,  is  temporarily  declined 
in  favour  of  the  lovely  evening  out- 
side ;  and  we  seat  ourselves  in  the 
verandah,  looking  out  on  the  open 
square  before  us,  and  over  its  low 
roof-lines  on  a  fringe  of  palm  and 
orange-groves,  above  which,  in  the 
dark  purple  shadows  of  a  deepening 
twilight,  rises  the  serrated  range  of 
Akai,  some  fifteen  or  twenty  miles 
distant.  But  our  attention  is  first 
claimed  for  the  Alpha,  though  by  no 
means  the  Omega,  of  Paraguayan 
hospitality,  the  national  mate.  What 
coffee  is  among  the  Arabs,  tea 
among  the  Japanese,  that  or  more  is 
mate  to  the  Paraguayans,  and,  I 
may  add  from  my  experience  of  all 
three,  to  their  guests. 


From  Montevideo  to  Paraguay. 


209 


True,  the  word  mate  though 
commonly  used  by  Europeans,  and 
even  occasionally  by  South- Americans, 
to  designate  the  drink  itself,  is  a  mis- 
nomer ;  its  proper  signification  being 
the  small,  dry,  oblong  gourd,  generally 
dyed  black,  and  sometimes  compelled 
by  bandaging,  while  yet  green,  to 
assume  a  fantastic  shape,  out  of  which 
the  infusion  of  the  "yerva"  itself,  or 
"  Paraguayan  tea "  is  taken.  The 
leaves  of  this  tea  plant,  if  an  ilex  may 
so  be  denominated,  are  gathered  amid 
the  wide  plantations  of  its  growth  on 
the  borders  of,  or  within  the  tropics 
of,  Northern  Paraguay,  and  having 
been  dried  by  a  careful  and  elaborate 
process,  of  which,  not  having  myself 
witnessed  it,  I  omit  the  description, 
are  reduced  to  a  coarse,  light -green 
powder.  With  this  the  gourd,  or 
mate  is  more  than  half-filled,  and 
hot  or  boiling  water  poured  in  upon 
it.  Almost  ^immediately  afterwards, 
with  as  little  time  left  for  "  standing  " 
as  may  be,  it  is  presented  to  the 
drinker,  who  imbibes  it  through 
a  silver  tube,  plain  or  ornamented, 
from  eight  to  ten  inches  in  length  ; 
one  extremity  is  somewhat  flattened 
for  convenience  of  suction,  the  other 
expands  into  a  bulb,  or  bombilla, 
pierced  with  small  holes,  which  acts  as 
a  strainer  to  the  liquid  in  which  it  is 
immersed.  The  servant  who  has 
brought  it  stands  by  waiting  till  the 
infusion  has  been  drawn  out,  when  he 
goes  to  refill  it,  and  returns  to  present 
the  apparatus  to  the  next  of  the  com- 
pany in  turn,  and  so  on,  till  after  two 
or  three  rounds  a  "  £asta,"  "  enough," 
or  "  Gracias,"  "  thanks,"  gives  the 
signal  for  its  final  removal. 

Taken  by  itself  and  unsweetened — 
for  those  who  add  sugar  to  it,  or,  yet 
worse  profanation,  milk,  put  them- 
selves merely  out  of  court,  as  incapa- 
ble of  appreciating  its  merits — this 
drink  is  of  all  light  and  refreshing 
tonics  that  I  know,  Arabian  coffee 
itself  hardly  excepted,  the  pleasantest 
and  the  most  effective.  The  taste  is 
aromatic  and  slightly  bitter,  not  much 
unlike  good  Japanese  tea.  But  rightly 

No.  309.— VOL.  LII. 


to  esteem  and  enjoy  it,  one  should 
have^earned  it  by  a  long  day's  ride,  in 
a  sub-tropical  sun,  and  drink  it  re- 
posing in  the  cool  shade,  to  feel 
fatigue  pass  into  memory  only,  and 
vigour  return  with  rest  to  every 
limb. 

Meanwhile,  others  of  the  village 
magnates  have  come  up  to  salute  the 
new  arrivals,  and  talk,  occasionally  in 
Spanish  for  the  benefit  of  the  strangers, 
more  often  in  Guarani  when  between 
the  Paraguayans  themselves,  is  freely 
entered  on.  Though  cautious,  and 
wonderfully  secretive  where  secrecy 
befits,  a  Paraguayan  is  by  nature 
cheerful  and  even  open,  fond  of  a  jest, 
a  laugh ;  free,  in  a  degree  I  have 
seldom  met  among  the  natives  of  any 
other  land,  European  or  not,  from 
prejudice  or  antecedent  ill  opinion ; 
free  too  from  shyness  or  any  constraint 
except  that  of  inbred  courtesy  and 
manly  self-respect ;  slow  to  give  his 
entire  trust ;  slow  to  distrust  also. 
Hence  his  acquaintance  is  easily  made, 
and  often  ripens  into  real  friendship. 
The  expansive  part  of  his  nature  may, 
probably,  be  due  to  Yasconian,  Astu- 
rian,  or  Cantabrian  descent,  the  more 
cautious  and  self-contained  to  Indian  ; 
his  courage  and  endurance  to  both. 

Slight  as  is  my  knowledge  of  the 
Guarani  language,  my  readers  may 
perhaps  care  to  hear  the  little  I  have 
been  able  to  ascertain  about  it,  more 
by  practice  than  by  set  study,  by  ear 
than  by  books.  Spoken  in  one  dialect 
or  another  over  the  entire  eastern  half 
of  South  America,  Uruguay  (whence 
every  vestige  of  its  Indian  occupants, 
the  brave  Charruas,  has  unfortunately 
disappeared)  being  the  only  terri- 
torial exception,  Guarani  belongs  to 
the  yet  wider-spread  polysynthetic 
language-system,  common  to  every  in- 
digenous American  race,  north,  central, 
or  south  .from  Alaska  to  Patagonia. 
How  far  this  system,  with  the  almost 
countless  dialects  comprehended  in  it, 
stands  out,  in  Mr.  Keane's  words,  as 
"  radically  distinct  from  all  other 
forms  of  speech,"  I  cannot  say.  In 
Guarani,  at  all  events,  the  amount  of 

P 


210 


From  Montevideo  to  Paraguay. 


permutation,  elimination,  or  aggluti- 
nation of  consonants  or  syllables, 
affixes  and  particles,  is  not  more 
irregular,  hardly  even  more  complex 
than  in  old-Turkish,  or  Japanese. 
Where  no  native  system  of  written 
characters  exists,  it  is  of  course  free 
to  a  stranger,  employing  his  own 
alphabetic  symbols,  to  run  together  as 
many  words  as  he  pleases  into  one  ;  in 
pronunciation  Guarani  words  are  dis- 
tinct enough  and  strongly  accentuated, 
most  often  on  the  last  syllable.  Of 
gutturals  there  is  a  moderate,  of  nasals 
a  more  liberal  allowance ;  in  copious- 
ness of  vowels  Guarani  hardly  yields 
to  Italian  itself.  Lastly  it  is  a 
pleasant  language  to  the  ear,  and 
easily  picked  up,  as  the  facility  with 
which  English,  Germans,  and  other 
strangers  acquire  it  sufficiently  proves. 
Whether,  however,  the  speech  itself 
be  autocthonous,  as  Mr.  Keane  opines, 
or  derive  a  trans-oceanic  origin  from 
some  far  back  Mongolian  or  Turanian 
stock,  no  one  acquainted  with  Kalmuk 
or  Nogai  Tartars,  or  Tagal  Malays  on 
the  one  hand,  and  with  pure-blooded 
Guarani-Indians  on  the  other,  can  an 
instant  doubt  their  community  of  race. 
It  is  not  the  complexion,  the  hair,  the 
eyes,  the  general  form  of  body  and 
limb  only  that  bear  witness  to  as  near 
an  approach  to  identity,  as  long  ages 
of  diversity  in  climate  and  surround- 
ings can  admit,  but,  more  yet  the 
sameness  of  mind,  of  moral  standard, 
of  dispositions  and  tendencies  indivi- 
dual or  collective,  of  family  and  social 
organisation,  of  ideas  and  beliefs,  all 
of  these  strictly  in  accordance  with 
those  of  the  Mongolian  branch  of  what 
Mr.  Ferguson,  with  sufficient  accuracy 
at  least  for  our  present  purpose,  deno- 
minates the  "  Turanian  "  .division  of 
the  human  race.  How  the  first  Mon- 
golians— parents  of  the  manifold 
"  Red-Indian  "  families  by  whom  the 
new  world  was  over-spread — came  to 
emigrate  hither,  at  what  epoch,  by 
what  route,  in  one  band  or  in  many, 
are  questions  little  likely  ever  to  be 
solved;  monuments  and  tradition 
afford  but  confused  and  contradictory 


hints  at  most ;  and  conjecture  is  not 
less  idle  than  easy,  to  make.  Nor,  again, 
would  a  solution,  even  if  absolutely 
negative,  much  affect  the  existing 
facts.  Identity  of  nature  is  one  thing, 
community  of  origin  is  another ;  the 
beginnings  of  human  existence  are 
unknown,  nor  is  the  Darwinian  theory 
of  descent  better  supported  by  proof 
than  the  mythological ;  nor  does  it 
appear  why  the  same  cause  or  causes, 
whatever  it  or  they  may  be,  which 
originated  the  Mongolian  race  in  Asia 
should  not,  simultaneously  or  at  a 
different  period  of  our  planet's  exist- 
ence, have  originated  another  race  of 
mankind  in  America,  identical  or 
nearly  so  with  the  first,  yet  wholly 
independent  of  it  in  genealogical 
descent.  Anyhow  the  resemblance  is 
a  certainty,  though  the  "  how "  and 
"  why  "  may  be,  and  are 'likely  ever  to 
remain,  uncertain  and  unknown. 

Seated  as  we  are  in  the  verandah, 
and,  by  this  time,  a  group  of  a  dozen 
or  more,  including  the  head  authori- 
ties of  the  district,  besides  others  who 
are  not  authorities  at  all,  but  merely 
small  farmers  or  peasants,  the  talk 
turns  chiefly  on  local  interests,  agri- 
cultural topics,  and  the  like ;  the 
events  of  the  capital  and  politics, 
generally  so  favourite  a  topic  in  many 
others  of  the  South-American  Re- 
publics, being  here  seldom  discussed. 
The  right  to  be  well  governed,  the 
right  to  cultivate  his  own  land,  tend 
his  own  cattle,  and  to  enjoy  in  peace 
the  fruits  of  his  labour,  is  the  only 
right  the  Paraguayan  greatly  cares 
for ;  what  form  of  administration, 
what  government,  what  party,  what 
policy  assure  him  these,  he  heeds  very 
little.  There  is  no  content  like  that 
of  a  land-owning  population ;  and  such 
from  the  highest  to  the  lowest  is 
the  country  population  of  Paraguay. 
Large  estates  are  rare,  and  where  they 
exist  are  cultivated  by  tenants  whose 
fixity  of  possession  is  not  less  undis- 
puted than  the  general  proprietorship 
of  the  owner  in  chief ;  rent  is  paid  in 
produce ;  and  the  share  retained  by 
the  actual  cultivator  of  the  land  is  in 


From  Montevideo  to  Paraguay. 


211 


the  fullest  sense  his  own.  It  is  a 
state  of  things  in  which  wealth,  as 
understood  in  Europe,  is  rare ;  desti- 
tution, like  that  too  frequent  in  many 
parts  of  Europe,  unknown.  The  capi- 
talist is  absent ;  but  his  train,  hired 
labour,  eviction,  landlessness,  home- 
lessness,  destitution,  discontent,  re- 
bellion, revolution,  are  absent  too. 

Politics,  the  occupation  of  the  idle 
or  the  dissatisfied,  being  thus  ignored, 
we  have  free  leisure  for  the  far  more 
profitable,  as  also  pleasanter  topics  of 
agriculture,  its  resources,  its  develop- 
ment, its  prospects.  I  may  as  well 
here  remark,  once  for  all,  that  although 
both  horses  and  cattle  are  reared  to  a 
considerable  extent  within  the  Para- 
guayan territory,  yet  the  country 
neither  ought  to,  nor  can  ever,  become 
a  cattle-breeding  one  in  the  sense  of 
the  vast  pasture-lands  of  the  South 
Argentine  Confederation,  or  even  of 
Southern  and  Western  Uruguay. 
Here,  between  degrees  27°-22°  of 
latitude,  with  an  average  yearly 
temperature  somewhat  above  70°  F. ; 
and  with  pasture  copious  enough,  but 
rank  and  overgrown — the  consequence 
of  a  winterless  climate — horned  cattle 
can  never  attain,  either  in  size  or 
quality,  to  a  successful  competition 
with  those  reared  in  cooler  lands ; 
while  sheep,  for  whatever  reason — the 
presence  of  a  poisonous  herb,  called 
"  mio-mio  "  among  the  grass,  is  often 
assigned  as  the  cause,  but  it  does  not 
seem  to  me  a  wholly  sufficient  one — 
are  as  complete  a  failure  here  as  in 
the  Philippines  or  Japan.  Horses 
breed  well ;  but  except  for  local  use  are 
in  little  request ;  besides,  these  two 
are  better  reared  in  the  south.  Mean- 
while the  agricultural  capabilities  even 
of  those  districts  hitherto  in  some 
measure  set  apart  for  pasture,  are 
infinite,  and  the  produce  less  liable  to 
preponderant  competition.  Putting 
all  which  together  it  is  clear  that  the 
Georgic  of  Paraguay  must  always  be 
the  first  rather  than  the  third  of  the 
Virgilian  series. 

In  this  Georgic  three  different  kinds 
of  cultivation  take  precedence  as 


capable  of  yielding  the  largest  and 
most  advantageous  results  :  the  sugar- 
cane, tobacco,  and  the  "yerva"  or 
Paraguayan  tea.  .  Of  these  the  first 
is  grown  extensively ;  but,  in  the 
absence  of  fit  machinery  for  extract- 
ing and  ripening  the  sugar,  "  cana,"  or 
an  inferior  kind  of  rum,  obtained  by 
a  coarse  distillation  of  the  unrefined 
molasses,  is  the  principal  result.  The 
sugar-mills  in  use  are  small,  and  of 
the  roughest  kind,  worked  by  hand  or 
cattle,  after  a  fashion  that  may  still 
be  seen  in  the  small  negro  holdings 
of  Dominica ;  the  boiling  and  cooling—  - 
for  crystallisation  is,  of  course,  out  of 
the  question — are  equally  primitive. 
Yet  from  the  vigorous  growth  of  the 
cane,  and  the  amount  of  saccharine 
yielded,  it  is  evident  that  the  material 
exists  for  more  profitable  purposes ; 
and  if  the  highly-perfected  and  costly 
sugar-factories  of  Martinique,  of  De- 
merara,  be  for  the  present  beyond  the 
means  of  Paraguay,  there  is  no  reason 
why  the  simpler  yet  sufficient  methods 
successfully  adopted  in  Barbados 
should  not  meet  with  equally  good 
results  here.  The  experiment  would 
be  worth  the  making ;  the  project  is 
one  I  have  often  heard  discussed 
among  the  peasantry,  with  much 
desire  for  its  realisation. 

But  no  subject  is  more  popular, 
none  more  readily  entered  on,  than 
the  cultivation  of  tobacco.  Much  in- 
deed is  actually  grown  in  Paraguay, 
and  the  quality  of  the  leaf  is  excel- 
lent, by  no  means,  in  my  judgment, 
inferior  to  that  of  Cagayan,  or,  to 
give  it  its  commercial  title,  of  Manila 
itself.  But  the  art  of  drying  and  pre- 
paring the  leaf,  no  less  than  that  of 
making  it  up,  when  prepared,  into 
proper  form,  has  yet  to  be  learnt  in 
Paraguay ;  both  processes  are  at  pre- 
sent conducted  in  a  very  unsatisfactory 
and  hap-hazard  manner ;  and  the 
result  is  defective  in  proportion. 
Unseasoned,  unprepared,  unselected, 
badly  dried,  worse  rolled,  Paraguayan 
cigars  only  avail  to  tantalise  the 
smoker  with  the  suggested  contrast  of 
what  they  might  be  and  what  they  are. 

p  2 


212 


From  Montevideo  to  Paraguay. 


I  myself,  for  many  decades  of  years  a 
habitual  smoker,  could  easily  recog- 
nise at  once  the  innate  superiority  of 
the  wisp-like  tobacco  roll  that  no  care 
availed  to  keep  steadily  alight  for  five 
minutes,  over  the  elegant- looking 
Brazilian — labelled  "  Havana  " — cigar 
in  my  pocket-case ;  while  painfully 
made  aware  at  the  same  time  of  the 
artificial  advantages  that  rendered  the 
latter  preferable  for  use  to  the  former. 
The  Government  that  shall  introduce 
a  few  skilled  operatives  of  the 
Arroceros  factory  and  the  Cagayan 
tobacco-plantations  to  teach,  by  ex- 
ample and  practice,  the  arts  of  tobacco- 
growing  and  cigar-making  to  Para- 
guay will  deserve  a  public  memorial 
and  a  marble  statue  of  the  hand- 
somest in  Asuncion,  as  a  true  bene- 
factor primarily  of  his  country,  and 
indirectly  of  South  America,  and  the 
world  at  large.  For  what  blessing 
can  excel  a  good  cigar  ? 

At  present  of  all  the  "mystery," 
to  use  an  old  phrase,  of  tobacco  grow- 
ing, no  less  than  of  that  of  cigar 
making,  the  Paraguayans,  whose  edu- 
cation in  this  really  important  regard 
has  been  sadly  neglected,  are  practi- 
cally ignorant ;  and  many  were  the 
questions  asked  me  about  the  cultiva- 
tion of  the  plant,  the  proper  manuring 
of  the  soil,  the  harvesting  and  drying 
of  the  leaf,  and  so  forth.  For 
attached,  and  most  justly  so,  as  they 
are  to  their  own  country  and  its 
usages,  they  are  by  no  means  incu- 
rious as  to  what  is  done  elsewhere,  nor 
averse  to  adopt  or  copy  what  may  be 
suited  to  their  requirements.  Nor  are 
the  Japanese  themselves  apter  scholars 
to  useful  teaching;  though,  happily 
for  the  Paraguayans,  the  greater 
steadiness  of  their  national  character 
would  hardly  admit  of  the  childish 
imitativeness  and  unwise  parody  that 
has  so  much  damaged  and  perverted 
Japanese  improvement  of  late  years. 

Of  the  "  yerva"  cultivation,  for  many 
generations  the  principal,  almost  the 
exclusive,  source  of  Paraguayan  re- 
venue, my  village  friends  in  the  Akai 
district  hvae  not  much  to  say.  The  Ilex 


Paraguayensis  is  a  shrub  of  tropical 
growth,  and  we  are  at  present  little 
north  of  lat.  25°.  But  I  may  here 
remark  that  the  article  itself,  though 
still  in  considerable,  is  not  in  increas- 
ing request,  rather  the  reverse  ;  partly 
because  of  the  Europeanising  mania 
widely  diffused  through  the  adjoining 
states,  and  which  has  included  the  use, 
once  universal,  of  mate  in  its  ana- 
thema of  "uncivilised"  pronounced 
on  whatever  is  South  American  and 
is  not  Parisian,  be  it  dress,  usage, 
amusement,  dance,  music,  or  what- 
ever else  ;  and  partly  from  the  compe- 
tition of  Argentine  and  Brazilian 
"yerva,"  both  much  inferior  in 
strength  and  flavour  to  the  Para- 
guayan, but  also  cheaper  in  their 
respective  markets. 

For  my  own  part  I  do  not  see — 
climate,  soil,  and  local  conditions 
taken  into  account — why  tea,  so  suc- 
cessfully cultivated  in  Northern  India 
and,  to  a  certain  extent,  in  Japan, 
should  not  be  introduced  into,  and 
thrive  in,  Paraguay  also.  Every 
favourable  condition,  every  requisite, 
seems,  to  the  best  of  my  observation, 
to  be  present ;  and  were  the  experi- 
ment made,  the  chances  of  success  are, 
I  think,  far  greater  than  those  of 
failure.  I  should  recommend  the  hill- 
ranges — now  coveredVith  mere  forest 
— towards  the  Brazilian  frontier  as  fit 
ground  for  a  first  attempt.  The  ulti- 
mate result  would  probably  be  the 
substitution  of  tea  plantation  for  that 
of  "yerva"  to  a  considerable  extent, 
to  the  permanent  advantage  of  the 
Paraguayan  market  at  all  events  ;  the 
ilex  continuing  to  maintain  itself,  but 
on  a  diminished  scale. 

Maize,  here  no  longer  the  stunted, 
small-eared  plant  that  we  see  it  in  Italy 
or  Southern  Uruguay,  but  rivalling  in 
luxuriance  and  produce  the  vigorous 
growths  of  the  Trans- Caucasus  and 
Asia  Minor,  is  a  favourite  crop ;  rice 
also,  both  the  irrigated  and  the  up- 
land variety.  Both  are  pleasing  to 
the  eye,  the  dark  glossy  green  of  the 
Indian  corn  plant  making  an  effective 
set-off  to  the  bright  emerald  of  the 


From  Montevideo  to  Paraguay. 


213 


rice  fields.  But  more  graceful  than 
either  in  form  and  shape  of  leaf, 
though  duller  in  tint,  is  the  "manioca," 
or,  to  give  it  the  name  best  known  to 
European  commerce,  "tapioca"  herb, 
with  its  countless  little  domes  of  deli- 
cate leaves,  each  on  its  slender  stalk  ; 
the  root,  reduced  into  flour,  is  the  staple 
food  of  the  peasants,  who  make  it  up 
with  sugar  and  yolk  of  egg  into  cakes 
and  rolls,  very  nutritious,  but  some- 
what cloying  to  a  foreign  taste.  A 
wider  range  of  cultivation,  such  as, 
however,  is  at  present  beyond  the 
reach  of  the  half -re-peopled  land,  and 
a  judicious  use  of  the  facilities  given 
for  washing  the  pulp  by  the  lavish 
copiousness  of  pure  running  water  in 
sources  and  streams  throughout  Para- 
guay, might  easily  make  of  tapioca  an 
important  item  on  the  national  export 
list.  But  oraDge  trees  and  palms,  both 
native  growths,  valuable  for  their  pro- 
duce, though  requiring  hardly  any  care 
on  the  part  of  man,  are  of  all  others 
the  distinctive  features,  the  ornaments 
too,  of  a  Paraguayan  country  land- 
scape, which,  taken  altogether,  comes 
nearer  to  the  ideal  of  a  habitable 
Eden,  a  paradise  adapted  to  man  as 
he  is,  in  this  working-day  existence  of 
our  race,  than  any  other  region  it  has 
been  my  fortune  to  visit  in  the  old 
world  or  the  new. 

Much  might  be  added  to  the  agri- 
cultural list  just  given,  but  those 
mentioned  are  the  foremost  in  interest 
to  the  children  of  the  soil.  Or  perhaps 
our  conversation — for  supper  is  not 
yet  ready,  and  the  tempered  coolness 
of  the  evening  invites  us  to  prolong 
our  out-of-doors  soiree — wanders  to 
the  minerals  of  the  land,  unexplored 
as  yet  to  any  serious  purpose,  though 
the  frequency  of  chalybeate  waters 
testifies  to  the  abundance  of  iron  in 
the  soil ;  copper,  too,  is  often  met 
with;  gold  and  silver  are  talked  of, 
but,  fortunately  perhaps  for  the 
country,  little  verified.  Marbles  of 
every  kind,  the  pure  white  excepted, 
could  be,  but  seldom  are,  quarried  in 
the  hills  ;  porcelain  clay  abounds,  and 
finds  partial  use. 


The  best  product,  however,  of  Para- 
guay, and  that  without  which  all  the 
rest,   however    varied    and    precious, 
would  be  of  little  avail,  is,  to  borrow 
Blake's   strangely  significant   phrase, 
the    "human   abstract."     That    "the 
Paraguayans  are   a  lazy  lot ; "   that 
"  the  men  in  Paraguay  do  nothing — 
all   the   work   is   done   by  women ; " 
that  the  said  men  "pass  their  time 
in    drinking    mate,    smoking    cigars, 
eating,     and    sleeping ; "    nay,     that 
"there  are  hardly  any  men  in  Para- 
guay,   nine-tenths   of   the   population 
being  female,"  with  the  not  illogical 
corollary,  to   which   I   regret  to   see 
that  Mr.  Bates  has,  in  his  Central  and 
South  America,  lent   the   sanction  of 
his  high   authority,   that   everything 
everywhere     "  in     this     unfortunate 
country  "   is  in  "  a  state  of  complete 
demoralisation,"  I  had  heard  repeated 
usque  ad  satietatem  by  Europeans  and 
Americans   alike — both,  in   most   in- 
stances,  absolutely   guiltless    of   any 
personal  experience  of   Paraguay,  or 
having  passed  a  few  days  in  a  hotel 
at  Asuncion  at  most — before  I  made 
my  own  visit  to  that  country.     Hear- 
ing, I,  of  course,  neither  believed  nor 
disbelieved,  but  waited  the  surer  evi- 
dence  of   presence   and   sight.     How 
far  these   last   confirmed    or    contra- 
dicted   the    evil    report    brought    up 
by  others   on   the  land,  my   readers 
will,  if  I  have  written  to  any  purpose, 
sufficiently  apprehend.     In  few  words, 
then,  the  men   and  women,  both  of 
them,    and    either    class    within    its 
proper  limits  of  occupation,  through- 
out   Paraguay,     are    as    industrious, 
hard-working,     diligent,    painstaking, 
persevering  a  folk  as  any  I  know  of ; 
nor  are  the  women  more  so  than  the 
men,  nor  the  men  than  the  women. 
Of   course  the  traveller  will,  in  the 
villages,  see  more  of  the  female  than 
of  the  male  sex,  because  the  former, 
very  naturally,   stays  more  at  home, 
the  latter  is  more   scattered  abroad. 
That,  when  resting,  men,  and  women 
too,    drink   a   good   deal   of   mate,    or 
"  yerva "  rather,  I  quite    admit,  but 
not  so  much  by  near  as  North  Euro 


214 


From.  Montevideo  to  Paraguay. 


peans  do  beer  and  gin,  or  South 
Europeans  wine ;  and  the  Paraguayan 
drink  is,  at  any  rate,  not  the  most 
harmful  on  the  list.  In  eating  they 
are  assuredly  very  moderate  and 
simple ;  that  they  often  take  a  nap 
at  noon  is  the  necessary  result  of  very 
•early  rising,  a  hot  sun  by  day,  and 
late  hours — these,  too,  the  consequence 
of  climate  and  the  delicious  night  tem- 
perature to  follow.  As  to  "  complete 
demoralisation  "  what  the  phrase  may 
mean  in  a  country  where  crime  is 
almost  unknown,  violence  unheard  of, 
where  the  sacredness  of  a  plighted 
word  habitually  dispenses  with  the  ne- 
cessity or  even  the  thought  of  a  written 
bond,  where  the  conjugal  fidelity  of 
the  women  is  such  as  to  be  in  a 
manner  proverbial,  and  family  ties  are 
as  binding  as  in  China  itself,  where 
sedition  does  not  exist,  vendetta  has 
no  place,  and  every  one  minds  his  own 
business  and  that  of  his  family  with- 
out interfering  with  his  neighbours  or 
the  public  order  and  law,  I  am  at  an 
utter  loss  to  comprehend.  But  if  this 
state  of  things — and  it  is  that  of 
Paraguay  at  large — be  "demoralisa- 
tion," I  can  only  wish  that  many  other 
countries  that  I  know  of,  not  to 
mention  my  own,  were  equally  de- 
moralised too. 

Not,  however,  that  all  is  the  Byronic 
"old  Saturn's  reign  of  sugar-candy," 
even  in  Paraguay.  For  though  poli- 
tics, in  the  generally  accepted  sense 
of  the  word,  rarely  find  place  among 
the  preoccupations  of  a  Paraguayan 
landowner — and  all  the  inhabitants 
here  are  landowners,  some  greater, 
some  less— it  cannot  be  supposed  that 
past  revolutions,  changes  of  rulers  and 
governments,  a  wasting  war,  a  hostile 
occupation,  years  of  such  utter  desola- 
tion that  the  nation  seemed  not  pros- 
trate merely  but  destroyed,  have  not 
left  behind  them  memories  of  bitter- 
ness, local  and  family  feuds,  party 
watchwords,  party  hates.  To  define 
or  explain  these  would  be  to  retrace 
the  entire  history  of  the  state  for  at 
least  a  century  back,  a  task  far  beyond 
the  scope  of  the  present  writing. 


Enough  for  the  present  that  the  two 
well-known  colours  which  have  from 
prse-Islamitic  times  downwards  ranged 
the  rival  elements  of  Arabia  under  the 
red  banner  of  Yemen  and  the  white 
standard  of  Nejed,  which  counter- 
distinguished  the  symbolical  roses  of 
the  longest  and  most  •  fatal  of  our 
own  civil  wars,  and  which  are  yet 
recognised  as  badges  of  civil  dis- 
sension and  war  in  many  South 
American  states,  have  also,  though 
with  special  and  local  significancies 
omitted  here,  divided  the  Parguayans 
into  "  Blancos  "  or  Whites,  and  "  Colo- 
rados"  or  Reds,  for  aims,  primarily 
and  originally  ethnico-political,  now 
embodied  in  family  feuds  or  personal 
wrongs.  Curiously  enough  in  this 
remote  oasis  of  the  world's  desert,  no 
less  than  in  the  Arabian  peninsula, 
the  Albion  of  the  fifteenth  century, 
and  the  sub-littoral  America  of  the 
present,  the  red  flag  has  mustered 
under  itself  what  may  best  be  defined 
as  the  distinctively  national  or  patri- 
otic party,  while  the  white  has  been 
a  signal  for  extra-national  sympathies 
and  alliances  —  a  mere  accidental 
coincidence,  yet  a  remarkable  one. 
Happily  for  Paraguay,  the  patriotism 
of  her  children,  their  loyalty  to  their 
mother-country  is  so  general,  so  fer- 
vent, that  any  less  national  feeling, 
however  symbolised,  however  dis- 
guised, has  comparatively  but  few 
to  represent  it,  or  support ;  fewest  of 
all  in  the  purely  country  districts, 
for  example,  in  Akai. 

The  last  pale  streak  of  sunset  has 
faded  in  the  west,  and  a  silvery  gauze 
of  moonlight  spreads  unstained  over 
the  purple  darkness  of  the  deep  sky, 
just  pierced  by  the  steel  blue  point  of 
Sirius,  or  the  orange  glow  of  Canopus, 
now  high  in  mid-heaven,  lord  of  the 
southern  hemisphere.  Before  us, 
touched  by  the  deceptive  light,  the 
"  luce  maligna,"  as  Virgil  with  deep 
meaning  calls  it,  of  the  large  moon,  the 
sharp  peaks  of  Akai  stand  out  in 
jagged  relief  against  the  sky,  part 
black,  part  edged  in  glittering  silver, 
as  though  they  were  immediately  be- 


From  Montevideo  to  Paraguay. 


215 


hind  and  above  the  village  roofs ;  a 
startling  contrast  to  the  palm  and 
orange  groves,  really  near  at  hand, 
but  almost  lost  to  view  in  black 
shadow.  No  one  is  by  us  now  but  the 
"Jef  Politicio  "  or  sheriff  of  the  vil- 
lage-town and  district ;  lights  glimmer 
here  and  there  in  the  house-windows 
before  us  ;  but  the  grassy  square,  with 
its  ghostly  white  church  and  spectral 
bell-tower,  is  lonely  as  a  desert,  as 
silent  too. 

"  That   mountain,"    said    our   host, 
and  pointed  to  the  strange  ridges  of 
Akai,   "  that   mountain  bears  an  evil 
name  in  all  this  neighbourhood.     Gob- 
lins of  malignant  will,   shapes  as    of 
men,    but  ^reefer-human    in   size   and 
horrible  to  sight,  are  said  to  frequent 
its  slopes,  and  fires  that  leave  no  trace 
by  day  are  seen  there  at  night."    And 
he  went  on  to  recount,  as  having  lately 
occurred,  a  ghastly  story  ;  how  a  party 
of  benighted   wayfarers   had,   only   a 
short  time  before,  taken  up  their  quar- 
ters in  a  copse  on  the  mountain  rise ; 
how  after  midnight  they  were  awak- 
ened by  a  near  glare  through  the  trees  ; 
how  two  or  three — I  am  not  sure  of 
the  number — from  among  them  boldly 
ventured   to  find  out  the  cause,  and 
after  threading  their  way  through  the 
thicket  came  on  a  small  stony  depres- 
sion, bare,  but  girt  by  brushwood,  and 
in  the  midst  of  it  a  great  fire,  fiercely 
burning,  and  tended  by  giant  figures, 
black  and  hideous,  who  warned  them 
off    with    threatening  gestures   from 
nearer  approach  ;    how  when  they  on 
their  return  told  the  tale  to  their  com- 
panions in  the  wood  one  of  the  band, 
a  lad  of  eighteen  or  so,  seized  as  it 
appeared  by  a    sudden   madness,  de- 
clared he  would  go  whatever   might 
betide  and  fetch  fire  from  the  blaze  ; 
how  the  others  tried  to  detain  him  in 
vain ;    he  broke  from  them  and    dis- 
appeared in  the  brushwood  :  how  after 
a  while  they  heard  his  screams,  and 
forced  their  way  with  difficulty  through 
the  thicket  to  the  little  rock-strev>n 
hollow,    just   as   the   first   dawn   was 
breaking  ;  how  they  found  no  trace  of 
fire    on    the   ground,    nor   any   living 


semblance  or  thing,  only  their  unfor- 
tunate comrade,  horribly  disfigured 
and  burnt  in  body  and  limbs,  who  told 
how  the  goblins  had  seized  him,  thrown 
him  into  the  mid-blaze  and  held  him 
there ;  and  having  told  this,  died  in 
agony  before  the  sun  rose. 

Stories,  of  this  kind  especially,  lose 
nothing  in  the  telling  ;  the  adventure 
was  referred  to  wayfarers  from  a  dis- 
tance and  to  a  date  of  some  months 
back  ;  and  to  inquire  into  the  accuracy 
of  the  narrative,  in  whole  or  in  detail, 
would    have    been    very    superfluous 
labour.     Still   it   is  notable  that  the 
tale  should  be,  so  our  friend  said,  one 
of  many  similar  in  kind,  and  all  relat- 
ing to  the  same   neighbourhood   and 
region.     Can  these    strange   tales   be 
the   distorted    and    transformed    tra- 
ditions   of    volcanic    outbursts,    long 
since  quiescent  ?    Or  may  they  be  due 
to    some   phenomena   of    inflammable 
vapours  escaping  from  time  to  time, 
and  bursting  into  light,  or  even  fire,  as 
atmospheric  conditions  may  determine? 
That     subterraneous     heat     is     still 
actively,    though   invisibly,    at    work 
here    was   evidenced   this   very  year, 
when,  on  the  18th  October  last,  just  a 
month  or  so   before  my  visit    to  the 
place,  a  loud  rumbling  noise  was  heard 
from  underground  about  ten  o'clock  in 
the  morning,  and   all  the  villages  of 
the   district,   to  a  distance  of  ten  to 
fifteen  miles  round  the  mountain   of 
Akai,  from  which — that  is  of  course, 
from   under   which — all    agreed    both 
the   noise   and   the   shock   proceeded, 
were  suddenly  and  violently  shaken  ; 
some,  they  said,  by  a  single  concussion, 
as    if    artillery   had    been    discharged 
close  by,  others  by  a  longer  continued 
and  vibrating  movement,   but  all   at 
the   same   hour  and  instant ;    all  too 
heard  the  noise,  though,  it  seems,  with 
some  difference  of  clearness  and  dura- 
tion.    Nothing  of  the  kind,  said  our 
informant,    had    ever    within     man's 
memory  occurred  before.     However,  in 
the  fact  of  the  earthquake  shock,  and 
the  sensation  that  it  proceeded  from 
Akai  as  a  centre,  all  were  agreed  ;    it 
did  not  reach  beyond  this  seemingly 


216 


From  Montevideo  to  Paraguay. 


volcanic  Eifel-like  region,  nor  was  any- 
thing of  the  kind  observed  in  Asun- 
cion then  or  afterwards.  But  that 
in  the  fact  itself  may  lie  an  indi- 
cation of  what  the  weird  tales  of  Akai 
and  its  night  fires  point  to,  seems  to 
me  not  impossible,  not  improbable 
perhaps. 

The  teller  of  the  tale  was  himself 
a  remarkable  man ;  one  of  those  who 
are  in  a  manner  the  type  and  compen- 
dium of  the  nation  they  belong  to, 
summing  up  in  themselves  alike  its 
physical  and  its  mental  characteris- 
tics, its  merits  and  its  defects.  Spanish, 
like  the  greater  number  of  Paraguayans 
by  name,  and  in  part  by  origin,  he 
bore  in  his  dark  complexion,  nearly 
beardless  features,  and  slight  frame, 
evidence  of  a  considerable  admixture, 
more  than  half,  probably,  of  Guarani 
blood.  A  mere  boy,  almost  a  child  in 
years,  he  had  joined  the  national  army 
soon  after  the  outbreak  of  the  unequal 
war  in  1865,  and  had  been  present  in 
almost  every  one  of  the  land  battles 
where  his  countrymen,  victors  or  van- 
quished, in  life  or  death,  held  their 
own  without  thought  of  flight  or  quar- 
ter against  the  triple  alliance  of  their 
foes.  Nor  even  then,  when  Humaita 
was  lost,  Angostura  taken,  Asuncion 
sacked,  and  the  last  army — that  what 
yet  survived  of  Paraguay  could 
muster — surrounded  and  slaughtered 
almost  to  a  man,  did  the  lad  abandon 
his  cause  and  his  leader,  but  accom- 
panied the  ill-fated  and,  by  this  time, 
half-insane  despot  during  the  whole  of 
that  last  year,  when  gradually  driven 
towards  the  frontier  he  carried  on  an 
obstinate  but  useless  guerilla  war 
against  the  invaders  of  his  country, 
till,  hemmed  in  and  at  bay,  he  turned 
on  his  Brazilian  pursuers  on  'the  banks 
of  the  Aquidaban,  and,  fighting  to  the 
last,  died,  with  his  eldest  son  Panchito 
at  his  side,  more  nobly  than  he  had 
lived.  Such  of  his  few  companions — 
they  were  not  above  three  hundred  in 
all — as  had  yet  physical  strength 
enough  left  to  make  any  kind  of  resist- 
ance, died  almost  to  a  man  like  their 
chief  ;  a  few,  unable  either  to  fight  or 


to  fly,  were  made  prisoners  by  the 
enemy ;  but  others,  disarmed  though 
not  wholly  disabled,  and  resolved  not 
to  submit  themselves  as  captives  to 
the  abhorred  Brazilians,  escaped  to  the 
woods  and  the  yet  uncivilised  Indian 
tribes  of  the  further  mountains,  where 
they  remained  sharing  the  huts  and 
leading  the  life  of  their  half-barbarous 
but  faithful  hosts  and  protectors,  till 
another  year  had  seen  what  remained 
of  Paraguay — after  her  conquerors  had 
partitioned  the  spoils — free  of  foreign 
occupation,  and  allowed  them  to  re- 
turn to  where  their  homes  had  been, 
and  to  the  fortunes  of  their  country, 
then  seemingly  at  its  last  gasp.  One 
of  these  refugees,  of  Cerro-Cora  and 
Aquidaban,  was  my  friend,  the  narra- 
tor of  the  tale.  Well  aware,  and  often 
eye-witness  of  the  cruelties  and  crimes 
that  stained  the  latter  days  of  Solana 
Lopez,  he  yet  spoke  of  him  with  loyal 
respect,  almost  with  affection,  as  the 
head  and  representative  of  the  national 
cause  ;  and  would  gladly,  he  said,  yet 
give  his  blood  and  his  life  for  his 
former  leader  ;  though  unable  to  share, 
contrary  to  the  evidence  of  his  senses, 
in  the  still  extant  popular  belief,  that 
refuses  to  admit  the  reality  of  Lopez's 
death,  and  hopefully  awaits  his  re- 
appearance from  some  hiding-place  in 
the  mountains  even  now. 

From  talk  like  this  we  are  summoned 
by  the  mistress  of  the  house,  who  is, 
also,  like  Milton's  Eve,  ex-officio  chief 
cook,  to  our  dinner,  in  the  materials  of 
which  vegetables,  maize,  pumpkin, 
sweet  potatoes,  beans,  &c.,  bear  a  larger 
proportion  than  they  would  in  the 
almost  exclusively  carnivorous  regions 
further  South.  Table  service,  cooking, 
and  so  forth,  are  all  more  or  less  after 
Spanish  fashion ;  the  wines  are  Span- 
ish too,  and  good.  But  Paraguayan 
appetite  is  not  nice  as  to  delicacy  of 
food  :  and  the  gastronomic  skill  attri- 
buted by  our  great  poet  to  his  Eden 
hostess  is  decidedly  wanting  in  the 
ministrations  of  this  earthly  paradise ; 
— a  want,  it  may  be,  preferable  to  the 
observance.  Anyhow,  there  is  plenty 
on  the  board,  and  of  sound  quality  too. 


From  Montevideo  to  Paraguay. 


217 


In  the  country  districts  the  women,  as 
a  rule,  take  their  meals  apart  from 
the  men,  not  on  any  compulsion,  but 
because  they  themselves  prefer  it  so : 
in  Asuncion  a  more  European  style 
prevails. 

Dinner,  or  supper,  over,  our  host 
proposes  that  we  should  adjourn  to  a 
baile,  or  ball,  the  one  favourite  di- 
version of  Paraguay,  which  has  been 
got  up  to  do  honour  to  our  arrival  in 
one  or  other  of  the  most  spacious 
houses  of  the  village,  or,  very  possi- 
bly, in  the  "  Jefatura,"  or  government 
offices  themselves.  We  cross  the 
square,  and  find  a  large  gathering  of 
men,  women,  and  children — for  early 
hours  are  no  part  of  childhood's  diur- 
nal discipline  here,  any  more  than 
elaborate  dress — some,  as  direct  parti- 
cipators in  the  amusement  within, 
others,  as  lookers  on,  without  the 
brightly  lighted-up  building,  and  the 
band — no  Paraguayan  village  is  with- 
out its  musical  band,  all  much  of  a 
pattern — consisting  of  a  harp,  a  clario- 
net, a  violin  or  guitar,  a  fife,  a  drum, 
and  very  likely  a  tambourine  or  a 
triangle,  in  a  group  near  the  entrance, 
already  engaged  in  tuning  up  and 
preluding  to  the  music  of  the  dance. 
The  room,  or  rooms,  within  are  or  are 
not  laid  down  with  mats,  as  the  case 
may  be,  and  are  well  illuminated ;  chairs 
and  benches  are  ranged  against  the 
walls,  and  doors  and  windows  all  wide 
open  to  the  night  insure  coolness, 
spite  of  the  flaring  lamps  and  gathered 
crowd. 

The  women,  dressed  in  Paraguayan 
fashion,  with  the  long  white  "  tupoi,"  or 
sacque,  deeply  embroidered  round  the 
borders,  and  often  fringed  with  the 
beautiful  home-made  lace  of  the  country, 
with  silk  skirts,  or  brightly-coloured 
petticoats,  and  a  broad  coloured  sash, 
some  of  them  wearing  slippers,  others 
bare-footed — no  harm  where  feet  are  so 
delicate  as  theirs — are  seated  around, 
waiting  each  her  turn  of  the  dance. 
Their  stock  of  Spanish  is  apt  to  be 
limited ;  and  any  pretty  speeches 
which  you  naturally  wish  to  make 
them  had  best,  for  fear  of  misappre- 


hension, be  made  in  Guarani ;  the 
smile  with  which  you  will  be  rewarded 
will  quite  repay  the  trouble  of  learning 
a  phrase  or  two.  The  men  are,  some 
of  them,  especially  if  anyhow  "  offi- 
cial," in  European  afternoon  or  evening 
dress,  which,  I  need  hardly  remark,  is 
no  advantage ;  some,  however,  are 
attired  more  becomingly  in  country 
style — ponchos,  girdles,  loose  trousers, 
silver  chainlets,  and  so  on ;  the  linen 
of  all  is  scrupulously  clean  and  white. 
The  assembly  is  almost  exclusively 
made  up  of  small  farmers,  graziers, 
and  peasants  from  the  village  and  its 
neighbourhood,  with  their  families ; 
but  rich  or  poor,  official  or  private, 
whatever  be  the  social  class  they  be- 
long to,  no  difference  is  perceptible  in 
manner  or  bearing ;  the  same  easy, 
though  deferential  politeness,  the  same 
freedom  alike  from  obtrusive  forward- 
ness or  awkward  shyness,  characterises 
each  and  every  one,  whatever  be  the 
rank  or  sex,  in  speech  and  intercourse  ; 
at  least  they  are  gentlemen  and  ladies 
all  in  the  fullest  sense  of  those  so 
often  misappropriated  terms. 

The  dances  are  either  merely  of  the 
pan-European  kind — quadrilles,  waltzes, 
polkas,  mazurkas,  and  lancers — or  of,  1 
think,  Andalusian  origin,  though  some- 
times denominated  "  Paraguayan  "  ; 
the  cielo,  the  media  cana  (a 
great  favourite,  and  very  lively),  the 
Montenero,  and  some  variations  in- 
troduced into  the  contre-dansa, 
belong  apparently  to  this  class. 
Whether  the  aboriginal  Indians  or 
Guaranis  had  any  dances  or  music, 
properly  speaking,  of  their  own,  and 
antecedent  to  the  Spanish  conquest,  I 
do  not  know ;  but  from  the  entire 
absence  of  any  traces  of  such  among 
the  Paraguayans,  I  should  think  not. 

Cigars,  cigarettes,  sweets,  refresh- 
ments, drinks,  among  which  last  cana, 
the  rum  of  the  country,  comes  fore- 
most, are  freely  distributed  in  the 
intervals  of  the  dances,  and  the  ball 
is  kept  up  till  morning  light.  Of  all 
social  amusements,  for  a  minimun  of 
expense  and  trouble,  and  a  maximum 
of  real  enjoyment,  commend  me  to  a 


218 


From,  Montevideo  to  Paraguay. 


Paraguayan  village  ball.  The  cyni- 
cism of  Prosper  Merimee  himself  could 
not  be  proof  against  it,  and  must  have 
for  once  admitted  that  even  for  a 
desillusione  society  may  still  have 
some  attractions,  life  some  pleasures. 

Beautiful  rather  than  grand,  con- 
tinually varying,  but  without  violent 
or  sudden  contrasts,  the  scenery  which 
I  traversed  from  village  to  village  and 
day  by  day  was  of  a  kind  better 
adapted  to  sight  than  to  description ; 
besides,  the  account  already  given  of 
its  general  character  and  products  may 
serve,  at  all  events  to  those  who  have 
ever  visited  sub-tropical  lands,  to  fill 
up  the  outlines  of  my  sketch  more 
truly  than  direct  word-painting  could 
do.  Yet  there  are  two  features  rarely 
wanting  in  a  Paraguayan  landscape 
that  require  some  more  special,  though 
brief,  mention :  the  forests  and  the 
lakes.  The  former,  dispersed  in 
patches  amid  the  cultivated  lands, 
and  thickly  gathered  on  the  hill- 
ranges  to  the  east,  are  of  singular 
beauty  ;  and  the  trees,  though  inferior 
in  dimensions  and  height  to  the  giants 
of  the  tropical  zone,  have  the  advan- 
tage over  them  in  greater  variety  of 
foliage  and  form  of  growth — now  re- 
sembling the  oak,  now  the  beech,  now 
the  ash,  with  interspaces  between  them 
of  bright  greensward,  unchoked  by  the 
rank  bush  of  hotter  climates  ;  while  a 
sufficient  admixture  of  palms,  some 
fan-leaved,  others  feathery,  with  bam- 
boos, twining  creepers,  and  orchids, 
give  what  a  European  might  call  an 
exotic  tint  to  the  picture.  Many  of 
these  trees  supply  timber  of  great 
value  :  such  is  that  of  the  mahogany 
and  cedar,  red  or  yellow ;  of  the 
lapacho  and  quebracho,  both  hard 
as  iron,  and  more  durable  ;  of 
the  timbo,  a  tall,  straight  trunk, 
much  used  for  car.oe-biiilding;  of  the 
urundei,  good  for  house-timbers 
and  ships ;  of  the  jacarundd,  with 
its  ornamental  yellow  grain  ;  of  the 
polo  di  rosa,  or  rosewood,  and  fifty 
more,  all  destined  to  no  unimportant 
part  in  the  commerce  of  the  future — 


whenever  that  shall  be.  The  boughs 
of  many  of  these  trees  are  wide- 
spreading  and  fantastically  contorted, 
the  leafage  generally  small,  prettily 
serrated,  and  of  a  dark  glossy  green, 
agreeable  to  the  eye. 

As  to  the  lakes,  they  are  liberally  dis- 
tributed over  the  whole  of  Paraguay, 
and  vary  in  size  and  character  from 
small  marshy  pools  of  little  depth,  to 
the  wide  water-sheets  of  Ipoa  and 
Ipecarai,  each  considerably  exceeding 
in  size  any  of  our  own  English  lakes, 
and  proportionately  deep ;  both  be- 
long to  the  central  district  through 
which  I  travelled.  Each  of  them  has, 
in  popular  tradition,  a  story  attached 
to  it,  telling  of  its  origin ;  that  of 
Lake  Ipoa,  as  related  to  me,  was  not 
dissimilar  to  the  tradition  memo- 
rialised in  the  Dead  Sea,  though  for- 
tunately the  waters  of  Ipoa  are  not 
salt,  but  sweet  and  abounding  in  fish. 
The  Ipecarai  lake  is,  on  the  contrary, 
said  to  be  brackish.  But  the  shores 
of  both  are  lovely,  gently  shelving  in 
most  places,  and  clothed  with  alter- 
nating wood  and  meadow  down  to  the 
silvery  mirror's  edge.  These  lakes  are 
the  favourite  resorts  of  water-fowl — 
wild-duck,  and  teal  iu  particular — in 
shoals  resembling  floating  islands  from 
a  distance.  Partridges  and  snipe  are 
the  principal  winged  game  by  land ; 
I  heard  of  bustards  too,  but  saw  none  ; 
ostriches,  or,  more  properly,  emus, 
abound  everywhere.  Of  four-footed 
game  there  is  plenty  too  by  plain  and 
forest,  from  lions,  tigers,  panthers, 
and  deer,  down  to  hares  and  rabbits, 
besides  other  South -American  quad- 
rupeds— all  declared  by  the  peasants 
"good  to  eat,"  but  tastes  differ. 

How  far  the  varied  and  ever-lovely 
country  in  which  they  live,  the 
"  pleasure  situate  in  hill  and  dale," 
nowhere  more  lavishly  bestowed  by 
nature  than  here — the  abundance  of 
wood-flowers  and  fruits,  the  fern- 
margined  fountains  and  sparkling 
streams,  the  stately  trees  and  deep 
waving  meadows,  and  all  the  peren- 
nial beauties  that  make  of  Paraguay 
the  wonder  and  the  delight  of  all  who 


From  Montevideo  to  Paraguay. 


219 


visit  it,  how  far,  I  say,  these  things 
may  have  contributed  towards  making 
up  the  peculiarly  cheerful,  contented, 
genial  character  of  those  who  live 
among  them,  I  cannot  tell ;  theories 
of  the  kind  are  the  veriest  card-houses, 
lightly  set  up,  as  lightly  thrown  down. 
Yet  I  have  noticed,  not  once,  but  often, 
and  in  many  regions  wide  apart,  how 
much  more  serious,  more  unexpansive, 
more  sombre,  in  fact,  more  unamiable 
a  type  of  dweller  is  generally  found 
in  open,  treeless,  objectless  lands  of 
monotonous  downs  or  wide  level, 
whether  such  be  under  an  Asian,  an 
African,  or  a  European  sky— whether 
the  denizens  of  the  landscape  be  agri- 
cultural, as  in  Lower  Egypt,  or  pastoral, 
as  in  the  Dobruja  and  the  Eastern 
Steppes,  or  mixed,  as  in  Holland ;  the 
absence  of  what  may  be  termed  the 
ornamental  side  of  human  nature  is 
still  the  same.  For  the  habitual  sight 
of  beauty  in  some  form  or  other,  and 
its  frequent  contact  seem  to  be  neces- 
sary to  the  development  of  the  beau- 
tiful in  man's  nature  itself ;  and 
where  the  surroundings  are  bare  and 
dull,  the  inner  life  is  apt  to  share  in 
the  bareness  and  dulness  of  its  dwell- 
ing-place. It  is  not  only  exceptional 
natures,  as  a  Giorgione  or  a  Turner, 
that  grow  incorporate  with,  and  repro- 
duce in  themselves,  the  scenes  of  their 
childhood  and  youth- — all  men,  I  think, 
do  it,  more  or  less;  and  the  advan- 
tages enjoyed  by  a  high-born  child, 
carefully  brought  up,  and  supplied 
with  every  opportunity  for  the  fulfil- 
ment of  every  innate  power,  over  the 
poverty-hampered,  stunted,  starved 
child  of  destitute  parents,  are  not  more 
than  those  which  the  native  of  a  fair 
land,  a  bright  sky,  and  a  genial 
climate  possesses  over  the  offspring  of 
a  harsh  heaven  and  an  unlovely  earth. 
Nature,  like  too  many  other  mothers, 
has  her  favourite  children,  and  the 
Paraguayans  are  in  this  respect,  the 
Benjamins  of  her  family. 

My  riding-tour,  during  which  I 
visited  four  out  of  the  twenty-three 
districts  into  which  Paraguay  is  now 
divided,  being  over,  I  returned,  not 


without  some  regret,  to  Asuncion ; 
and  thence,  after  a  short  interval  al- 
lowed to  the  kindness  of  my  hospitable 
entertainers,  re-embarked  on  the  main 
river  for  an  up-stream  voyage  of  about 
two  hundred  miles  more  to  Conception, 
the  chief  town  of  northern  Paraguay, 
situated  just  within  the  tropic  of 
Capricorn,  and  the  principal  centre 
and  depot  of  the  mate  or  "yerva" 
traffic.  But  of  this  section  of  the 
river,  its  villages  and  its  scenery,  also 
of  the  "  yerva "  groves,  or  forests 
rather,  I  must  defer  the  description 
till  another  opportunity. 

Much  too  I  have  omitted,  even  in 
what    concerns    that    section    of   the 
country    which   I    have   to   a  certain 
extent   described,   not   because  unim- 
portant or  wanting  in  interest,  but  as 
reaching  too  far  beyond  the  limits  of 
my   present    scope,    and    fitter   for   a 
complete  work  on  Paraguay  as  it  was, 
or  is,  than  for  a  slight  sketch  of  the 
superficial  impressions  made  by  a  few 
weeks    passed   within    the   territory. 
The   form   and   tenure  of  the   actual 
government,    as   established  in   1870, 
and   maintained,  at  any  rate,  to  the 
letter,  since  then  ;  the  condition  of  the 
army — that   army    which    not    many 
years  since,  alone  and  unassisted,  held 
the    invading    forces    of    half   South 
America  at  bay ;   of  the  navy,  whose 
small  wooden  steamers  so  long  made 
good  the  river  defence  against  nearly 
double  the  number  of  gunboats  and 
ironclads ;   the  newly -created  judicial 
organisation  and  legal  tribunals ;  the 
position  of  the  clergy ;  the  system  of 
popular     education,     the     elementary 
schools    established     throughout    the 
country ;  all  these  are,  I  think,  better 
here    passed    over    altogether,    than 
touched  on  after  a  slight  and  possibly 
misleading  fashion.     Nor  have  I,  for 
similar  reasons,   said  anything  about 
the  various  co-operative  enterprises — 
agricultural,  pastoral,  or  industrial — 
undertaken  of   late  years,  chiefly  by 
foreigners,    within     the    Paraguayan 
territory,    with    varying    failure     or 
success ;    nor    about    the    yet     "  un- 
civilised," that  is  un-Europeanised  or 


220 


From  Montevideo  to  Paraguay. 


neo-Americanised  Indian  tribes,  some 
scattered  through  the  riverine  districts 
and  the  adjoining  villages,  "  among 
them,  but  not  of  them ; "  others 
keeping  more  apart,  and  tenanting  the 
mountains  and  forests  of  the  east  and 
north  towards  the  Brazilian  frontier ; 
but  all  on  good  terms  with  the  Para- 
guayans as  such,  though  little  inclined, 
it  seems,  to  modify  their  own  ancestral 
habits  or  occupations. 

Leaving  these  things  aside  for  the 
present,  enough  has,  I  think,  been 
written  here  to  show  that  Paraguay, 
no  less  than  her  sister  Republics  of  the 
south,  is  a  country  with  a  future  ;  that 
the  Paraguayan  nationality,  though 
reduced  to  scarce  a  third  of  its  original 
numbers,  and  left  houseless  and  home- 
steadless  on  a  desolated  land,  has  yet, 
in  a  few  years  of  comparative,  peace 
and  quiet,  already  sufficiently,  thanks 
to  its  intense  and  inherent  vitality, 
recovered  itself  enough  to  bring  a  large 
portion  of  its  territory  under  cultiva- 
tion, to  restock  its  pastures  with  cattle, 
and,  best  of  all,  its  villages  with  con- 
tented, happy,  and  increasing  families — 
the  surest  pledge  of  complete  restora- 
tion and  lasting  prosperity  in  time  to 
come.  Assertions  like  those,  made  and 
repeated  but  fifteen  years  ago,  by 
Masterman  and  others  of  his  kind,  that 
the  Paraguayans  "exist  no  longer," 
that  "their  destruction  was  inevit- 
able "  that  they  were  "the  tree  which 
will  bring  forth  no  fruit,"  and  should 
accordingly  be  in  due  course  "  hewn 
down  and  cast  into  the  fire  ; "  they 
being  "  incapable  of  civilisation ;  " 
winding  up  with  the  Cassandra  predic- 
tions that,  "  the  foreigners  whom  they 
distrusted  and  despised  will  till  the 
ground  which  they  abandoned, to  tares 
and  brambles,  and  enjoy  the  fair 
heritage  which  they  were  unworthy  to 
possess  ; "  that,  "  the  Teuton  and  the 
Anglo-Saxon  will  soon  fill  the  void," 
or,  more  wonderful  yet,  that  the 
Paraguayans  themselves  will  "per- 
force ask  Brazil  to  take  the  little  she 
has  left  of  their  habitable  territory, 


and  annex  it  as  the  smallest  province 
of  the  empire,"  show  very  little 
knowledge  in  those  who  have  uttered 
them  either  of  the  country  or  of  its 
inhabitants.  That  the  Paraguayan 
nation  has  by  no  means  ceased  to  exist, 
that  neither  its  past,  which  culminated 
in  a  state  which,  weighed  in  the  balance 
of  a  six  years'  struggle,  proved  almost 
a  counterpoise  for  the  greatest  empire 
and  the  greatest  Republic  of  the  south 
conjointly,  nor  its  present  with  its 
vigorous  outcome  of  new  energy,  new 
life,  bear  either  of  them  the  most 
distant  resemblance  to  barren  fig- 
trees,  tares,  brambles,  or  any  other 
combustibles  of  the  biblical  list,  are 
facts  that  whoever  cares  to  visit  the 
land  as  I  visited  it  may  easily  assure 
himself  no  less  completely  than  I  did. 
As  to  Paraguayan  civilisation,  he  will 
find  it  what  I  found  and  have  described 
it ;  and  he  must  be  hard  to  satisfy  if 
it  does  not  content  him.  With  regard 
to  "Teuton"  and  "Anglo-Saxon" 
immigrants,  by  whom  I  conjecture 
Germans  and  Englishmen  to  be  meant, 
they  and  their  labours  are,  and  always 
will  be,  welcomed,  protected,  encour- 
aged in  Paraguay  ;  but  I  do  not  foresee 
any  likelihood  of  their  superseding  the 
vigorous  race  that  forms  the  bulk  of 
the  existent  nationality,  nor  would  it 
be  desirable  that  they  should.  Far 
better,  as  far  more  within  the  compass 
of  probability,  that  they  should,  by 
adopting  that  nationality  for  their 
own,  contribute  a  fresh  and  most  valu- 
able element  of  industry  and  persever- 
ance to  the  born  children  of  the  soil. 
As  to  Brazil,  the  only  favour  Paraguay 
has  to  ask  of  her  is  to  be  a  just  and 
friendly  neighbour ;  more  than  that 
neither  she  nor  any  other  state  will,  I 
trust,  have  the  unwisdom  to  attempt, 
nor  would  the  Paraguayans,  betide 
what  might,  for  an  instant  allow. 
Paraguay  is  yet  herself ;  and  her  sons 
and  daughters  are  yet,  as  they  ever 
have  been,  true  to  themselves  and  to 
her.  JEsto  perpetua  ! 


(Conclusion.} 


221 


A   WALKING   TOUR  IN   THE   LANDES. 


THE  morning  sunlight  was  flashing 
on  the  broad  Garonne,  the  rigging  and 
hulls  of  the  big  vessels  anchored  or 
moored  in  the  river,  and  touching 
with  warmer  gold  the  sails  of  the 
little  craft  that  looked  but  half  awake 
on  the  still  sleeping  water.  It  was 
seven  o'clock,  and  I  was  waiting  at 
Bordeaux  for  the  first  train  that  would 
take  me  to  Arcachon. 

Crowds  of  working  people  were 
hastening  towards  the  Southern  Rail- 
way Station  from  all  roads  and  paths. 
A  little  wooden  bridge  that  spanned 
the  line  resounded  with  the  incessant 
tramp  of  boots  and  sabots,  the  toes  of 
which  were  all  turned  one  way.  Up 
one  side  of  the  bridge's  curve  and 
down  the  other  they  went,  men, 
women  and  children,  helter-skelter. 
The  women  and  girls  wore  a  ker- 
chief of  silk  generally  bright  coloured, 
folded  around  the  back  part  of  the 
head,  with  one  end  left  hanging  as 
low  as  the  shoulder — the  character- 
istic coiffure  of  the  Bordelaise  which, 
with  all  its  picturesqueness,  has  the  fault 
of  hiding  the  hair  just  where  it  is  most 
beautiful.  The  men  differed  but  little 
in  appearance  from  the  Paris  work- 
men except  by  the  darker  hue  of  their 
skin  and  the  brighter  gleam  of  their 
eyes. 

Those  whose  experience  of  an  ex- 
cursion train  is  confined  to  the 
British  institution  so  called  can  have 
but  a  feeble  notion  of  the  enjoyment 
of  being  shut  up  for  several  hours  in  a 
French  train  de  plaisir  that  has  been 
crammed  to  the  railway  company's 
satisfaction.  If,  however,  the  journey 
is  a  short  one  and  the  country  is  new, 
and  the  traveller  is  sufficiently  enthu- 
siastic in  the  study  of  his  fellow- 
men  to  be  reckless  of  the  combined 
odours  of  sausages,  shrimps,  pepper- 


mint, garlic,  and  wine,  he  ought  to 
be  thankful,  as  I  was,  for  the  oppor- 
tunity of  riding  in  a  train  de  plaisir. 
Three  long  trains  crept  out  of  the 
station  on  the  line  to  Arcachon,  and  I 
was  in  one  of  them.  We  made  ten  in 
our  compartment,  but  the  prisoners 
could  look  over  a  long  row  of  parti- 
tions each  way,  toss  bunches  of  grapes 
to  friends  at  a  distance,  wave  hand- 
kerchiefs, waft  kisses,  shout  the  full- 
flavoured  jest  that  made  the  women 
scream,  and  otherwise  prove  their 
heroic  determination  to  be  happy 
although  they  were  suffocating.  A 
draught,  even  of  the  heated  air  from 
without,  would  have  been  like  a  breeze 
from  Paradise,  but  it  was  not  to  be 
had.  One  head  would  fill  a  window, 
and  there  were  always  two  competing 
for  it.  The  two  heads  nearest  me 
were  soon  engaged  in  a  very  gentle 
sort  of  conflict.  They  belonged  to  two 
lovers,  and  the  face  that  was  bronzed 
by  the  sun  was  every  other  minute 
bringing  itself  into  accidental  contact 
with  the  face  that  was  soft  and  peach - 
like.  The  other  passengers  pretended 
not  to  notice  these  little  collisions.  In 
France  lovers  are  treated  with  the  ut- 
most consideration.  They  may  be  pitied 
but  they  are  not  laughed  at.  Kindness  is 
the  secret  of  all  true  politeness.  It  is 
not  in  their  hat-lifting,  their  bowing, 
their  gracious  smiles,  and  their  neatly- 
turned  compliments  that  the  French 
are  the  most  polite  nation  in  the  world. 
These  things  may  be  mere  accomplish- 
ments, tricks  of  the  born  actor,  who 
sagaciously  knows  their  value  as  cur- 
rent coin  of  life.  It  is  their  innate 
kindness,  their  tolerance  of  one 
another's  weaknesses,  their  horror  of 
the  jest  that  pains  for  the  sake  of  pain- 
ing, their  keen  sensitiveness  to  the 
roughshod  ridicule  that  rides  ruthlessly 


222 


A   Walking  Tour  in  the  Landes. 


over  their  own  tender  places,  which 
make  the  proverbial  politeness  of  the 
French  a  reality. 

There  were  several  women  in  the  car- 
riage, and  all,  except  the  girl  in  the 
corner,  looked  as  if  they  had  been 
dipped  in  walnut-juice.  One  of  them, 
probably  not  thirty  years  old,  although 
in  England  she  would  be  given  ten 
years  more — a  woman  with  big  black 
eyes,  glistening  teeth,  and  crow-black 
hair,  richly  oiled  and  decked  with  a 
bright-yellow  kerchief,  would  have 
passed  for  a  handsome  gipsy.  Like 
the  others,  she  wore  much  jewelry  on 
her  hands  and  in  her  ears,  of  massive 
gold  and  quaint  design. 

The  peasant  women  of  France  think 
more  of  gold  ornaments  than  fine 
clothes.  Hence  it  is  that  in  the  French 
provinces  English  travellers  are  fre- 
quently struck  by  the  contrast  (violent 
to  them)  in  the  same  individual  of  very 
mean  garments  with  jewelry  that  is 
neither  mean  nor  pretentious,  but  solid 
and  beautiful. 

We  are  now  on  the  outskirts  of  the 
sandy  Landes,  and  are  already  in  the 
great  pine  forests  which  have  so 
changed  the  face  of  the  country  during 
ohe  last  century  that  our  English  fore- 
fathers would  not  recognise  to-day  this 
part  of  their  province  of  Aquitaine.  A 
phenomenon  quite  new  to  me  enables 
me  to  realise  that  these  dark  woods 
are  even  now  only  a  green  mantle 
thrown  over  an  arid  desert  of  sand. 
There  is  a  great  change  in  the  sky, 
and  it  is  so  sudden  that  I  should  have 
supposed  that  I  had  been  travelling 
with  my  eyes  shut  for  the  last  hour 
did  I  not  know  that  I  had  been  keep- 
ing a  keen  look-out  through  the  little 
open  space  left  of  the  carriage  window. 
All  at  once  I  perceive  that  the  sky 
is  no  longer  a  clear  blue;  that  it  is  not 
blue  at  all,  but  of  a  soapy  grey  colour. 
The  sun  that  shines  through  it  is  so 
dimmed  that  the  eye  can  bear  its  light. 
Flocks  of  fleecy  clouds  are  rushing  up 
to  the  zenith  like  vapoury  coursers 
lashed  and  spurred  by  spirit-riders. 
Lower  down  and  to  windward  is  a 
motionless  mass  of  slatey  vapour 


tinged  here  and  there  with  copper,  and 
underneath  it,  white  and  smoky,  are 
well-defined  patches  of  cloud  hovering 
with  gilded  edges  or  scudding  all  froth 
and  fury  towards  the  sun.  The  train 
stops  at  La  Teste.  We  can  hear  a 
low  wail  coming  up  through  the  pines, 
growing  louded  and  louder  until  it  is 
almost  a  shriek  when  the  wind  strikes 
the  nearmost  crests.  Then  the  forest 
disappears  or  shows  like  the  spars  of 
shipping  through  a  fog ;  boughs  crack, 
cones  rattle  to  the  ground,  twigs  and 
branches  fly  through  the  air ;  up  go 
all  the  carriage  windows,  and  the 
panes  sound  as  though  they  were 
struck  by  volley  after  volley  of  fine 
shot.  My  fellow  -  passengers  think 
nothing  of  all  this.  To  my  questioning 
as  to  the  darkness  and  the  rattling 
against  the  windows  somebody  replies, 
"  It  is  only  the  sand." 

The  storm  has  lifted  the  sand  from 
the  earth,  and  is  hurling  it  back  to- 
wards the  sea  from  which  it  came. 
Before  the  soil  was  fixed  to  a  great 
extent  by  the  pines,  this  duel  between 
the  sea-wind  and  the  land-wind  was 
the  chief  cause  of  desolation  in  the 
melancholy  Landes.  There  were  a 
few  peals  of  thunder  and  a  few  drops 
of  rain ;  then  the  sand-clouds  moved 
farther  on,  the  sky  cleared,  and  the 
sun  shone  forth  again  in  all  his 
strength.  We  were  at  Arcachon. 

A  collection  of  toy-houses,  apparently 
intended  for  extra-sized  dolls,  ranged 
along  the  beach  of  what  resembles 
more  a  salt  lake  than  an  arm  of  the 
sea,  with  the  pine-forest  for  back- 
ground stretching  almost  without  a 
break  seventy  or  eighty  miles  towards 
the  south,  is  Arcachon.  It  is  a  good 
place  for  fishermen,  but  a  bad  one 
for  shoemakers.  Here  all  covering 
for  the  feet,  at  least  in  summer,  ap- 
pears to  be  regarded  as  a  graceless 
superfluity.  Ladies  from  Bordeaux, 
Toulouse,  and  Paris  pass  the  whole 
day  bronzing  their  naked  feet  and 
ankles  on  the  yellow  sand.  I  met  a 
family  of  visitors  taking  a  country 
walk.  The  children  were  barefooted, 
as  a  matter  of  course  :  madame  not 


A    Walking  Tour  in  the  Landes. 


223 


being  in  bathing  costume,  kept  her 
boots  on  her  feet,  but  monsieur  carried 
his  in  his  hand. 

On  leaving  Arcachon  I  hoisted  my 
knapsack  on  my  back,  and  began  my 
walking  tour.  The  day  was  more  than 
half  spent,  but  I  had  resolved  to  reach 
the  little  village  of  Cazau  by  the  lake 
of  the  same  name  before  night.  Al- 
though I  had  marked  out  for  myself 
no  definite  itinerary,  and  was  prepared 
to  allow  my  movements  to  be  deter- 
mined in  a  great  measure  by  the  acci- 
dental and  unforeseen,  my  general 
plan  was  to  traverse  the  Landes  from 
north  to  south.  Now,  in  walking 
southward  from  Arcachon  I  had  to 
choose  one  of  two  courses.  The  first 
was  to  follow  the  coast,  and  the  second 
was  to  keep  on  the  eastern  side  of  the 
chain  of  lakes  extending  from  six  to 
ten  miles  inland.  The  more  adventu- 
rous journey  would  have  been  by  the 
coast,  but  there  were  serious  difficulties 
in  the  way  of  undertaking  it.  A  more 
desolate  and  forbidding  coast  than  that 
of  the  Bay  of  Biscay  between  Arcachon 
and  Vieux  Boucan  it  would  be  hard  to 
find  in  Europe.  For  six  or  seven  miles 
inland  the  country  can  scarcely  be 
called  inhabited.  Two  or  three  hotels 
and  bathing  establishments  have 
sprung  up  near  the  sea  in  response  to 
the  ever-growing  need  of  quiet  places, 
whither  the  sick,  the  weary,  and  the 
economical  can  flee  from  the  world ; 
but  during  the  greater  part  of  the  year 
they  are  closed.  One  may  walk  thirty 
miles,  either  along  the  coast  or  on  the 
western  shores  of  the  lakes,  with- 
out finding  a  human  habitation, 
unless  it  be  a  resinier's  hut.  The 
resin-gatherers  are  the  only  men  who 
dispute  these  solitudes  with  the  wild 
boar. 

The  cause  of  this  supreme  desolation 
is  the  dunes  or  sandhills  which  in  the 
last  century  threatened  to  transform 
the  whole  of  the  western  Landes  with 
their  towns  and  villages  into  a  French 
Sahara.  The  maritime  pine  was  the 
salvation  of  this  region.  By  undaunted 
perseverance,  the  seed  was  made  to 
take  root  in  the  shifting  sand,  and 


thus  dune  after  dune  was  fixed.  It 
was  one  of  those  long  battles  with  the 
forces  of  nature  in  which  human  pur- 
pose, often  discouraged,  but  never 
turned  from  its  object,  triumphs  at 
last  over  seemingly  insurmountable 
obstacles.  Before  the  dunes  were 
covered  with  pines  they  were  con- 
stantly changing  their  shape  and 
place,  ebbing  and  flowing  like  the 
sea ;  but  always  gaining  in  the  sum  of 
years  upon  the  mainland  ;  and  fatally, 
irresistibly  drinking  up  the  springs  of 
fertility — the  life-blood  of  civilisation. 
The  ancient  port  of  Mimizan  lies 
under  the  dune  of  Uclos,  and  Mimizan 
of  to-day  is  cut  off  from  the  sea  by 
a  hill  of  £and.  Although  the  high 
dunes  did  not  travel  much  beyond  the 
chain  of  lakes,  their  devastating  in- 
fluence was  felt  many  a  league  east- 
ward. The  sand  caught  up  from  them 
by  the  storms  rushing  in  from  the  Bay 
of  Biscay  fell  upon  the  whole  region 
like  showers  of  volcanic  ashes.  Thus 
were  formed  the  Grandes  Landes,  in 
the  midst  of  which  lies  the  town  of 
Sabres,  where  the  land  is  flat,  and  in 
winter  marshy,  and  where  the  use  of 
stilts  by  the  inhabitants  is  still  very 
general.  But  even  the  flat  Landes  are 
now  mostly  covered  with  pine  woods, 
and  probably  before  the  century  dies 
the  last  pair  of  Gascon  stilts  will  be 
used  to  make  a  pot  boil. 

I  have  said  there  were  serious  diffi- 
culties in  the  way  of  my  following  the 
coast-line.  The  worst  was  the  diffi- 
culty of  walking.  Only  by  great  ex- 
ertion could  I  have  managed  to  cover 
ten  or  twelve  miles  a  day,  and  at  the 
end  of  the  first,  and  maybe  the  second, 
twelve  miles  I  should  have  found  my- 
self still  in  the  forest,  with  no  prospect 
of  shelter  unless  I  chanced  to  light 
upon  a  resinier's  cabin.  I  had,  there- 
fore, to  consider  also  the  difficulty  of 
finding  food,  and,  what  was  of  still 
greater  moment,  water.  The  prudent 
pedestrian,  especially  if  he  has  no 
companion,  must  weigh  such  matters 
as  these  before  trusting  himself  to  a 
vast  and  pathless  forest,  where  the 
undergrowth  of  hawthorn,  holly, 


224 


A   Walking  Tour  in  the  Zandes. 


heather  and  furze,  all  on  a  gigantic 
scale,  is  frequently  impenetrable.  Hav- 
ing decided  to  leave  the  dunes  on  my 
right,  and  keep  to  the  plains,  where  I 
should  have  better  opportunities  for 
observing  the  life  of  the  people,  I 
turned  my  back  to  the  ocean,  and 
commenced  walking  in  the  direction  of 
Cazau.  As  far  as  La  Teste  the  road 
skirted  the  Basin  of  Arcachon,  and  a 
dark  green  fringe  of  tamarisk  crept 
down  to  the  blue  water.  The  calm  in- 
land sea  was  dotted  over  with  many 
little  fishing  craft,  whose  sails  flashed 
back  golden  gleams  as  they  turned  to 
the  sun.  The  afternoon  was  very 
warm,  and  the  bright  sand  threw 
back  the  hot  rays.  After  La  Teste 
the  road  left  the  sea  and  ran  straight 
as  an  arrow  through  the  forest.  Now 
the  subtle  spirit  of  gladness  that  dwells 
in  the  pine  woods  and  fills  all  living 
things  with  joy,  from  the  dove  that 
swings  in  the  breeze  as  it  pecks  the 
seed  from  the  ripe  cone,  to  the  grass- 
hopper that  springs  from  tuft  to  tuft 
of  flowering  heather,  was  upon  me,  and 
I  rejoiced  at  the  thought  that  for  at 
least  four  days  I  should  see  no  town 
and  should  breathe  the  breath  of  the 
forest.  Now  and  then  the  fragrance 
of  the  pines  was  overborne  by  that  of 
peppermint,  where  the  little  aromatic 
flowers  showed  their  blue  whorls,  like 
beads  strung  on  threads  by  fairies,  in 
patches  along  the  wayside.  Grass- 
hoppers darted  in  every  direction. 
Those  I  saw  along  the  roadsides  of 
Auvergne  had  scarlet  wings;  these 
had  bright  -  blue  wings.  There  was 
not  a  scarlet  one  amongst  them.  But 
I  noticed  one  of  a  pale  green  colour, 
that  looked  as  large  as  a  wren  as  it 
flew  from  tuft  to  tuft. 

For  a  few  miles  the  silence  of  the 
woods  was  only  broken  by  the  chirrup- 
ing of  grasshoppers.  Then  I  heard  a 
loud  grating  chirrup  from  the  top  of 
a  tree.  It  was  not  the  note  of  a  bird, 
although  quite  loud  enough  to  be  so, 
but  that  of  the  cicada — the  cigale  so 
dear  to  Frederic  Mistral  and  his  bro- 
ther poets  of  Provence.  It  is  not  a 
musical  sound,  but  it  is  full  of  the  joy 


of  nature.  The  little  creature  sings  on 
one  note  the  everlasting  song  of 
southern  life,  the  song  of  passion  and 
sun-worship.  When  the  sky  is  clouded 
it  is  silent,  but  when  the  sun  breaks 
forth  it  seems  intoxicated  with  plea- 
sure, and  in  the  crest  of  every  pine  is 
a  blithe  spirit  that  pipes  upon  an  in- 
visible reed,  "-Sadness  is  gone ;  joy  ! 
joy  for  ever  !  " 

The  undergrowth  of  the  forest  on 
each  side  of  me  was,  as  far  as  I  could 
see,  of  heather  and  furze.  Both  these 
shrubs  frequently  rose  to  the  height  of 
ten  feet.  The  man  who  walked  through 
such  brushwood,  unless  he  had  stilts, 
would  soon  be  bleeding  from  the 
prickly  spines  of  the  gorse  and  be 
worn  out  with  fatigue.  I  tested  the 
experiment  and  soon  returned  to  the 
road.  I  had  walked  several  miles 
from  La  Teste,  and  the  only  person  I 
met  was  a  rustic  Nimrod  with  his  gun 
strapped  to  his  back.  The  shooting 
season  had  just  opened,  and  even  in 
these  solitudes  the  hares  and  the 
turtle  doves  have  to  keep  a  watchful 
eye  on  the  local  sportsmen.  I  was 
thirsty  and  there  was  no  water.  In 
this  part  of  the  Landes  during  the 
summer  heats  it  is  useless  to  look  for 
a  spring.  The  wandering  herdsmen 
know  this  so  well  that  they  carry 
gourds  of  water  in  their  wallets.  The 
water  is  only  reached  by  wells,  and  it 
is  usually  of  a  bad  colour  and  often 
brackish.  Such  as  it  is,  it  can  gene- 
rally be  found  at  no  great  depth,  be- 
cause underneath  the  invariable  bed  of 
sand  there  is  a  very  solid  layer  of  tuff 
composed  of  sand  conglomerated  with 
organic  matter,  so  impervious  to  mois- 
ture that  the  rain  which  quickly  soaks 
down  to  it  cannot  escape  into  the 
strata  below.  This  explains  why  the 
land  is  so  marshy  during  the  winter 
that  in  some  districts  stilts  are  then 
absolutely  indispensable.  The  Landais 
are  such  adepts  in  the  use  of  these 
artificial  legs  that  they  can  travel 
over  marshy  ground  by  stepping  from 
tuft  to  tuft  of  heather  as  fast  as  a 
horse  can  trot  over  a  good  road.  The 
marshes  caiise  malarial  fever  when  the 


A   Walking  Tour  in  the  Landes. 


225 


strong  evaporation  sets  in,  but  of  late 
years  scientific  drainage  has  been  car- 
ried on  to  such  an  extent  that  the 
Department  is  no  longer  unhealthy. 

I  quenched  my  thirst  as  well  as  I 
could  with  blackberries,  which  grew 
in  abundance  along  the  wayside,  until, 
as  evening  was  coming  on,  I  reached 
a  well-built  wooden  cottage.  In  the 
porch  a  peasant  and  his  wife  were 
looking  at  me  with  a  puzzled  expres- 
sion and  whispering  to  each  other. 
Supposing  that  the  cottage  might  be 
an  auberge,  I  asked  them  if  they  sold 
wine.  "  No,  no,"  was  the  answer. 
"  Can  you  give  me  some  water,  then  ? " 
"Yes,  come  in."  I  entered.  The 
interior  was  very  pleasant — very  dif- 
ferent from  the  living  rooms  of  the 
cottages  and  auberges  of  Auvergne. 
The  floor  was  not  of  stamped  earth, 
but  of  good  pine,  and  spotlessly  clean. 
The  man  wore  the  dark  blue  beret  of 
Gascony,  which  is  so  curiously  similar 
to  the  bonnet  of  the  lowland  Scotch, 
and  the  woman  a  bright-coloured  ker- 
chief wound  around  the  back  of  her 
head.  She  said  something  to  the  man 
in  a  patois  of  which  I  did  not  understand 
a  word,  but  I  quickly  guessed  the 
meaning,  for  he  took  a  pitcher  and 
went  to  the  well.  When  he  returned 
with  the  water,  the  woman  brought 
out  a  glass  and  a  litre  of  wine.  1 
took  no  notice  of  the  wine,  but  poured 
out  some  water.  "Take  some  wine 
with  it,"  said  the  woman  in  French. 
"  We  don't  sell  it,  but  we  can  give 
it."  I  declined  it,  saying  I  preferred 
water.  "  But  the  cold  water  will  do 
you  harm.  Put  at  least  some  sugar 
in  it."  I  assured  her  that  the  water 
would  not  do  me  harm,  and  that  I 
liked  it  much  better  without  sugar. 
My  entertainers  looked  at  one  another, 
and  the  puzzled  expression  I  noticed 
at  first  gave  place  to  one  of  confidence 
and  hospitality.  The  idea  had  dawned 
upon  them  that  I  was  not  a  genuine 
tramp,  a  Prussian  spy,  or  a  crafty 
pedlar  with  a  trick  of  getting  round 
women's  hearts  by  asking  for  water. 
My  best  recommendation  was  a  bunch 
of  flowers — mere  weeds — which  I  car- 
No.  309— VOL.  LII. 


ried  in  my  hand.  "  Monsieur  her- 
balise  ?  "  said  the  man.  "  Sometimes," 
I  replied.  "  Ah  !  then  you  are  going 
to  Lake  Cazau  1  "  "  Yes,  but  why  do 
think  so?"  "Because  people  come  a 
long  way  to  Cazau  to  '  do  botany.' 
A  little  flower  that  is  very  rare  grows 
near  the  lake,  and  there  are  persons 
who  spend  whole  days  in  looking  for 
it."  The  ice  being  now  thoroughly 
broken,  the  peasant  went  to  a  cup- 
board and  brought  out  another  bottle. 
"  If  you  don't  care  for  wine,"  said  he, 
"  perhaps  you  will  take  a  little  cognac." 
Again  I  declined,  perhaps  wrongly, 
for  it  hurt  the  feelings  of  these  good 
people  to  see  me  emptying  a  pitcher 
of  cold  water  in  their  house.  I  thanked 
them,  and  bade  them  good-bye.  When 
my  form  must  have  been  to  them  a 
dusky  splash  against  the  fading  sky,  I 
looked  back  and  saw  them  watching 
me  out  of  sight. 

From  afar  off  came  the  tinkle  of 
many  bells.  At  first  it  was  very 
faint,  but  as  I  walked  on,  now  at  a 
quick  pace,  for  I  had  loitered  greatly, 
it  grew  clearer.  1  knew  that  I  was 
nearing  a  village  and  that  the  cattle 
were  going  home  for  the  night.  The 
sound  waxed  louder  and  louder ;  the 
forest  fell  back  and  yielded  to  fields 
of  green  maize,  gardens  with  fruit- 
trees,  and  cottages.  This  was  Cazau. 
The  village  square  was  filled  with 
cattle,  each  animal  wearing  a  bell 
tied  to  its  neck.  From  all  directions 
other  herds  were  approaching,  as  I 
knew  by  the  clanging  of  the  bells  and 
the  songs  of  the  herdsmen.  I  stopped 
at  the  first  inn  I  found,  and  was  soon 
put  in  possession  of  a  comfortable 
bedroom,  and  had  the  satisfaction  of 
knowing  that  some  dinner  was  being 
cooked  in  the  kitchen.  While  the 
cooking  was  going  on  I  strolled  round 
the  house.  It  was  a  long,  low,  one- 
floored  building,  with  a  row  of  acacias 
in  front,  kept  short  and  bushy,  and 
an  old  weeping  willow  half  hiding  a 
well.  There  was  also  a  kitchen  garden, 
with  little  in  it  besides  a  bed  of  toma- 
toes, covered  with  red  and  green  fruit, 
and  a  patch  of  melons.  Beyond  was 

Q 


226 


A   Walking  Tour  in  the  Landes. 


a  broad  field  of  maize,  which  blended 
its  bright  green  leaves  in  the  distance, 
now  getting  rapidly  dim  in  the  brief 
twilight,  with  the  deeper  green  of  the 
forest.  There  was  a  subdued  glow  of 
light  over  the  house,  the  acacias,  the 
willow,  the  maize-field,  the  tomatoes, 
and  the  melon  plants,  that  was  not  so 
much  light  as  the  remembrance  of  it, 
and  the  calm  was  so  deep  as  to  be 
almost  impassioned. 

Having  dined  on  stewed  eels  and 
fowl  with  tomato  sauce,  I  went  outside 
again,  and  sat  under  the  acacias, 
smoking  my  pipe  and  listening  to  the 
cicadas  in  the  nearest  pine  trees,  and 
the  herdsmen  who,  having  gathered 
all  their  cattle  about  them,  were  sing- 
ing in  chorus  songs  that  sounded  like 
canticles.  The  Landais  are  a  much 
more  musical  people  than  the  northern 
French.  They  have  rich,  sonorous 
voices,  and  singing  seems  to  be  their 
chief  pastime.  The  songs  of  these 
wandering  herdsmen  have  a  melan- 
choly cadence  that  harmonises  well 
with  the  vastness  and  mystery  of  the 
forest.  The  voices  of  the  men  rising 
and  falling  in  concert,  the  distant 
chorus  of  cicadas,  the  richness  of  the 
pine-scented  air,  the  peacefulness  of 
the  little  auberge,  and  the  luxurious 
sense  of  rest  after  a  fatiguing  walk, 
made  me  loth  to  leave  the  garden-seat. 
One  by  one  the  voices  were  hushed ; 
the  singers  went  home  to  bed,  and  the 
cattle  got  too  drowsy  to  shake  their 
bells.  At  length  I  roused  myself,  and 
very  soon  the  widow  who  kept  the  inn, 
and  her  two  sons  who  farmed  the  land, 
myself,  and  the  little  barefooted  ser- 
vant, were  all  in  bed. 

No  sooner  was  my  light  out  than 
I  heard  the  familiar  song  of  that  small 
demon -insect  the  mosquito,  whose 
presence  I  had  invited  by  leaving  the 
window  open.  He  persisted  in  blowing 
his  trumpet  a  few  inches  from  my 
nose.  Outmanoeuvred  and  vanquished, 
I  covered  my  head  with  the  sheet  and 
fell  asleep.  I  was  awakened  by  the 
roaring  of  thunder.  From  my  window 
I  saw  the  lightning  rending  the  clouds 
and  illuminating  the  wondrous  depths 


of  the  forest.  ~  Beyond  the  fiery  leaves 
and  stalks  of  the  maize-field,  the  trunks 
of  the  pines  gleamed  like  molten  steel. 
The  storm  raged  far  into  the  morning, 
then  went  away  as  suddenly  as  it 
came,  and  the  sun  was  soon  shining  in 
a  cloudless  sky. 

While  I  was  breakfasting  on  bread 
and  cafe  au  lait  I  took  counsel  of  the 
landlady  and  her  two  sons  respecting 
the  day's  journey.     The  hostess  was 
an  elderly  widow.     I  could  not  help 
noticing  that  she  had  a  pair  of  lean, 
bare   legs,  and    that    her   feet    were 
thrust    into    old   espadrilles — heelless 
shoes  with  soles  of  hemp,  common  in 
Lower  Gascony,  and  especially  in  the 
Basque  country.  Her  sons  had  thrown 
off  a  great  deal  of  the  peasant,  both 
in  their  dress  and  their  manners,  and 
they  seemed  to  have  little  taste  for 
the  life  they  led.     I  was  bent  upon 
reaching  Biscarosse  before  night,  not 
by  the  direct  road,  nor  by  any  road 
at  all,  but  by  rounding  the  western 
shore  of  the  lake.     Mother  and  sons 
broke  to  me,  in  as  delicate  a  manner 
as  possible,  that  the  project  was  not 
that  of  a  sane  person.     I  was    told 
that  if  I   kept  to  the  open  shore  of 
the  lake  I  should  find  the  sand  very 
loose  and  the  heat  overpowering,  and 
that  if  I  chose  the  forest  the  walking 
would  be  still  worse.     But  the  water 
difficulty  was  the  most  perplexing.     I 
was   assured    that   I   should    find   no 
water  fit  to  drink  unless  I  chanced  to 
meet  a  resinier,  who  might  be  able  to 
give  me    some.      Knowing    from   the 
map  that   the  distance  must  be  less 
than   twenty   miles,  the  obstacles  of 
which  these  people  drew  such  a  for- 
bidding picture  seemed  to  me  rather 
fanciful.     I,  however,  thought  it  pru- 
dent, before  starting,  to  take  a  bottle 
of  wine  and  some  food  with  me.     The 
only  food  that  the  house  could  supply 
at  that  moment  was  bread  and  four 
or    five    sardines.      With    my    wine, 
bread,  and  sardines  I  faced  the  terrors 
of  the  desert  with  my  knapsack  un- 
pleasantly heavy. 

As    I   neared   the    sheet    of    water 
which  had  for  me  such  an  attraction, 


A   Walking  TOUT  in  the  Landes. 


227 


I  came  to  a  pillar  surmounted  by  a 
statue  of  the  Virgin,  and  read  that 
it  was  dedicated  to  "  Our  Lady  of  the 
Lake."  For  the  first  two  or  three 
miles  the  walk  along  the  shore  of  the 
lake  was  delightful,  for  the  morning's 
freshness  still  resisted  the  sun's  power. 
I  met  a  young  lady  tramping  over 
the  sand  with  naked  feet  and  accom- 
panied by  a  servant  carrying  bathing 
dress  and  towels.  Like  all  well 
conducted  young  Frenchwomen  in  the 
presence  of  an  unknown  male, 
mademoiselle  stared  fixedly  in  the 
direction  of  her  pretty  toes.  I  passed 
herds  of  cattle  nibbling  the  short  grass 
that  grew  where  the  ground  was 
marshy ;  but  the  strip  of  land  between 
the  forest  and  the  water  became 
narrower  and  narrower,  and  I  was 
soon  struggling  through  high  heather 
at  the  foot  of  the  sandhills.  Innumer- 
able  dragon  flies  darted  through  the 
air.  Some  of  them  had  bright  yellow 
bodies  which  gave  them  a  very  fierce 
and  wicked  look ;  others — a  smaller 
variety — were,  excepting  the  all  but 
invisible  wings,  the  colour  of  rubies. 
I  disturbed  colonies  of  frogs  basking 
among  the  reeds.  They  waited  until 
I  was  within  a  few  yards  of  them, 
then  rose  like  a  flight  of  birds  and 
dropped  into  the  water,  their  green 
backs  glittering  just  a  moment  in  the 
sunlight.  More  cows — these  were 
wading  breast-high  far  out  in  the 
shallow  water  and  ringing  their  in- 
separable bells.  Little  brown  lizards, 
from  three  to  four  inches  long,  darted 
over  the  sand,  and  in  the  winking  of 
an  eye  were  lost  among  the  rusty  roots 
of  the  heather.  The  knapsack  now 
felt  like  a  mountain  on  my  back,  the 
perspiration  dropped  from  my  face, 
and  one  of  my  hands — -that  on  the 
side  of  the  sun — had  turned  lobster  red 
and  smarted  with  the  blistering  heat. 
Still  I  plodded  on  over  the  hot  and 
yielding  sand,  or  through  the  tangled 
brushwood,  and  could  have  convinced 
myself  that  everything  was  for  the 
best  in  the  best  of  worlds,  were  it  not  for 
the  thirst  that  parched  me.  This  is  a 
sensation  which  the  animal  spirits, 


though  they  leap  like  a  mountain 
stream,  cannot  wash  away.  I  turned 
to  the  wine  which  my  forethought 
made  me  bring.  It  was  hot — mulled 
by  the  sun,  and  I  could  not  drink  it. 
I  cast  longing  looks  at  the  blue  lake 
that  seemed  so  cool.  It  was  really 
tepid,  and  I  had  been  told  that  the 
water  was  unfit  to  drink.  When 
French  people  say  that  certain  water 
is  undrinkable  one  may  be  sure  that  it 
is  so,  for  they  are  not  at  all  fastidious 
in  such  matters.  I  had  only  walked 
about  ten  kilometres,  and  there  were 
some  twenty  more  to  cover  before  I 
could  reach  Biscarosse  by  the  way  I 
had  chosen.  As  I  went  on,  the  sand 
became  terribly  fatiguing.  Why  did 
I  not  learn  to  walk  on  stilts  like  the 
Landais  before  undertaking  this 
journey1?  I  was  told  at  Cazau  that 
half  a  day's  practice  would  have  made 
me  quite  an  adept.  But  my  neck 
might  have  been  broken  during  the 
lesson.  While  I  was  hesitating  whether 
I  would  drink  the  wine  or  the  water 
from  the  lake,  I  nearly  walked  into 
a  well.  It  was  a  real  well,  sunk  deep 
into  the  sand  at  the  edge  of  the  forest. 
I  could  see  the  shine  of  the  water  in 
the  cool  depth  where  no  sunbeam  had 
ever  penetrated,  but  I  could  not  reach 
it  for  there  was  neither  rope  nor 
bucket.  It  was  evident  that  those 
who  used  the  well  had  hospitably 
hidden  these  utensils.  Imitating  the 
philosophy  of  the  fox  in  the  fable,  I 
was  trying  to  persuade  myself  that 
this  water  must  be  brackish  or  con- 
taminated by  the  lake,  when  I  heard 
"  tap,  tap,  tap,"  in  the  woods  not  far 
away.  It  was  the  sound  of  a  resin 
gatherer's  axe. 

I  climbed  the  dune.  The  shadow  of 
the  pines  was  deep  but  not  cool.  These 
trees  shut  out  the  sun's  rays,  but  very 
little  of  their  heat.  Oak,  beech,  or 
chestnut  shade  is  cool,  but  a  pine  forest 
is  always  hot  in  summer  weather. 
That  "  tap,  tap,  tap,"  was  a  perfect 
will  o'  the  wisp.  Now  it  sounded 
quite  near,  and  now  much  farther 
away.  It  was  leading  me  deeper  and 
deeper  into  the  forest.  Presently  I 

Q  2 


228 


A    Walking  Tour  in  the  Landes. 


caught  a  glimpse  of  a  man's  body 
flattened  like  a  squirrel's  against  the 
trunk  of  a  tree.  He  was  standing  about 
ten  feet  from  the  ground  upon  a  notched 
piece  of  timber  that  he  had  planted 
against  a  pine.  This  piece  of  wood 
was  the  resinier's  ladder.  The  man 
was  barefooted  like  all  his  class  when 
at  work,  and  he  was  knocking  off, 
with  his  axe  the  sugar-like  lumps  of 
resin  from  the  yellow  streak  where  the 
bark  had  been  lately  stripped.  Near 
the  foot  of  the  tree  was  affixed  a  little 
earthen  pot  to  catch  the  more  fluid 
resin,  on  which  greater  value  is  set. 
The  man  saw  me  coming  towards  him, 
but  he  was  either  morose  or  suspicious, 
for  he  took  no  notice  of  me.  Only  when 
I  was  battling  with  his  dog — a  vicious 
shaggy  little  brute  with  a  tail  as  bushy 
as  a  fox's,  but  curled  over  his  back, 
did  he  give  a  sign  of  friendly  feeling. 
He  rebuked  the  animal  in  a  few  short 
grunts,  still  keeping  his  eyes  fixed  upon 
the  tree.  I  then  asked  him  if  he 
could  give  me  some  water.  "  Yes,"  he 
replied,  but  went  on  tapping  with  his 
axe.  Presently  he  walked  down  his 
pole  with  the  stealthy  certitude  of  a 
cat,  and  beckoned  me  to  follow  him.  I 
did  so,  and  the  dog  brought  up  the 
rear,  with  his  lips  curled  up  at  each 
side  and  showing  his  white  teeth.  In 
a  few  minutes  we  came  to  a  little 
clearing  where  there  were  three  or 
four  very  low,  but  solidly  built  huts  of 
pine  wood  with  long  eaves.  We 
entered  one  of  these,  and  my  new 
acquaintance  trustfully  left  me  there 
while  he  went  to  the  well.  I  was  not 
sorry  that  he  took  his  ill-conditioned 
dog  with  him.  While  he  was  away  I 
noticed  that  the  room  was  comfortably 
floored,  that  there  was  a  broad  open 
fireplace  with  iron  dogs  on  the  hearth, 
almost  buried  in  wood  ashes,  that 
there  were  two  rough  chairs  and  a 
rougher  table  and  a  piece  of  ham 
hanging  to  a  beam.  There  were  two 
more  rooms,  one  of  which,  as  I  after- 
wards learnt,  was  used  as  a  bedroom, 
the  other  for  storing  resin. 

The  forester  quickly  returned  with 
a  jar — one  of  those  jars  so  frequently 


seen  on  approaching  the  Pyrenees,  and 
which  look  like  degenerate  descendants 
of  classic  amphorae.  He  set  it  down 
on  the  table,  and  bringing  one  of  the 
two  glasses  which  he  owned  from  the 
cupboard,  filled  it  with  water  clear  and 
cold.  I  emptied  it  and  refilled  it,  and 
emptied  it  again.  Then  I  unpacked 
the  bread  and  sardines  and  wine  which 
I  had  carried  on  the  top  of  my  knap- 
sack. The  wine  I  gave  to  my  host, 
who,  however,  insisted  upon  my  taking 
some  before  he  would  touch  it.  While 
I  was  engaged  upon  my  bread  and 
sardines,  the  resin-gatherer  lit  a  fire  of 
cones  and  split  pine  which  needed  no 
coaxing  to  burn.  In  two  minutes  the 
flames  were  rolling  up  the  wide 
chimney.  Then  he  unhitched  a  frying- 
pan  from  the  wall,  and  set  it  on  the  fire 
with  a  lump  of  grease  in  it.  Next  he 
took  a  few  small  fish  which  he  had 
netted  in  the  lake,  and  dropped  them 
into  the  boiling  fat.  He  then  fetched 
a  huge  round  loaf  of  rye  bread,  almost 
black,  and  spreading  his  fish  upon  a 
slice  of  it,  proceeded  to  eat  his  meal. 
He  grew  communicative,  and  I  found 
that  so  far  from  being  a  morose  or 
suspicious  character,  he  was  as  simple 
and  genuine  as  a  child.  He  was  a 
lean,  agile  man  of  about  forty-five, 
with  shaven  dark  face,  aquiline  nose, 
broad  prominent  chin,  and  frank  hazel 
eyes.  The  pinched  smooth  features 
and  lean  body  gave  him  the  air  of  an 
ascetic  monk.  I  soon  learnt  that  his 
asceticism  was  compulsory.  He  was  a 
poor  man,  and  his  diet  from  necessity 
was  often  as  simple  as  that  of  a 
Trappist.  Fortunately  for  him  his 
tastes  did  not  go  beyond  the  life  to 
which  he  had  grown,  and  he  was  con- 
tented with  fare  on  which  a  town 
workman  could  not  exist  except  in  a 
state  of  misery.  This  resinier  told  me 
that  one  of  the  great  loaves  of  rye 
bread  such  as  he  had  before  him  lasted 
him  about  four  days,  and  he  apologised 
for  his  appetite  by  explaining  that 
inasmuch  as  he  drank  no  wine  and 
rarely  touched  meat  he  was  obliged  to 
eat  a  great  deal  of  bread  to  keep  up 
his  strength 


A  Walking  Tour  in  the  Landes. 


229 


"  You  drink  no  wine  ?  " 

"No;  this  is  not  a  grape  country, 
and  wine  is  too  dear  for  us." 

"  And  are  all  the  resiniers  water- 
drinkers  ? " 

"  All !  except  when  they  go  into  the 
villages." 

"  And  do  you  pass  all  your  life  alone 
in  the  forest  ?  " 

"  No,  I  go  every  Saturday  night  to 
Biscarosse  where  my  wife  lives,  and 
spend  Sunday  there." 

He  finished  his  meal  in  about  ten 
minutes,  and  was  ready  for  work 
again  ;  but  I  handed  him  my  tobacco 
pouch,  at  which  his  eyes  lighted  up 
like  a  very  hungry  child's  at  the  sight 
of  a  cake,  and  we  sat  outside  the  hut 
on  the  heathery  slope  of  the  dune 
under  an  old  pine,  and  resumed  our 
talk  as  we  smoked. 

"  Do  you  earn  much  money  in 
return  for  leading  this  solitary  life 
in  the  woods  ?  " 

"  We  used  to  do  well  enough  when 
the  price  of  the  barrique  of  resin  was 
up  to  forty  or  fifty  francs,  but  this 
year  is  bad — very  bad." 

"  Haven't  the  pines  yielded  well  ? " 

"  Oh  !  yes.  It  is  not  the  fault  of  the 
pines.  It  is  the  fault  of  the  market.  The 
price  is  down  to  twenty-four  francs." 

"  How  many  barriques  do  you  fill  in 
a  year?  " 

"  We  reckon  a  hundred." 

"  And  you  get  ? " 

"  Half  the  market  price  ;  the  rest 
goes  to  the  proprietor.  We  divide 
with  him.  That  is  the  system  on 
which  we  work  all  through  the  Landes. 
Each  man  has  generally  1,000  trees  to 
look  after." 

"  So  with  the  market  price  at  twenty- 
four  francs  you  will  get  for  your  year's 
work  1,200  francs  (48Z.).  And  have 
you  nothing  else  to  look  to  ?  " 

"  In  the  winter  evenings  we  split 
wood,  and  sometimes  we  hunt." 

"  What  do  you  hunt — boars  1 " 

"  A— ah  !  No  "  (with  a  grin).  "  That's 
dangerous.  We  hunt  snipe,  wild  duck, 
and  hares.  Sometimes  we  kill  five  or 
six  snipe  a  day,  and  they  sell  for  two 
francs  fifty  centimes  each." 


Not  such  a  bad  life  after  all  thought 
I,  notwithstanding  the  state  of  the 
resin  market. 

One   need    not  ask    why  since   the 
collection  of  resin  has  been  one  of  the 
chief  industries    of    the  Landes,  wild 
creatures  of    all    kinds    have  become 
much  scarcer  than  formerly  through- 
out  this   region,  which   is   still   very 
attractive  to  the  adventurous  sports- 
man, especially  if  he    be    likewise   a 
naturalist.     The  resiniers  have  had  a 
great  deal  to  do  with  driving  the  wolf 
back  to  the  Pyrenees ;  not  so  much  by 
making  war  upon  him,  as  by  worrying 
his  nerves  by  the  incessant  tapping  of 
their  axes.  A  wolf  has  aldelicate  nervous 
system.  A  line  of  railway  run  through 
his  district  is  quite  sufficient  to  make 
him  move  elsewhere.     The  boar,  a  less 
nervous  animal  than  the  wolf,  and  a 
more  formidable  one  when  attacked,  is 
frequently  met  in  these  forests.     He 
has  nothing  to  fear  from  the  resiniers, 
who  when  they  see  him,  have  the  pru- 
dence to  let  him  go   on  his  way,  and 
they  treat  his  spouse  when  followed  by 
her  young  with  even  greater  respect. 
If  the  boar  on  the  other  hand  becomes 
imprudent,   and    makes    nightly  raids 
upon  a  maize  field  on  the  outskirts  of 
a    village,   the    villagers    organise    a 
hunt.  His  taste  for  sweet  maize  stalks 
frequently  costs  him   his  life  ;  but  he 
sells  it  dearly,  ripping  open  dogs  and 
sometimes  men,  fighting  as  long  as  he 
has  strength  to  strike  with  his  tusks. 
Curiously  enough  the  boar  has  a  rival 
here  in  his  congener,  the  domestic  pig, 
which  having  found    the    air  of    the 
forest  and  freedom  sweeter  than  that 
of  the  stye  or  farmyard  became  a  self- 
emancipated    porker.       A    few    years 
ago  these  wild  pigs — they  are  known 
as  cochons  sauvages — were  so  numerous 
in  the   neighbourhood    of  Cazau,  and 
wrought    such    destruction    upon  the 
young  pines  that  the  Government  took 
energetic    measures     to     exterminate 
them.     The  wild  pig   of  the  Landes  is 
of  the  same  breed  that  supplies  Paris 
with  its  much  prized  Bayonne  hams. 
Formerly  troops  of  wild  horses  roamed 
the  Landes  just  as  wild  horses  and  cattle 


230 


A  Walking  Tour  in  the  Landes. 


still  roam  the  Camargue — that  desert  of 
Provence  and  Languedoc.     They  have 
entirely  disappeared.    Roebucks,  which 
•were  once  plentiful,  are  getting  scarce. 
Smaller  quadrupeds,  such  as  foxes  and 
hares,  are  very  numerous,  and  the  wild 
cat  is  found  in  the  forests.  The  Landes 
are    peculiarly    rich    in    ornithology. 
Birds  which  have  almost  if  not  quite 
disappeared     from      other     parts     of 
Western  Europe,  such  as  the  bustard, 
the   wild   goose,   and   the   wild   swan 
linger  in  these  solitudes.     Flamingoes 
are  occasionally  seen  in  districts  where 
the  marshes  have   not    been    drained, 
and  there  are   wild   pheasants   about 
the  banks  of    the  Leyre.      There  are 
tortoises  in  the    sand,   and  the  lakes 
contain  a  great  variety  of  fresh-water 
fish.     Sportsmen  to  whom  the  pleasure 
of  shooting  something  in  old  Europe 
that  is  really  wild  is  heightened    by 
natural  obstacles,  such  as  thickets  that 
can  only  be  penetrated  by  means  of  the 
axe,  sand  sloughs  into  which  they  may 
step  unawares,   and  not  be   heard  of 
more,  and  forest  flies   capable  of  in- 
flicting   positive    torture,   would   find 
in  the  Marensin,  the   district   imme- 
diately south  of  Lake  Cazau,  an  ideal 
hunting  ground.     If  the  visitor  takes 
out  his  shooting  license  at  the  mairie 
of  the  commune  which  he  chooses  for 
the  scene  of  his  exploits,  he  may  blaze 
away  without  fear  of  hindrance ;  but 
it  is  necessary  that  he  should  pay  this 
local  tribute,  for  the  commune  has  the 
right  to   stop    people    from    shooting 
within    its    bounds    unless    they   are 
provided  with  one  of  its  own  licenses. 
The  license    costs    twenty-five  francs. 
Half  of  the  money  goes  to  the  com- 
mune in  which  it  is  taken  out,  and  the 
other  half  to  the  state. 

My  project  of  reaching  Biscarosse 
by  skirting  the  lake  soon  became  a 
subject  of  earnest  conversation  between 
me  and  the  resin-gatherer.  The  de- 
scription he  gave  of  the  journey  was 
anything  but  seductive.  He  put  the 
distance  at  sixteen  kilometres.  Know- 
ing by  experience  the  inveterate  habit 
of  the  country  people  of  under  estima- 
ting distances  I  added  four  to  his  six- 


teen. He  told  me  that  it  would  take 
him,  with  his  knowledge  of  the  country, 
six  hours  to  do  the  journey.  A  new 
idea  struck  me.  Between  the  trunks 
of  the  pines  I  could  see  a  boat  lying 
on  the  near  shore  of  the  lake,  and  I 
asked  my  dark  friend  if  it  would  be 
possible  to  get  across  by  water  to  Bis- 
carosse ? 

"  Certainly,"  said  he.     "  That  is  my 
boat,  and  I  can  take  you  across." 
"  Well,  name  your  price," 
After   reflecting  a  few  minutes  he 
said — 

"  I  shall  have  to  pay  one  of  my 
comrades  to  do  my  work.  It's  about 
four  hours'  sail,  for  there  is  scarcely 
any  wind,  and  I  must  stop  the  night 
at  Biscarosse.  Do  you  think  five 
francs  too  much  1 " 

"  No  ;  make  your  arrangements  and 
let  us  start." 

He  walked  to  a  neighbouring  hut, 
outside  of  which  two  other  resiniers 
who  had  returned  for  their  mid -day 
meal  were  now  seated.  In  a  few 
minutes  he  had  arranged  the  matter 
and  was  ready  to  start. 

He  left  his  cabin  door  unlocked,  for 
it  never  enters  a  resinier's  head  to  doubt 
the  honesty  of  another  resinier.  These 
men  pass  their  lives  in  perfect  com- 
panionship, without  rivalry,  jealousy, 
or  distrust.  Nothing  would  be  easier 
than  for  one  of  them  to  steal  the  fruit  of 
another's  labour — to  abstract  resin 
from  his  neighbour's  pots — but  I  have 
been  assured  that  such  practices  are 
unknown  in  the  Landes.  On  reaching 
the  lake  I  found  that  the  boat  had 
been  beached  some  ten  yards  from  the 
shore.  The  resin  gatherer  tucked  up 
his  trousers  and  waded  in.  This  was 
a  trifling  matter  with  him,  for  he  had 
bare  feet.  He  carried  his  sabots  in  his 
hand,  because  he  was  about  to  enter 
his  village,  and  he  wished  to  look  re- 
spectable there.  Seeing  me  hesitating 
on  the  shore  he  made  excuses  for  his 
own  f  orgetf  ulness,  and  quickly  returning 
insisted  upon  carrying  me  to  the  boat 
on  his  back.  Rather  reluctantly  I 
assumed  the  undignified  position.  We 
were  now  in  the  boat,  and  a  few  pushes 


A  Walking  Tour  in  the  Landes. 


231 


of  the  sail -pole  sent  it  gliding  into 
deeper  water.  I  took  my  seat  on  a 
plank  in  the  centre  and  the  resinier 
placed  himself  in  the  stern,  where  he 
could  ply  the  rudder  with  one  hand 
and  hold  the  sail  cord  with  the  other. 
The  dog  settled  himself  between  his 
master's  naked  feet,  and  although  he 
pretended  to  sleep  he  kept  one  glisten- 
ing half-closed  eye  fixed  on  me.  The 
little  brute  had  grown  more  amiable 
since  he  ate  the  tails  of  my  sardines, 
but  was  still  very  surly. 

The  mast  was  set,  the  sail  was  un- 
furled and  napped  lazily  in  the  light 
breeze.  We  hardly  seemed  to  move. 
There  was  scarce  a  ripple  on  the  glassy 
water,  and  I  could  see  the  golden  sand 
at  the  bottom  when  we  were  half  a 
mile  from  the  shore.  There  was  no 
shelter  here  from  the  sun's  rays,  which 
smote  down  with  almost  tropical  force  ; 
but  the  sensations  which  the  novelty 
of  the  situation  and  the  beauty  of  the 
scenery  awakened  were  enchanting. 
Now  I  could  take  in  the  whole  loveliness 
of  this  delightful  lake,  which  is  just 
large  enough  to  mimic  the  sea  but  not 
so  large  as  to  shut  out  the  impressions 
of  the  land.  All  around,  above  the 
glittering  margin  of  sand  stretched  the 
unbroken  forest,  vast  and  undulating 
like  the  ocean.  In  the  narrow  valleys 
between  parallel  dunes  were  sombre 
depths  of  dusky  green,  over  which 
floated  a  pale  blue  mist.  There  the 
pines  looked  like  trees  accursed  with- 
out hope  of  sunshine  and  light,  with 
no  breeze  to  unbosom  their  agony  in 
sighs,  but  brooding  in  solemn  and 
awful  silence  for  ever.  But  where  the 
storms  of  ages  ago  had  written  their 
history  in  the  sands  rolled  high  into 
the  shape  of  mountain  ridges  the 
joyous  pines  were  all  luminous  with 
the  summer  glory  of  the  sun,  and  there 
I  knew  the  doves  must  be  swinging  on 
the  topmost  boughs  where  the  wind  and 
leaves  sing  for  ever. 

After  about  an  hour's  very  slow  sail- 


ing, a  broad  ripple  breaking  from  the 
shore  we  had  left  ran  across  the 
face  of  the  lake.  Before  it  reached 
us  the  sail  suddenly  bulged,  the  cord 
was  nearly  tugged  from  the  forester's 
grasp  and  the  boat  sprang  forward 
with  a  motion  altogether  new.  Then 
we  noticed  that  the  sun  was  shining 
through  a  dun-coloured  vapour  and  that 
smoky  masses  of  cloud  were  hover- 
ing over  the  dunes  on  the  southern 
shore. 

"A  storm  !  "  said  my  companion. 

"  Will  it  break  before  we  reach  the 
land?" 

"  Very  likely." 

It  was  soon  blowing  a  stiff  breeze 
that  drove  the  boat  along  at  a  grey- 
hound's speed,  with  occasional  gusts 
which  made  the  foam  fly  over  the 
bows.  A  pleasant  and  exciting  change 
this,  but  if  the  dose  was  to  be  increased 
the  sail  would  need  very  judicious 
handling.  The  boat,  moreover,  was 
very  old  and  leaky.  My  boots  were 
already  half  under  water.  The  dog 
having  at  length  taken  his  eye  off  me 
was  devoting  all  his  attention  to  the 
problem  of  finding  a  dry  place  to  sit 
upon.  I  noticed  his  discomfort  with 
satisfaction.  Our  little  ship  might  be 
filling  with  water,  but  she  was  making 
splendid  way.  The  wind,  which  caused 
us  to  tack  considerably  at  first,  was 
now  carrying  us  straight  as  an  arrow 
to  a  point  in  the  south-eastern  corner 
of  the  lake  which  the  resinier  wished 
to  reach.  The  storm  did  not  really 
strike  us,  but  rolled  away  to  the  east, 
and  the  lumpy  water  was  settling  down 
again  as  the  boat  ran  up  a  little  creek. 
Here  the  resinier  moored  her,  and  we 
set  off  walking  to  Biscarosse,  which 
was  about  three  miles  distant.  The 
land  here  was  flat  and  marshy,  and  less 
thickly  wooded  than  on  the  opposite 
shore  of  the  lake.  Two  bullocks 
harnessed  to  a  waggon  and  separated 
by  a  very  long  beam,  were  the  first 
signs  of  approaching  civilisation. 


To  be  concluded  in  the  next  Number. 


232 


REVIEW  OF    THE    MONTH. 


THE  Ministerial  proposals  for  raising 
the  year's  revenue  were  rejected  by  a 
majority  of   the  House  of   Commons 
early  in  the  morning  of  June  9.     On 
the  same  day  Mr.  Gladstone  informed 
the  Queen  of  the  desire  of  the  Cabinet 
to  surrender  office.  The  letter  reached 
the  Queen  on  June  10.     On  that  day 
other  communications  took  place  be- 
tween the  Sovereign  and  her  Ministers, 
the  precise  purport  of  which  has  not 
yet  been  made  public.    Whatever  they 
may  have  been,  on  the  day  following, 
that  is,  on  June   11,  the  Queen  with  a 
curious  alacrity  that  will  no  doubt  be 
explained  when   the  time   comes,  ac- 
cepted the  resignation  of  Mr.  Gladstone 
and    his    colleagues,   and    summoning 
Lord  Salisbury  to  Balmoral,  intrusted 
him   with   a   commission  to  form  an 
administration.       The      Conservative 
leader  reached  London  and  began  his 
task  on  June  15.     The  crisis  lasted 
for  a  week,  and  until  the  very  after- 
noon  of    the    22nd    the    expectation 
gradually   gained   ground    that   Lord 
Salisbury   would    give    up    his   task. 
This  expectation  was  at  its  strongest 
an  hour  or  two  before  the  public  was 
informed  that  he  had  resolved  to  per- 
severe.     The   precise   nature   of    the 
communications  that  were  exchanged 
between  the  two  sets  of  leaders  and 
the  Sovereign  is  not  as  yet  before  the 
world.     It  is  possible  that  when  they 
come   to   be   known  they  may   raise 
some  interesting  constitutional  points. 
As  the   situation  was  unique,  owing 
to  the  impossibility  of   a  dissolution 
of   Parliament,    precedents    were   not 
available,    and  it  may   be   that  new 
maxims  have  been  resorted  to. 

In  other  respects  the  fall  of  the 
second  Gladstone  administration  will 
probably  be  a  remarkable  date  in  our 
history,  for  however  we  are  inclined 
to  make  little  of  the  events  that  pass 


before  our  own  eyes  and  are  due  to 
actors  who  are  too  close  to  us  to  be 
rightly  measured,  it  is  too  obvious 
that  we  are  entering  for  good  or  for 
evil  on  a  new  era.  Our  external  re- 
lations are  undergoing  a  change  and 
taking  on  new  proportions.  So  are 
the  internal  conditions  of  party,  alike 
in  organization  and  in  creed.  So  is 
the  distribution  of  political  power. 

The  new  Premier's  first  difficulties,  for 
instance,  were  found  in  his  own  camp. 
The  younger,  more  aggressive,  and  more 
popular  wing,  headed  by  Lord  Ran- 
dolph Churchill,  and  more  or  less 
furtively  reinforced  by  Sir  Michael 
Hicks-Beach,  insisted  on  the  super- 
session of  Sir  Stafford  Northcote.  The 
intrigue  was  made  into  a  public 
scandal  by  a  scene  of  flat  mutiny  in 
the  House  of  Commons,  and  in  a  few 
hours  Lord  Salisbury  was  induced — 
after  the  use,  as  is  suspected,  of  little 
more  pressure  than  is  needed  to  force 
an  open  door — to  go  so  far  as  to  agree 
that,  if  somebody  else  would  tell  his 
old  friend  and  colleague  that  he  was 
no  longer  wanted,  then  he  would  gladly 
make  the  various  arrangements  that 
were  required  from  him.  Who  was  the 
emissary  intrusted  with  the  bow  string 
or  the  fatal  cup  of  coffee,  is  unknown 
outside  the  confederates.  But  the  issue 
was  the  deposition  of  the  last  chief  of 
the  old  school  of  Conservatism,  and  the 
installation  of  Lord  Randolph  Churchill 
as  practically  the  dictator  of  a  reno- 
vated, a  highly  astonished,  and  not 
wholly  pleased  party.  To  call  him 
dictator  is  hardly  at  all  too  strong. 
Lord  Salisbury  may  be  superior  to  his 
ally  in  grasp  of  mind,  as  he  obviously 
is  in  knowledge  and  experience.  But 
Lord  Salisbury  sits  in  the  House  of 
Lords,  while  political  power  resides 
in  the  House  of  Commons.  The 
Minister  who  has  the  supremacy  in 


Review  of  the  Month. 


233 


the  House  of  Commons,  if  he  have  as 
strong  a  will  and  as  vigorous  an  initi- 
ative as  Lord  Randolph  Churchill  has, 
will  undoubtedly  in  the  last  resort 
have  the  supremacy  in  the  Cabinet. 
The  energy  and  the  penetration  which 
have  raised  Lord  Randolph  in  the  short 
course  of  five  years  from  being  nobody 
to  this  commanding  elevation,  may 
justify  his  present  position  by  future 
performances.  But  that  a  politician  of 
his  temperament  and  his  views  should 
have  attained  that  position  marks  a 
decisive  transformation  in  one  of  the 
two  great  parties  of  the  State. 

A  second  point  that  cannot  escape 
attention  in  the  crisis,  is  the  peremptory 
dissipation  of  favourite  illusions  as  to 
the  Irish  vote  "not  counting."  The 
notion  that  the  two  English  parties 
should  establish  an  agreement  that,  if 
either  of  them  should  chance  to  be 
beaten  by  a  majority  due  to  Irish 
auxiliaries,  the  victors  should  act  as 
if  they  had  lost  the  division,  has  been 
cherished  by  some  who  are  not  exactly 
simpletons  in  politics.  We  now  see 
what  such  a  notion  is  worth.  It  has 
proved  to  be  worth  just  as  much  as 
might  have  been  expected  by  any 
onlooker  who  knows  the  excitement  of 
the  players,  the  fierceness  of  the  game, 
and  the  irresistible  glitter  of  the 
prizes.  When  it  suits  their  own  pur- 
pose, the  two  English  parties  will 
unite  to  baffle  or  to  crush  the  Irish, 
but  neither  of  them  will  ever  scruple 
to  use  the  Irish  in  order  to  baffle  or 
to  crush  their  own  rivals.  This  fancy 
must  be  banished  to  the  same  limbo 
as  the  similar  dream  that  Ireland 
could  be  disfranchised  and  reduced  to 
the  rank  of  a  Crown  colony.  Three 
years  ago,  when  Ireland  was  violently 
disturbed,  and  the  Irish  members  were 
extremely  troublesome,  this  fine  pro- 
ject of  governing  Ireland  like  India 
was  a  favourite  consolation,  even  to 
some  Liberals  who  might  have  been 
expected  to  know  better.  The  ab- 
surdity of  the  design,  and  the  shallow- 
ness  of  those  who  were  captivated 
by  it,  were  swiftly  exposed.  A  few 
months  after  they  had  been  consoling 


themselves  with  the  idea  of  taking 
away  the  franchise  from  Ireland, 
they  all  voted  for  a  measure  which 
extended  the  franchise  to  several  hund- 
reds of  thousands  of  the  inhabitants 
of  Ireland  who  had  not  possessed  it 
before,  and  who  are  not  at  all  likely  to 
employ  their  new  power  in  the  direc- 
tion of  crown  colonies  or  martial  law 
or  any  of  the  other  random  panaceas 
of  thoughtless  and  incontinent  politi- 
cians. As  for  the  new  Government, 
sharp  critics  —  and  some  of  the 
sharpest  are  to  be  found  on  their  own 
benches — do  not  shrink  from  declaring 
that  they  come  into  power  as  Mr. 
Parnell's  lieutenants.  His  vote  has 
installed  them,  it  can  displace  them; 
it  has  its  price,  and  the  price  will  be 
paid.  In  the  whole  transaction,  the 
Irish  not  only  count;  they  almost 
count  for  everything. 

The  present  crisis  hag  brought  into 
view  a  far  more  amazing  example  of 
the  political  levity  with  which  we 
handle  Irish  difficulties.  A  fortnight 
ago  the  imperative  necessity  of  renew- 
ing the  Crimes  Act  or  some  portions 
of  it  was  one  of  the  firmest  articles  of 
belief  among  Conservative  peers  and 
members  of  parliament,  and,  for  that 
matter,  among  the  bulk  of  Liberal 
peers  and  members  too.  With  the 
exception  of  a  few  members  on  the 
extreme  left,  and  Lord  Randolph 
Churchill  and  one  or  two  of  his  band, 
the  whole  of  the  English  and  Scotch 
parties  were  intent  on  renewing 
exceptional  legislation  Mr.  Gladstone 
had  announced  a  Bill  reviving  some 
"  valuable  and  equitable  provisions  " 
of  the  Crimes  Act.  When  he  fell,  it 
was  almost  universally  expected  that 
Lord  Salisbury  would  make  the  re- 
newal of  the  Crimes  Act  one  of  the 
subjects  on  which  he  would  require 
assurances  of  support  from  his  prede- 
cessors. In  a  few  hours  it  became 
known  that,  if  he  should  come  into 
power,  he  would  let  the  Crimes  Act 
drop,  and  trust  to  the  vigorous  execu- 
tion of  the  ordinary  law.  The  decision, 
if  it  be  acted  upon,  is  a  very  sensible 
one.  But  what  are  we  to  say  of  the 


234 


Review  of  the  Month. 


motive  that  has  notoriously  and  unde- 
niably prompted  it  ?     If  the  Gladstone 
Government  had  failed  to  propose  a 
revival  of  this  exceptional  legislation, 
it  is  notorious   and    undeniable   that 
they  would  have  provoked  the  most 
energetic   and   persistent    declaration 
that  their  policy  meant  nothing  less 
than  a  winter  of  murder  and  outrage 
in  .Ireland.     We  may  assume  that  the 
gentlemen   who    talked   in   this   way 
were,  and  would  have  been,  sincere. 
Then  what  are  we  to   think    of   the 
political  morality  which   deliberately 
accepts    a    policy    that   avowedly,    in 
their  judgment,  leads  to  a   winter  of 
murder  and  outrage  ?   The  levity  of  all 
this  matches  the  levity  of  1846.     In 
January,  1846,  thePeelite  Government 
declared  the  necessity  for  a  Coercion 
Bill  to  be  urgent.     But  they  took  no 
steps  whatever  to  secure  the  measure 
that   was    &o    urgently   needed    until 
June.       Then    in    June     the    Whigs 
turned  Peel  out,  on  the  principle  of 
Non-Coercion.     Having  thus  triumph- 
antly  established   the  principle,    and 
got    themselves    into    office    on    the 
strength  of  it,  they  straightway  forgot 
what  manner  of  men  they  were,  and 
before   they   had   been    a    month    in 
power  brought  in  a  Coercion  Bill  of 
their  own.     So  consistently  is  Ireland 
made     the     shuttlecock    of     English 
parties. 

It  is  perhaps  not  an  extravagant 
dream  to  hope  that  this  curious  turn 
of  affairs  in  the  present  crisis  may 
have  put  an  end  to  Coercion  as  one  of 
the  regular  instruments  at  the  dis- 
posal of  the  Irish  Executive.  By  Coer- 
cion we  mean  exceptional  legislation, 
on  principles  not  applied  in  England 
and  Scotland,  for  disorders  in  Ireland. 
The  abandonment  of  the  Crimes  Act 
by  both  parties,  including  the  pro- 
visions which  seemed  valuable  and 
equitable  only  a  few  days  ago — though 
its  abandonment  is  only  excused  on 
grounds  of  temporary  expediency — will 
make  it  very  difficult  for  either  Whig 
or  Tory  dog  to  return  to  its  vomit 
another  day.  It  is  true  that  political 
fatuity  is  not  likely  to  be  altogether 


silent.  Already  one  counsellor  pub- 
licly urges  Lord  Salisbury  to  "  tell 
the  Irish  Parliamentary  party  that  he 
will  try  to  prevent  crime  by  using 
only  the  provisions  of  the  common 
law,  but  that  if  he  fails,  if  a  bloody 
winter  again  stains  the  soil  of  Ireland 
with  frequent  assassination,  he  will 
ask  for  an  Order  in  Council  and  pro- 
claim martial  law."  As  if  martial 
law,  of  all  things  in  the  world,  could 
do  any  more  good  now — even  if  it 
were  possible — than  on  the  last  occa- 
sion when  something  like  it  was  tried 
in  Ireland,  and  proved  an  egregious 
failure.  Government  by  state  of  siege 
has  not  been  a  success  in  Ireland,  and 
government  by  state  of  siege  is  not 
only  unsuccessful ;  under  parliamen- 
tary institutions  it  is  impossible. 

We  have  spoken  of  the  transforma- 
tion in  the  Tory  party.  Irish  affairs 
seem  likely  to  be  the  immediate  agency 
for  testing  the  chances  of  a  similar 
transformation  in  the  opposite  camp. 
Mr.  Gladstone  informed  the  Queen,  in 
historic  words,  on  the  part  of  the 
Cabinet,  "  that  their  resignation  grew 
out  of  the  vote  which  had  been  given 
by  the  House  of  Commons  on  Monday 
night,  and  that  it  sprang  from  that 
source  and  was  founded  upon  that 
reason  alone."  That  this  was  a  true 
and  accurate  statement,  must  of  course 
be  taken  for  granted.  A  defeat  on 
cardinal  elements  of  fiscal  policy  has 
always  been  held  to  be  a  valid  reason 
for  throwing  the  responsibility  of 
government  on  the  party  who  inflicted 
the  defeat.  The  question  of  the 
number  of  lines  on  the  whips,  and  of 
the  exact  degree  of  pressure  that  was 
brought  to  bear  by  official  upon  non- 
official  members  of  the  Ministerial 
party,  has  interesting  bearings  of  its 
own.  But  it  does  not  affect  the  right 
and  duty  of  Ministers  to  resign  upon  a 
defeat  which  they  had  taken  reasonable 
means  to  avert.  What  is  certain  is 
that,  resignation  or  no  resignation,  the 
Cabinet  were  not  of  one  mind,  and 
were  not  likely  to  become  so,  in  respect 
of  the  Bill  to  replace  the  Crimes  Act.  To 
what  limits  the  divergence  had  been 


Review  of  the  Month. 


235 


narrowed,  and  whether  it  would  have 
been  successfully  adjusted  before  the 
time  for  positive  decision  had  actually 
arrived,  only  members  of  the  Cabinet 
can  know  or  conjecture.  All  that  has 
for  the  moment  receded  into  ancient 
history.  The  significant  element  in 
the  episode  was  the  attitude  of  the 
Whig  section  of  the  Cabinet.  Suppos- 
ing common  surmises  not  to  be  devoid 
of  foundation,  and  supposing  that  on 
June  9th  or  10th  the  Cabinet  had  been 
unable  to  come  to  a  working  agree- 
ment about  the  Crimes  Act,  it  would 
have  been  the  Whigs  who  had  upset 
the  coach.  Lord  Spencer  would  rather 
have  broken  up  the  Government  than 
continue  to  govern  Ireland  without 
exceptional  powers.  With  his  convic- 
tion that  these  powers  were  indispens- 
able, this  was  the  only  course  open  to 
an  upright  Minister.  But  the  convic- 
tion itself  is  the  singular  thing.  The 
singular  thing  is  that  Lord  Spencer 
should  have  shrunk  from  thinking 
Irish  government  without  coercion 
impossible,  and  that  Mr.  Gibson,  who 
is  a  Tory,  and  who  knows  Ireland 
much  better  than  even  Lord  Spencer, 
should  think  government  without  coer- 
cion quite  possible  and  worth  trying. 

This  was  not  all.  The  Whigs  have 
fallen  off  sadly  in  courage,  virility, 
and  sympathy  with  popular  principles 
since  the  time  of  Mr.  Fox.  They  were 
not  the  timid  party  in  those  days. 
Fox  was  not  afraid  to  denounce 
the  Union  as  "one  of  the  most 
unequivocal  attempts  at  establishing 
the  principles  as  well  as  the  practice  of 
despotism."  The  new  Whigs  will  not 
even  attempt  to  ameliorate  either  the 
despotic  principle  or  the  despotic 
practice  that  Fox  so  wisely  foresaw. 
Lord  Spencer  has  been  an  upright, 
assiduous,  and  efficient  officer.  His 
hard  and  firm  hand  delivered  us  from 
the  wild  and  impotent  distractions  of 
the  Irish  administration  of  1881.  But 
his  regime  has  been  from  first  to  last 
without  flexibility  and  without  initia- 
tive. It  has  not  been  of  cast  iron,  as 
some  pretend,  but  it  has  been,  and  it 
promised  for  ever  to  remain,  purely 


wooden.  Compare  it  with  Drummond's ; 
it  has  not  had,  and  was  not  apparently 
going  to  have,  a  single  new  idea  or 
fresh  impulse  in  it  from  beginning  to 
end.  For  some  time  this  was  intelli- 
gible. It  was  necessary  to  appease 
the  confusions  that  had  been  left  by 
the  preceding  regime.  Apparently, 
however,  the  temporary  restoration 
of  superficial  order  was  to  mark  the 
limit  of  Lord  Spencer's  statesmanship. 
Even  in  the  stormiest  hours  of  1881 
the  Government  deliberately  promised 
in  the  Queen's  Speech  to  introduce  a 
measure  for  extending  local  govern- 
ment in  Ireland.  The  promise  had 
been  dropped,  but  the  prospect  of  a 
strong  reinforcement  of  the  Nationalist 
party  in  parliament  made  its  revival 
indispensable.  There  were  two  ways 
of  going  to  work.  One  plan  was  to 
introduce  a  few  paltry  tinkering 
changes  that  would  neither  have  in- 
terested nor  satisfied  anybody.  The 
tinkering  tentative  method  has  been 
followed  in  dealing  with  the  Land 
Question,  ever  since  the  report  of  the 
Devon  Commission,  forty  years  ago, 
with  results  that  are  only  too  familiar. 
The  other  plan  was  to  face  the  danger 
boldly,  and  to  oppose  a  thoroughgoing 
solution  to  a  deep  reaching  problem. 
It  is  commonly  believed  that  a  plan  of 
this  kind  was  desired  by  the  Radical 
members  of  the  Cabinet  (not  excluding 
the  most  important  of  them),  and  re- 
sisted by  some  at  any  rate  of  its  Whig 
members.  The  given  proposal  may 
have  been  defective.  The  public  does 
not  know  what  the  proposal  was.  But 
the  Whigs  are  believed  to  have  shrunk 
not  only  from  the  proposal  but  from 
the  principle,  and  to  have  been  content 
to  face  another  five  years  of  Irish  diffi- 
culty with  the  pottering  and  dawdling 
methods  that  have  done  more  than  the 
Penal  Laws  themselves  to  create  that 
difficulty,  and  to  make  the  malady  in- 
veterate. Of  course  there  are  grave 
perils  in  any  attempt  to  decentralise 
and  to  nationalise  the  Irish  Govern- 
ment. But  so  there  are  grave  perils 
in  leaving  things  as  they  are.  They 
cannot  be  left  as  they  are,  and  that  is 


236 


Review  of  the  Month. 


what  some  of  the  younger  members  of 
the  late  Government  clearly  perceive. 
Whether  the  reform  of  the  Irish 
system  of  government  will  be  the 
great  issue  at  the  general  election 
is  still  uncertain.  It  is  inevitable 
that  it  must  be  one  of  the  issues.  The 
significance  and  the  drift  of  the  gene- 
ral election  must  naturally  depend  very 
much  on  the  position  taken  by  Mr. 
Gladstone.  If  he  consents  to  lead  the 
campaign  once  more,  it  will  be  for  him 
to  decide  the  watchword,  and  to  in- 
scribe the  victorious  device  on  the 
party  standard.  The  strong  general 
impression  is  that  he  will  be  induced 
to  return  to  the  field.  In  that  case,  it 
is  impossible  to  conceal  that  policy 
will  be  entirely  secondary  to  his  per- 
sonality. The  Liberal  victory  will 
then  be  due  primarily  to  the  wish  of 
the  majority  of  the  electors  to  have 
the  country  governed  by  Mr.  Glad- 
stone. It  will  be  the  "  Old  Cause  and 
the  Old  Man,"  but  the  Man  will  figure 
more  largely  in  'men's  imaginations, 
than  the  Cause  in  their  understand- 
ings. Anybody  can  preach  a  mightily 
impressive  and  extremely  cheap  homily 
on  that  fact,  if  he  has  nothing  better  to 
do,  but  a  fact  it  is,  and  there  is  no 
more  to  be  said.  At  least  it  gives 
more  time  for  such  a  ripening  of  Libe- 
ral opinion  as  ought  to  prevent  the 
mischiefs  of  division.  Those  are  not 
merely  party  mischiefs.  The  substi- 
tution of  isolated  and  antagonistic 
groups  for  parties,  will  be  a  tremend- 
ous misfortune  not  only  for  sectional 
leaders  but  for  the  country.  A  foreign 
observer,  more  intelligent  than  most 
of  his  class,  already  sees  the  gloomy 
prospect  opening  out  before  us. 
"Triste  perspective,"  he  cries,  "et 
telle  qu'on  se  demande  malgre  soi 
si  1'Angleterre,  apres  nous  avoir  donne 
le  spectacle  de  1'affaiblissement  de  sa 
puissance  politique  a  1'exterieur,  n'est 
pas  destinee  a  nous  faire  voir  a  1'in- 
terieur  le  declin  des  institutions  qui 
ont  si  longtemps  ete  sa  couronne 
d'honneur  parmi  les  nations." 

Among  other  illusions  that  have  re- 


ceived a  check  in  the  recent  proceedings 
must  be  counted  the  famous  idea  of  a 
great  fusion  that  should  bring  the  so- 
called  Moderate  Liberal  over  to  the 
Conservative  lines.  No  whisper  of  a 
proposal  has  been  made  by  the  Tory 
leader  to  the  suspicious  or  dissatisfied 
Whigs.  Lord  Salisbury  has  not  given 
Mr.  Goschen  the  same  invitation  that 
the  late  Lord  Derby  gave  to  Lord 
Palmerston  on  one  occasion,  and  to 
Mr.  Gladstone  on  another.  If  Glad- 
stonian  Liberalism  is  too  doubtful  to 
politicians  of  this  stamp,  they  are 
themselves  too  good  or  not  good 
enough  for  the  new  Toryism.  We 
see  the  curious  spectacle  of  the  two 
extreme  wings  of  either  party  agree- 
ing more  with  one  another,  both  in 
specific  views  and  in  political  temper, 
than  each  of  them  agrees  with  its  own 
Centre.  It  has  been  said  a  thousand 
times  that  between  Mr.  Goschen  and4Sir 
Staff  ordNorthcote,  between  LordHart- 
ington  and  Sir  Michael  Hicks  Beach, 
there  is  little  substantial  difference  of 
opinion  on  the  actual  policy  of  the 
day.  Lord  Randolph  Churchill,  on 
the  other  hand,  has  boldly  propounded 
a  scheme  that  the  Radical  leaders 
openly  tax  him  with  appropriating 
from  their  private  baggage.  Yet  no 
attempt  has  been  made,  or  even 
dreamed  of  for  a  single  moment,  to 
bring  parties  into  relations  better 
adjusted  to  professions  and  principles. 
What  surprises  time  may  yet  have  in 
store  for  us  in  the  re-composition  of 
our  great  political  groups,  it  would  be 
fruitless  now  to  inquire.  But  the 
next  time  that  Advanced  Liberals  are 
menaced  with  a  secession  of  their 
Moderate  allies,  it  will  be  worth  re- 
membering that  on  this  important 
occasion  the  Conservatives  did  not 
appear  to  think  it  worth  while  to 
broaden  their  base  in  this  sense,  but, 
on  the  contrary,deposed  those  of  their 
own  foremost  men  with  whom  Mode- 
rate Liberals  would  have  found  them- 
selves least,  or  not  at  all,  out  of 
sympathy.  To  call  a  party  led  by 
Lord  Randolph  Churchill  Conserva- 
tive, and  a  party  led,  say,  by  Lord 


Review  of  the  Month. 


237 


Ilartingfcon  Radical,  is  a  humorous 
paradox  of  the  first  force.  It  must 
be  that  we  are  in  the  midst  of  a 
movement  of  a  very  remarkable  kind 
of  which  the  evolution  is  still  incom- 
plete, and  for  the  full  development  of 
which  we  must  wait  not  only  for  the 
result  of  the  new  elections,  but  for 
the  further  differences  and  transforma- 
tions that  will  follow  the  final  retire- 
ment of  Mr.  Gladstone  from  the  scene. 
That  retirement  is  not  expected  by 
those  who  have  the  best  means  of 
reading  that  eminent  man's  mind,  but 
the  conditions  of  party  advance  are 
not  quite  silently  preparing  in  the 
interval. 

It  is  curious  to  note  that,  though 
Mr.  Gladstone  is  the  undoubted  dic- 
tator of  his  party,  and  by  far  the  most 
powerful  and  popular  personage  in  the 
realm,  the  most  marked  mishaps  of  his 
late  administration  have  been  due  to 
his  backwardness  in  insisting  on  his 
own  views.  His  failures  have  been  of 
two  kinds.  In  the  first  place,  foreign 
business  has  been  badly  done  as  busi 
ness.  It  has  been  dilatory,  indecisive, 
slovenly,  and  flaccid  ;  things  have  not 
been  screwed  up  tight,  and  clenched. 
What  we  may  call  the  secretarial  side 
of  our  dealings  with  foreign  Govern- 
ments has  been  poorly  handled.  But, 
in  the  second  place,  every  false  step 
that  has  been  taken  has  been  a 
step  at  variance  particularly  and 
especially  with  Gladstonian  principles. 
The  follies  in  the  Soudan,  for  instance, 
must  have  been  perpetrated  in  each  of 
their  successive  phases,  in  opposition 
to  the  Prime  Minister's  own  most 
decisive  leanings.  The  plea  for  this  is 
obvious  enough.  The  Minister  of  the 
day  must  deal  with  the  House  of 
Commons,  and  in  foreign  policy  the 
House  of  Commons,  in  spite  of  the 
tide  of  pacific  sentiment  on  which  it 
was  chosen  in  1880,  was  less  patient, 
less  pacific,  less  resolutely  disinclined 
to  military  adventures — was  more 
inclined  to  Jingoism,  in  a  word — than 
either  Mr.  Gladstone  himself,  or,  as 
we  believe,  than  the  constituencies. 
The  Minister  shrank  until  the  present 


session  from  putting  his  back  to  the 
wall,  and  loudly  defying  either  a  com- 
posite majority  in  Parliament  or 
flaming  writers  in  the  public  prints, 
to  coerce  him  into  courses  of  military 
adventure.  At  last  occasion  came, 
when  he  courageously  faced  the  forces 
to  which  he  had  so  long  yielded. 
When  the  difficulties  with  Russia 
came  to  a  point,  and  after  even  he 
had  by  a  certain  memorable  speech 
seemed  to  place  himself  at  the  head 
of  the  military  and  forward  party,  he 
suddenly  recovered  himself,  and  almost 
at  a  moment's  notice,  in  spite  of  the 
newspapers,  in  spite  of  the  always 
excitable  feeling  in  the  House  of 
Commons,  and  in  spite  of  anti- 
Russian  prepossessions  which  are 
always  strong  in  the  English  mind, 
and  which  his  speech  had  so  directly 
and  powerfully  stimulated,  he  declared 
for  arbitration  and  a  pacific  settle- 
ment. Did  the  shock  unseat  him  ? 
Not  the  least  in  the  world.  The 
majority,  which  would  have  rallied  to 
him  if  he  had  gone  to  war,  rallied  to 
him  when  he  insisted  on  peace.  It  is 
impossible  to  imagine  a  more  decisive 
test  of  the  strength  and  the  stability 
of  his  authority.  It  is  impossible  to 
think  of  a  sharper  strain.  That  he 
should  have  carried  his  Russian  policy, 
and  emerged  from  the  process  without 
a  whit  of  serious  damage  to  his  popu- 
larity, is  the  best  proof  that  we  could 
have  of  the  power  that  he  has  possessed 
all  these  five  years,  and  that  he  has 
not  always  used  so  freely  and  per- 
emptorily as  he  might  perhaps  have 
been  expected  to  do. 

It  is  too  soon  to  estimate  the  effect 
of  a  Conservative  administration  on 
the  views  and  leanings  of  foreign 
Powers.  The  one  country  where  the 
expressions  of  satisfaction  at  the 
change  were  most  prompt  and  un- 
mistakable was  Germany,  and  it  may 
be  admitted  that  Germany  happens 
at  this  moment  to  be  the  most  im 
portant  Power  in  the  diplomatic 
world.  To  us,  no  doubt,  our  direct 
relations  with  Russia  are  just  now  at 


238 


Review  of  the  Month. 


any  rate  of  more  pressing  moment 
than  any  that  we  have,  or  are  likely 
to  have,  with  Germany.  The  recep- 
tion of  the  fall  of  Mr.  Gladstone's 
cabinet  -by  Russia — that  is  to  say,  by 
the  Russian  bureaucrats  and  the  half- 
gagged  editors — has  been  rather 
various.  "  Only  one  answer,"  says 
one,  "  can  be  expected  from  us  in 
reply  to  the  news  of  the  appointment 
of  the  Conservative  leader  in  the 
House  of  Lords  as  Mr.  Gladstone's 
successor,  and  that  answer  must  be 
given  in  the  shape  of  calm,  serious, 
and  significant  measures  of  precaution 
taken  in  Central  Asia."  "  We  must 
profit,"  cries  another,  "by  the  change 
in  the  English  Government,  regardless 
of  diplomatic  ceremony.  It  is  highly 
necessary  for  us  to  recover  our  freedom 
of  action.  We  should  now  reject  all 
the  pretensions  of  England  to  interfere 
in  our  affairs  on  the  Afghan  frontier." 
But  there  is  a  third  note  struck. 
Russia,  we  are  told,  in  spite  of  its 
recollection  of  Mr.  Gladstone's  friend- 
liness a  few  years  ago,  had  become 
irritated  by  his  "  tergiversations  and 
the  slowness  of  his  negotiations."  Now, 
may  not  some  more  durable  combina- 
tion be  settled  1  Why  should  not  the 
idea  spread  "  that  it  would  be  better 
for  Russia,  as  well  as  for  England,  to 
come  frankly  to  an  understanding  by 
substituting  for  the  present  delusive 
and  superannuated  neutral  zone  con- 
terminous frontiers,  which  could  be 
effected  by  a  reasonable  division  of 
Afghanistan."  Whatever  else  may 
be  said  of  Lord  Salisbury,  no  one  who 
remembers  his  course  during  Lord 
Beaconsfield's  government,  and  his 
changes  of  view  between  the  confer- 
ence at  Constantinople  and  the  con- 
gress at  Berlin,  can  doubt  that  he 
possesses  remarkable  suppleness  of 
mind.  It  is  not  impossible  that  the 
Russophobe  who  talked  about  bank- 
rupts and  swindlers,  may  turn  back 
again  into  the  Russophil,  who  walked 
up  and  down  the  streets  of  Pera  arm 
in  arm  with  Ignatieff .  Lord  Salisbury 
may  be  in  some  respects  a  dreamer,  but 
he  is  substantially  a  man  of  business, 


and  he  will  in  one  way  or  other  drop 
the  bad  language  of  the  platform,  just 
as  Mr.  Disraeli  apologised  for  his  over 
bold  references  to  Prince  Bismarck. 

Then  it  is  argued  that  Prince  Bis- 
marck will  make  things  smooth  for 
Lord  Salisbury,  instead  of  making 
them  rough  as  he  did  for  Mr.  Glad- 
stone. This  is  possible,  but  it  is  not 
at  all  so  certain  as  is  assumed.  There 
is  no  secret  about  the  principle — the 
very  sensible  principle  for  a  German 
statesman — of  all  Bismarckian  diplo- 
macy. He  will  give  to  Lord  Salis- 
bury, if  Lord  Salisbury  will  give  to 
him.  But  what  has  the  British 
Minister  to  offer?  He  is  an  interim 
Minister,  almost  avowedly  expecting 
his  dismissal  within  six  months  at  the 
hands  of  the  sovereign  people,  and  in 
the  meantime  working  under  as  vigi- 
lant a  supervision  as  skilful  and  well- 
informed  opponents  can  manage  to 
exercise.  Even  if  Prince  Bismarck  could 
father  his  thought  on  his  wish, — could 
persuade  himself  that  a  Conservative 
Government  is  at  all  likely  to  survive 
a  general  election, — is  he  likely  to  get 
himself  into  uneasy  relations  with 
Russia,  who  will  still  be  his  neighbour 
to-morrow,  for  the  sake  of  obliging  a 
Minister  who  to-morrow  may  have 
disappeared  from  power  for  the  rest  of 
his  natural  life  ]  Then  again,  even  if 
Lord  Salisbury's  retention  of  power 
for  a  twelvemonth  were  certain,  instead 
of  being  almost  impossible,  how  can 
he  repay  the  diplomatic  favours  which 
his  friends  are  promising  to  us,  and 
which,  as  we  know  too  well  by  this 
time,  will  not  be  given  gratis,  but 
must  be  bought  at  a  round  price? 
Lord  Salisbury  is  supposed  to  have 
said  to  France,  when  complaining  of 
our  appropriation  of  Cyprus,  "  Take 
Tunis  !  " — advice  that  France  followed, 
with  pretty  considerable  consequences 
in  Egypt  and  other  parts  of  the  world. 
But  he  is  not  likely  to  bid  Germany 
take  Zanzibar;  on  the  contrary,  Zan- 
zibar will  bring  him  into  relations  of 
an  equivocal  kind  with  Germany 
before  he  has  been  at  the  Foreign 
Office  a  single  month.  The  truth  is 


Review  of  the  Month. 


239 


that  the  Powers  have  been  brought  by 
circumstances  into  waters  that  are  too 
deep  to  be  sounded  by  the  little  plum- 
met of  the  persona  grata.  Events, 
interests,  half-blind  movements  of 
material  forces — as  we  have  .just  been 
saying  about  the  British  Power  — 
have  too  much  impetus  just  now  to  be 
arrested  by  the  personal  partialities  of 
even  the  most  wilful  of  sovereigns  or 
statesmen.  If  Germany  wants  Zanzi- 
bar, any  English  Minister,  whether 
persona  grata  or  ingrata,  will  believe 
that  his  country  has  a  strong  interest 
in  not  making  the  operation  particu- 
larly easy. 

Italy,  our  one  ally,  has  had  a  lesson. 
Like  M.  Ferry  and  like  Mr.  Glad- 
stone, the  Italian  Ministers  have  been 
beaten  in  the  Parliament,  and  though 
Signer  Depretis  may  return,  Mancini 
who  has  had  the  direction  of  foreign 
affairs  will  remain  out  of  the  new 
combination,  whatever  it  may  be.  The 
Italian  Parliament  resented  the  ad- 
ventures to  which,  as  it  supposes, 
Great  Britain  tempted  Italy  in  the 
Red  Sea.  Egypt  has  been  as  fatal  to 
the  Italian  Government  as  to  our  own, 
and  as  Tonquin  was  to  that  of  France. 
It  is  doubtful  whether  Lord  Salisbury 
or  any  other  Minister  will  be  able  to 
reckon  on  very  effective  co-operation 
on  the  part  of  Italy. 

In  France  all  depends  upon  the 
coming  elections,  which  may  be  held 
as  early  as  the  middle  of  August,  and 
cannot  be  held  later  than  the  middle 
of  October.  Just  as  Lord  Salisbury 
will  ratify  the  arrangement  with 
Russia  which  Mr.  Gladstone  has 
made — probably  even  giving  up  the 
point  about  the  Zulfikar  pass,  for 
which  Lord  Granville  was  contending 
— so  M.  Freycinet  has  profited  by  the 
treaty  with  China  which  was  virtually 
due  to  M.  Ferry.  This  will,  of  course, 
free  the  hands  of  France  in  Egypt,  if 
Prince  Bismarck  allows,  and  if  the 
news  from  the  constituencies  does  not 
forbid.  But  M.  Freycinet  exists  by 
consent  of  the  French  Radicals,  and 
they  are  as  much  opposed  to  foreign 
adventures,  in  spite  of  the  costly 


success  of  the  new  treaty,  as  the 
corresponding  party  in  Italy  and  in 
Great  Britain.  Lord  Salisbury  would 
hardly  be  likely  to  get  on  particularly 
well  with  the  French  Republic,  but  at 
least  the  French  Government  cannot 
be  more  awkward,  stiff,  and  difficult 
with  him  than  it  has  for  five  years 
proved  itself  to  be  in  respect  of  his 
Liberal  predecessors. 

It  is  well  enough  for  the  rhetorical 
purposes  of  party  debate  to  charge  the 
recent  Administration  with  having 
weakened  the  great  Empire  over  which 
they  were  placed.  Foreign  observers 
are  naturally  at  liberty  to  take  stock 
of  our  repulses  and  to  count  over  the 
tale  of  our  diplomatic  mystifications. 
The  Sovereigns  of  the  three  Great 
Empires  of  the  North,  as  they  taunt- 
ingly remind  us,  met  and  deliberated 
on  the  affairs  of  Europe  without  com- 
municating a  word  of  their  plans  and 
their  decisions  to  the  Cabinet  of  Saint 
James's.  Your  diplomatic  conference, 
they  say,  convoked  in  London  itself  on 
your  own  initiative,  broke  up  and 
came  to  naught  without  a  single  Power 
rallying  to  the  propositions  of  Eng- 
land ?  Another  conference  assembled 
at  Berlin  with  the  express  design  of 
subjecting  the  external  expansion  of 
Great  Britain  to  the  control  of  Europe. 
All  this  is  very  true,  and  it  is  certainly 
not  over- palatable  even  to  the  most 
pacific  of  patriots. 

It  is  perfectly  arguable,  moreover, 
we  admit,  if  any  body  be  bent  upon 
so  arguing  it,  that  it  is  all  due  to  the 
want  of  firmness  and  management  in 
the  British  Government.  But  there 
is  another  reading  of  it,  which  to  us 
seems  not  only  more  lenient  to  a  par- 
ticular Government,  but  more  just  on 
the  merits,  and  far  more  significant, 
instructive,  and  even  momentous  for 
Englishmen  at  large.  Our  reading  is, 
that  the  apparent  decline  in  the  sup- 
posed ascendency  of  Great  Britain, 
arises  from  a  change  in  external  con- 
ditions, which  no  statesman  in  Down- 
ing Street  could  by  any  skill  control 
or  prevent.  The  German  desire  for  colo- 
nial extension,  for  instance,  whether 


240 


Review  of  the  Month. 


it  be  a  temporary  caprice  or  the  out- 
come of  a  permanent  necessity,  is  in- 
dependent of  anything  that  we  can  do 
or  say — unless,  indeed,  we  are  prepared 
to  publish  boldly  that  the  earth  is 
ours  and  all  the  emptinesses  thereof. 
Again,  it  is  impossible  to  deny  that 
the  immense  hosts  of  armed  men  now 
maintained  on  the  Continent  of  Europe 
impose  on  a  State  which  does  not,  will 
not,  and  cannot  enter  into  rivalry  with 
these  gigantic  forces,  an  inferiority  in 
relation  to  the  Continental  Powers 
which  did  not  come  into  such  promi- 
nence in  the  days  of  small  armies.  It 
is  not  to  be  denied,  either,  that  the 
employment  of  steam  in  navigation, 
and  the  various  inventions  for  destruc- 
tion on  the  sea,  have  altered  the  old 
terms  of  our  maritime  supremacy.  We 
are  far  from  saying  under  this  head 
that  such  an  alteration  cannot  and 
ought  not  to  be  met  by  corresponding 
efforts.  But  the  fact  that  these  efforts 
have  to  be  made  is  certainly  not  an 
addition  to  the  elements  of  our  national 
strength ;  and  what  we  are  saying  is 
that  time  and  circumstance  have,  for 
the  hour  at  any  rate,  effected  a  change 
which  is,  and  under  any  Ministry 
whatever  must  have  been,  a  diminu- 
tion of  our  national  strength  in  rela- 
tion to  the  Great  Powers  with  whom 
we  have  to  deal. 

Whether  these  and  kindred  facts 
mark  a  permanent  transformation  in 
our  national  position  might  well  be 
the  subject  of  long  and  well-weighed 
consideration.  One  would  have  to  ask 
whether  what,  in  the  dialect  of  con- 
troversies about  the  currency  may  be 
called  the  appreciation  of  certain 
foreign  Powers,  is  permanent  or  tem- 
porary. Germany  which  holds  the 
position  of  pre-eminence  held  less  than 
twenty  years  ago  by  the  French  Empire, 
may  much  less  than  twenty  years  hence 
have  followed  the  French  Empire  into 
confusion  and  nothingness.  However 
this  may  be,  there  has  been  an  un- 
doubted transformation  for  the  time, 
and  if  any  statesman  of  less  modera- 
tion, equity,  and  credit  for  desiring 

June  24th. 


peace  than  Mr.  Gladstone  had  presided 
over  our  affairs,  the  process  would 
have  ended  in  disaster.  It  may  be 
that  the  force  of  events  would  have 
imposed  an  equally  moderate  and 
patient  spirit  upon  Lord  Salisbury  and 
his  friends.  Sages  have  often  told 
the  world  that  sovereigns  and  states- 
men are  not  so  mighty  as  they  seem, 
and  sages  ought  to  know.  In  any  case, 
do  not  let  us  be  frightened  by  the 
reproach  of  fatalism  from  perceiving 
that  occasions  of  difficulty  arise  for 
States  which  no  statecraft  can  avert, 
though  statecraft  may  make  all  the 
difference  between  difficulty  and  peril, 
and  between  peril  and  disaster. 

While  noisy  Excitables  have  been 
going  about  with  loud  declarations 
that  the  worst  government  that  the 
world  ever  saw  was  allowing  Germany 
to  take  the  pick  of  the  habitable  globe, 
it  appears  that  the  territory  of  the 
British  Empire  has  been  increased  by 
a  piece  of  Africa  as  large  as  France  in 
area,  temperate  and  healthy  in  climate, 
abounding  in  rich  soil,  suspected  to 
contain  valuable  minerals  and  metals, 
and  opening  a  trade-route  to  the  vast 
interior  of  the  dark  continent.  It 
would  be  more  satisfactory  if  this 
enormous  accession  of  territory  and 
of  responsibility  could  be  traced  to 
any  settled  and  consistent  design.  As 
it  is,  it  looks  like  one  more  of  those 
fated  accidents  that  have  made  South 
Africa  the  most  confusing,  trouble- 
some, and  thankless  of  our  posses- 
sions. Already,  we  are  told  that  we 
have  annexed  the  wrong  piece,  or  at 
least  that  we  should  have  included 
another  piece  to  the  north,  though  it 
is  clear  from  the  information  of  those 
who  know  that  we  shall  have  to  fight 
for  it  with  its  native  occupants.  Nor 
is  the  prospect  very  satisfactory  to 
east  and  south  of  the  new  possession. 
The  new  colony  of  Bechuanaland,  if 
so  it  is  to  be  called,  hems  in  the 
Transvaal  on  the  whole  of  its  western, 
and  most  of  its  northern  border,  and 
that  important  fact  certainly  contains 
the  seed  of  many  troubles. 


MACMILLAN'S    MAGAZINE 


AUGUST,  1885. 


MRS.  DYMOND. 


CHAPTER  XX. 
ALMSGIVING. 

As  the  actors  pass  across  the  stage 
of  life  and  play  their  respective  parts, 
it  is  not  difficult  at  the  outset  to 
docket  them  with  their  different 
characters — a  soldier,  a  parson,  an 
artist,  a  lawyer,  a  lover,  a  heroine, 
a  law-giver,  a  widow,  and  so  forth. 

But  presently,  after  the  play  has 
gone  on  for  a  little  while  (on  the 
stage  of  life  it  is  not  the  play  that 
ends,  but  the  actors  who  come  and  go), 
we  begin  to  see  that,  although  some  of 
us  may  be  suited  to  our  parts,  there 
are  others  whose  natures  are  ill-fitted 
to  their  role,  and  very  often  we  find 
the  performers  suddenly  playing  away 
in  their  own  natural  characters  instead 
of  those  which  they  are  supposed  to 
represent,  to  the  very  great  confusion 
of  the  drama  which  is  going  on. 

Here  is  the  lawyer  making  love  to 
his  client  instead  of  drawing  up  her 
will ;  the  parson  fighting  his  bishop 
instead  of  guarding  his  flock ;  the 
soldier  preaching  sermons ;  the  actor 
taking  his  part  in  serious  earnest, 
and  blessing  his  people  with  unction. 
A  hundred  instances  come  to  one's 
inind  of  fiddlers  and  tailors  set  to  rule 
great  kingdoms,  with  what  tragic  ill- 
luck,  alas,  we  all  remember.  Was  not 
one  mechanician  born  to  a  throne, 
whose  life  paid  for  his  idiosyncrasies  ? 
And,  again,  have  we  not  heard  of  a 

No.  310. — VOL.  LII. 


Spinoza  patiently  at  work  upon  his 
lenses  earning  his  daily  pittance,  a 
true  king  among  men,  whose  wise 
and  noble  thoughts  still  rule  the 
minds  of  succeeding  generations?  Other 
instances  will  occur  to  us  all,  of  tra- 
vesties still  more  incongruous.  A 
priest  serving  his  king  before  his 
God,  a  poet,  with  wilder  blood  and 
genius  than  his  compeers,  sitting  with 
them  at  St.  Stephens  upon  a  dusty 
cushion,  which  he  presently  flings  in 
their  faces,  and,  in  generous  wrath 
and  excitement,  goes  off  to  die,  fight- 
ing for  liberty,  under  the  blue  sky 
of  Greece. 

When  Max  du  Pare,  the  son  of  a 
dreamer  and  of  a  downright  and  prac- 
tical woman,  found  himself  started  in 
life  in  the  little  studio  at  the  end  of 
his  mother's  garden,  he  was  certainly 
to  blame  in  that  he  did  not  keep  with 
peaceful  devotion  to  the  career  into 
which  Fate  had  launched  him,  with  so 
little  effort  on  his  own  part.  His  en- 
gravings were  excellent,  but  still  more 
so  were  his  etchings,  boldly  worked 
out,  remarkable  for  their  force,  their 
colour  (and  such  a  term  may  often  be 
used  with  justice  even  where  black 
and  white  alone  are  used).  He  had 
received  his  red  ribbon  with  the  rest 
of  them  for  work  done  during  the  last 
two  years,  for  medals  gained  at  ex- 
hibitions for  etchings,  some  of  which 
were  now  hanging  in  gilt  frames  at 
St.  Cloud  among  the  eagles.  Among 


242 


Mrs.  Dymond. 


others  he  had  worked  for  money  as 
well  as  for  love.  The  day  before  Su- 
sanna, seeing  one  of  his  most  successful 
prints  in  a  shop  window,  had  blushed 
up  painfully  and  looked  away.  Du 
Pare  saw  her  turn  crimson  ;  he  guessed 
that  she  had  recognised  his  work ;  he 
felt  as  if  he  could  gladly  tear  the 
picture  with  its  insolent  Bacchantes 
from  its  place  and  destroy  it  then  and 
there  for  ever. 

Susy  guessed  what  was  passing  in 
his  mind. 

"  I  have  never  lived  among  artists," 
she  said.  "I  know  there  are  many 
things  I  do  not  understand ;  but  I 
have  lately  learnt,"  she  added,  gently, 
"  how  beautiful,  how  wonderful  it  all 
is ;  and  I  shall  'i  always  be  grateful 
to  you  for  teaching  Jo." 

And  Du  Pare  turned  a  searching  look 
upon  her,  though  he  did  not  answer. 
Perhaps  if  his  art  had  meant  less  to 
him  it  might  have  led  him  further 
still ;  it  was  something  beyond  colour, 
beyond  form  that  he  wanted,  in  his 
work  as  in  his  life,  which  haunted 
him  at  times  and  made  him  ashamed 
of  mere  clever  successes. 

All  this  moralising  equally  applies 
to  my  heroine,  Susanna,  a  woman 
of  natural  aptitude  and  impression- 
ability, placed  by  no  unkind  fate  in 
a  peaceful  and  prosperous  position. 
And  now  the  moment  had  come 
when  she  was  to  play  her  touching 
part  of  a  mourning  Dido  no  longer, 
and  lo !  flinging  away  the  veils  and 
the  dignity  of  widowhood,  wiping  the 
natural  tears,  she  found  herself  true 
to  her  nature — not  false  to  her  past ; 
alive,  not  dead,  as  she  imagined,  ex- 
isting still,  not  having  ceased  to  feel, 
a  human  being,  not  an  image  in  a  look- 
ing glass  ;  not  remembering  only,  but 
submitting  to  the  great  law  of  life, 
which  is  stronger  and  less  narrow 
than  any  human  protest  and  lamen- 
tation. 

Once  more  Mrs.  Dymond  was  lean- 
ing from  her_high  window,  impatiently 
scanning  the  figures  coming  and  going 
along  the  pavement.  Why  did  he 
keep  them  ?  The  day  was  passing,  the 


hours  were  waning.    She  was  the  most 
impatient  of  the  party.     There  sat  Jo, 
absorbed   in    his   painting.     He   was 
trying  to  copy  the  great  blue  china 
pot   he  had  brought  home  from   the 
Quai,    and    the     pink    poppies     that 
Tempy  had  stuck  into  it,  with  their 
blue  shadows   and  their  silver-green 
leaves ;  Jo  had   a   natural   taste   for 
still  life.     His  stepmother  was  grate- 
ful beyond  words  to  those  squares  of 
colour,  to  those  never-failing  interests 
of    form,    of    light,    of    arrangement, 
which  interested  him  ;  she  herself  had 
no   such   natural    gift ;    she   was    all 
the   more   glad   when   Jo,   under  Du 
Parc's  guidance,  had  tried  his  hand  at 
art.     Mrs.  Dymond  was   less  pleased 
when  she  heard  her  stepson  announcing 
that  he  had  also  adopted  some  of  Mon- 
sieur Caron's  doctrines.    Jo  had  met 
Caron  once  or  twice  at  the  studio,  where 
the  good  old   man  used  to   call  with 
the    various    handbills    and    tricolor 
announcements  which  he  was  having 
printed  to  announce  the  coming  book. 
Tempy,  who  had  wanted  to  start 
half   an  hour   before,    now    sat   half- 
asleep  upon  the  red  couch  with  its  red 
cushions.      The   faint    aroma   of    the 
poppies   in    the    sunlight   seemed   to 
taint   the   drowsy  air   in    the    little 
room,  where  time  passed  to  the  slow 
ticking  of  the  clock,  and  where  Apollo 
in    his   car   was   for    ever    galloping 
beneath    his     crystal    dome.      Little 
Phraisie  was  in  the  next  room,  also 
sleeping,  on  the  bed  with  drawn  cur- 
tains.    When   the   heat    of  the   day 
was  over,   Henrietta  Wilkins  was  to 
take  her  into  the   Tuileries  Gardens 
close  by.      It    was    her  pride   to    sit 
there  at  her  work,  and  to  hear  the 
people  admire  the  "little  Cherubim," 
while  she  piled  her  gravel  pies  at  her 
nurse's  knee. 

Mrs.  Dymond  had  insisted  on  waiting 
for  her  mother  and  Du  Pare.  As  the 
flood  of  people  passed  on  down  below 
in  vain  she  scanned  the  figures — seek- 
ing for  the  persons  for  whom  she 
looked.  A  vague  sense  of  uneasy  dis- 
appointment came  over  her.  So  ab- 
sorbed was  she  watching  the  endless 


Mrs.  Dymond. 


243 


-procession  that  she  did  not  hear  the 
door  open,  nor  become  aware  that  Du 
Pare  was  in  the  room,  until  Jo's  loud 
cries  of  "  Mrs.  Dymond !  Mrs.  Dy- 
mond !  "  made  her  look  round. 

A  dark  figure,  was  standing  in  the 
doorway.  Tempy  started  up,  Jo  put 
down  his  brush,  and  Susanna,  with 
a  sudden  sense  of  ease  and  tran- 
quillity, turned  from  her  window  and 
faced  her  new  friend,  blushing  a  little, 
looking  more  beautiful  than  he  had 
ever  seen  her. 

"Madame,"  said  Du  Pare,  bowing 
very  low  as  usual. 

"How  do  you  do,  M.  Max?"  said 
Mrs.  Dymond,  welcoming  her  visitor. 
"Where  is  my  mother?  Is  she  not 
coming?" 

"  I  was  not  able  to  see  her  when  I 
called — Madame  Marney  was  in  her 
room.  She  sends  a  message,"  and  Du 
Pare  brought  out  a  folded  scrap  from 
his  waistcoat  pocket : — 

"  Mr  DABLIN&  Susr, — Do  not  wait  for 
me  to-day ;  I  had  rather  not  come. 
I  am  keeping  the  boys,  for  I  expect 
their  father  home. 

"  Your  loving  Mother. 

"  P.S.  I  will  call  if  I  can,  and  see 
the  darling  baby  in  the  course  of  the 
day." 

The  note  was  disappointing,  but  it 
was  no  use  delaying  any  longer. 

"  We  are  late,"  says  Tempy,  starting 
up.  "  We  ought  not  to  have  waited 
so  long.  Mr.  Bagginal  will  be  quite 
tired  out." 

"I  have  been  with  M.  Caron.  I 
am  sorry  you  delayed  for  me,"  said 
Du  Pare,  as  usual  only  addressing 
Susanna,  who  was  giving  Wilkins 
some  parting  directions  as  she  took 
her  cloak  and  her  parasol  from  her 
faithful  attendant. 

Max  seemed  preoccupied  at  first 
and  unlike  himself,  as  they  all  walked 
along  the  street  to  the  Quai  whence 
the  steamers  started. 

Susanna  and  the  pursuit  of  pleasure 
were  not  at  this  moment  the  great 
preoccupations  of  his  mind  ;  other 


things  less  peaceful,  less  hopeful 
were  daily  closing  up  around  him. 
There  was  a  terrible  reality  to  him  in 
his  apprehensions,  all  the  more  vivid 
because  from  his  artistic  qualities  he 
belonged  to  the  upper  and  more  pre- 
scient classes,  while  from  experience 
and  birth  he  was  near  enough  to  the 
people  to  understand  the  tones  of  its 
voice,  the  wants  of  its  daily  life,  its 
angry  rising,  and  its  present  mood. 
But  by  degrees,  being  in  Susanna's 
company,  he  brightened  up.  Love 
requires  time  and  space,  if  it  is  not 
able  to  accomplish  absolute  impossi- 
bilities, but  it  certainly  makes  the . 
most  of  the  passing  lights  and  mo- 
ments of  life. 

"  M.  Caron  detained  me  over  the 
proofs  of  his  book ;  it  is  coming  out 
immediately,"  said  Du  Pare. 

"  You  need  not  explain.  We  have 
nothing  to  do  but  to  amuse  ourselves, 
you  have  your  work  to  attend  to," 
said  Susy  gaily. 

Susanna  had  felt  of  late  as  if  her 
relations  with  Du  Pare  were  changed, 
and  it  seemed  quite  natural  that  he 
should  give  her  details  of  his  day's 
work.  Max,  too,  realised  that  he  was 
some  one  in  her  life,  not  a  passer-by, 
but  a  fellow  traveller.  The  two  might 
very  well  have  walked  out  of  one  of 
the  galleries  of  the  Louvre  hard  by. 
She  with  her  Grecian  goddess  looks,  he 
of  the  dark,  southern  head  with  the 
black  hair,  that  beaked  nose,  the 
dark,  sudden  eyes,  so  deeply  set,  eyes 
that  were  hard  and  soft  by  turns. 
He  had  scarcely  ever  talked  to  her 
before,  and  now  at  this  moment,  not  for 
the  first  time,  a  sense  of  his  reality, 
of  the  importance  of  his  presence, 
of  his  goodwill,  of  his  approbation 
and  acquiescence  with  her  conclu- 
sions came  over  her.  There  was  a 
curious  simplicity  about  Du  Pare  which 
impressed  people  ;  either  he  said  what 
he  meant,  or  he  let  you  see  that  he 
mistrusted  you  and  was  silent.  He 
had  great  powers  of  work  and  a 
gift  for  enjoyment  as  well,  which 
is  perhaps  more  rare,  and  as  he 
had  walked  along  by  Susy's  side, 

R  2 


244 


Mrs.  Dymond. 


with  his  bright  looks  and  his  odd 
swinging  gait,  he  had  seemed  the  very 
impersonation  of  a  holiday  maker,  of 
a  man  at  one  with  the  moment.  They 
were  crossing  the  great  court  of  the 
Louvre  when  a  shadow  came  from 
behind  a  statue,  and  a  frightened 
woman,  starting  out  into  the  sunshine, 
suddenly  put  out  a  trembling  white 
hand  for  alms.  Susanna  and  her 
young  people,  from  their  English  train- 
ing, were  passing  on,  they  had  a  vague 
idea  it  was  wrong  to  give  to  casual 
beggars,  but  Du  Pare  stopped  short, 
and  a  curious  little  dialogue  ensued. 

"Why  are  you  begging,  Madame 
Lebris?"  said  he  roughly,  "Are  you 
ill  ? " 

"  I   am    dying,"    said    the    woman 
quietly  ;  "  my  children  are  starving." 
"  Where  is  your  husband  ] " 
"  You  know  better  than  I  do,"  she 
answered. 

"  Go  home  at  once,"  said  Du  Pare. 
"  I  will  come  and  see  you  this  evening." 
He  thrust  a  napoleon  into  her 
hand.  She  took  it  with  a  weary  look, 
and  he  nodded  and  hurried  after  the 
others.  They  were  standing  a  few 
yards  off  waiting  for  him. 

"  I  kno.w  the  woman,  she  is  the 
wife  of  a  man  who  worked  for  me," 
he  said  in  French,  looking  vexed  and 
confused.  He  had  paid  away  his  last 
gold  piece,  and  he  had  but  a  few  sous 
left  in  his  pocket.  How  was  he  to 
pay  for  his  share  of  the  dinner  ?  Max 
had  hardly  recovered  himself  when  he 
saw  Mr.  Bagginal.  "  Ah  !  "  said  he, 
"  there  is  your  friend  !  "  and,  as  he 
spoke,  our  attache,  with  an-umbrella,  a 
grievance,  and  a  flower  in  his  button- 
hole came  up  to  meet  them  from  the 
steamer-steps. 

The  holiday  of  the  year  had  begun, 
and  with  the  sunshine  the  shores  had 
quickened  with  green,  with  song,  with 
the  stir  of  spreading  life.  There  were 
two  or  three  young  men  and  women 
and  some  children  on  board,  one  or 
two  experienced  excursionists,  some 
housekeepers,  carrying  their  baskets,  a 
village  wedding,  returning  home  after 
the  ceremony ;  as  the  steamer  stopped 


at  each  landing  place  in  turn,  the 
company  passed  off  the  boat.  Scarcely 
any  one  remained  by  the  time  they 
were  nearing  St.  Cloud.  Jo  was 
practising  his  French  upon  the  man  at 
the  wheel.  Tempy,  much  amused  by  the 
smoothly  talkative  and  attentive  Mr. 
Bagginal,  sat  somewhat  mollified  and 
relenting  on  a  bench,  red  hair  and 
Parisian  checked  cotton  dress  and  her 
big  white  ombrelle  open  to  shade  her 
pink  cheeks.  Susy,  at  the  other  end  of 
the  same  bench,  sat  smiling,  watching 
the  lights  and  the  shadows,  listening  to 
the  song  of  the  birds  and  the  wash  of 
the  ripples,  answering  a  word  now  and 
then  when  Du  Pare,  who  had  been 
smoking  at  the  other  end  of  the  boat, 
came  up  to  speak  to  her. 

At  first,  under  the  restraint  of  Mr. 
Bagginal's  presence,  he  had  kept  silent 
and  aloof.  Now  he  began  to  talk 
again ;  he  told  her  stories  along 
the  shore,  pointed  out  the  prettiest 
walks,  the  pleasantest  chalets  where  the 
Parisians  go  on  summer  afternoons, 
and  dine  and  enjoy  the  sunsets  in  the 
sky,  while  the  fish  come  leaping  from 
the  river  into  their  plates,  and  the 
white  wine  flows  into  the  glasses  which 
the  damsels  bring  with  serious  smiling 
looks,  and  the  white  boats  slide  by, 
and  birds  fly  home  to  rest,  and  the 
glorious  sunset  says,  "  Come,  clink  the 
glasses  and  quaff  the  golden  wine." 

"  Ah  !  do  you  know  that  place  ?  " 
interrupted  Mr.  Bagginal,  as  Max 
pointed  out  a  restaurant  with  wide 
balconies  standing  by  the  water's 
edge.  "  I'm  told  it  is  first-rate ;  shall 
we  dine  there? " 

"  You  will  find  a  very  good  dinner," 
Max  said. 

The  steamer  travelled  on  between 
the  shores  in  the  new  sunshine.  It 
was  so  early  in  the  season  that  but  few 
people  were  on  board.  One  of  those 
glorious  bursts  of  spring  had  overtaken 
them. 

Susy  saw  villas  amid  budding  syca- 
more trees,  with  fringing  poplars, 
white-washed  walls,  terraces,  gardens 
breaking  into  flower,  high  roads, 
whence  people  hailed  the  steamer  with 


Mrs.  Dymond. 


245 


friendly  signs.  She  watched  the  pale 
blue  spring  sky,  the  high  floating 
clouds. 

"  Are  you  not  afraid  of  being  burnt  ? " 
said  Du  Pare. 

Susy  opened  her  sunshade,  though 
she  loved  the  sun.  Was  she  awake  or 
asleep  ;  was  this  herself,  the  sad,  har- 
assed, bewildered,  lonely  widow,  this 
happy  being  basking  in  this  delightful, 
invigorating  present  ?  Yivid  admira- 
tion is  a  disturbing  element  some- 
times, we  thankfully  absorb  the 
hour  tranquilly,  exist  to  the  utter- 
most while  it  lasts,  scarcely  under- 
stand it  all.  So  sits  Susanna  while 
the  water  beats  fresh  against  the  sides 
of  the  big  boat  and  the  warm  sunlight 
comes  quickening ;  everything  flows 
into  the  very  soul  of  the  hour,  that 
mysterious  natural  soul,  which  people 
share  with  one  another,  with  place, 
with  time. 

They  travelled  on  peacefully  in  this 
floating  companionship  and  sympathy, 
while  the  new  life  stirred  along  the 
banks. 

CHAPTER  XXI. 

ST.  CLOUD  BEFORE  THE  STORM. 

"  I  wish  my  mother  had  come  with 
us,"  said  Susy,  as  the  steamer  stopped 
at  the  landing  place  of  St.  Cloud,  just 
where  the  public  place  and  the  bar- 
racks and  the  terraces  all  meet,  while 
beyond  these  slate  roofs  and  balus- 
trades, the  tufted  green  and  lilac, 
and  silver  and  gold  of  the  lovely 
hanging  gardens  rise,  and  the  white 
walls  and  windows  of  the  palace.  A 
flag  was  flying,  for  the  court  was  there, 
and  indeed  as  they  landed  the  soldiers 
were  presenting  arms  to  some  smart 
open  carriages,  which  were  rolling  by 
with  glittering  outriders,  a  flashing  of 
harness,  a  waving  of  plumes,  a  click  of 
arms ;  it  was  a  pretty,  brilliant 
sight. 

"  Shall  we  dine  first,  or  walk  first  ?  " 
said  Mr.  Bagginal,  gaily.  "  M.  du 
Pare,  you  know  the  place  better  than 
I  do." 

Du  Pare  hesitated. 


"  If  ces  dames  are  not  afraid  of  a 
long  walk,"  said  Du  Pare,  "  we  might 
stroll  back  through  the  woods  to 
Sevres ;  and  I  can  recommend  that 
little  restaurant  you  were  looking  at 
just  now,"  he  said,  finishing  his  sen- 
tence to  Susanna  herself. 

Susy  agreed  at  once.  She  was  in 
childish  spirits,  and  behaving  like  a 
child,  thought  Tempy,  severely,  some- 
what in  Mrs.  Bolsover's  frame  of  mind. 
Jo  stared  at  Susanna  ;  he  did  not 
know  her ;  he  too  liked  her  best  in 
her  old  subdued  condition,  though  he 
was  glad  to  see  her  happy. 

There  was  a  pretty  little  girl  in  a 
village  night-cap  on  board,  about  little 
Phraisie's  age,  and  as  the  steamer 
started,  Susy  stood  looking  after  the 
child,  and  thinking  of  her  own  with 
some  natural  maternal  solicitude  ;  then 
she  turned  and  found  Max  as  usual 
waiting  by  her  side  and  watching  her 
with  something  the  same  expression 
as  that  with  which  she  had  looked  at 
the  departing  child. 

"  I  should  like  to  have  made  a 
sketch  of  that  child,''  he  said,  a  little 
confused  at  being  surprised.  "  No 
wonder  women  are  pious,"  he  added, 
"wfeen  they  have  pretty  bambinos  of 
their  own  to  worship.  I  should  think 
for  you,  madame,  the  difficulty  must  be, 
not  to  believe,  but  to  keep  rational  in 
your  convictions." 

Then  Max  moved  on  again  and  joined 
the  others,  for  he  had  seen,  though 
Susy  did  not  notice  it,  a  somewhat 
gloomy  exchange  of  looks  pass  between 
Tempy  and  her  brother  as  they  stood 
waiting  on  the  slope  above. 

It  was  a  general  holiday  of  sunshine, 
lilacs,  lime  trees  ;  dazzling,  blossoming 
flowers  on  every  slope  and  terrace. 
The  steep  sides  were  heaped  with 
colour ;  the  wrought  iron  railings 
were  overhung  with  garlands,  with 
ivy  and  laburnum  and  sweet  flowering 
bushes  pushing  through  the  bars. 
Whitsuntide  had  come  with  an  ex- 
quisite burst.  All  these  French 
people,  natural  lovers  of  beauty  and 
sunshine,  were  out  basking  in  the  flood 
of  sudden  happiness.  At  the  gate  of 


246 


Mrs.  Dymond. 


the  great  court  stood  a  girl,  with  a 
half-penitent,  half-laughing  face ;  she 
had  stolen  some  overhanging  branches 
of  lilac  and  May  blossom,  and  had  been 
called  sternly  to  account  by  one  of  the 
old  veterans  in  uniform  and  metal 
buttons,  guardian  angels  of  this  earthly 
paradise. 

The  girl,  undaunted  by  the  buttons, 
looked  up  with  merry,  entreating  eyes, 
the  brave  old  veteran,  unconquered  in 
a  hundred  fights,  seemed  hard  put  to  it 
now,  for  all  his  stripes  and  gold  braid. 
Just  overhead  from  a  second  terrace, 
bordered  by  scrolled  iron  rails  and  ivy 
creepers,  hung  an  anxious  audience  of 
girls,  also  provided  with  the  plunder  of 
spring,  and  wondering  what  their  own 
chance  of  escape  would  be. 

"  She  will  come  over  him,"  said  Mr. 
Bagginal  laughing.  "  Look,  he  is 
yielding." 

Max  shrugged  his  shoulders  in  an 
irritating  way. 

"  Why  do  you  look  so  angry  ?  "  said 
Susy. 

"  She  will  get  as  a  veniality  what  is 
her  natural  right,"  said  Max.  "  That 
is  how  morality  is  taught  in  our 
schools." 

"But  if  you  think  everybody  else 
has  a  natural  right  to  pick  everything 
there  will  be  only  broken  stalks  for 
you  and  me,"  says  Mr.  Bagginal  with 
his  usual  drawl. 

"I  don't  know  about  you,"  said 
Max  laughing,  "I  myself  have  long 
ago  made  up  my  mind  to  broken  stalks," 
and  as  he  spoke  he  flung  a  little  spray 
of  lilac  he  had  picked  over  the  railings 
of  the  terrace. 

"M.  Caron  should  be  here,"  said 
Jo.  "  What  is  it  he  was  saying  in  the 
studio  last  night,  that  an  equal  sub- 
division of  material  was  an  absurdity 
— that  all  gifts  should  be  spiritual.  .  . 
and  capable  of  infinite  division  ?  " 

"I  don't  suppose  even  Caron  could 
tell  you  the  difference  between 
material  and  spiritual/'  said  Max, 
shrugging  his  shoulders.  "He  cer- 
tainly doesn't  practise  his  precepts, 
but  I  suppose  the  Patron  meant  that 
if  you  give  a  man  a  fish  he  is  hungry 


again  in  an  hour.  If  you  teach  him  to 
catch  a  fish  you  do  him  a  good  turn. 
But  these  very  elementary  principles 
are  apt  to  clash  with  the  leisure  of  the 
cultivated  classes.  Will  Mr.  Bagginal 
now  produce  his  ticket — the  result  of 
favour  and  the  unjust  subdivision  of 
spiritual  enjoyments  1 "  said  Du  Pare, 
with  a  smile. 

Mr.  Bagginal  stared  at  Max  for  a 
moment.  Max  stared  back.  Du  Pare 
had  a  quiet,  confident  manner,  which 
did  not,  however,  always  put  people 
at  their  ease.  He  actually  seemed  to 
feel  his  own  right  to  exist  and  to 
speak. 

Mr.  Bagginal' s  order  was  pro- 
duced, and  the  veterans  unlocked 
the  gates  and  admitted  these  wan- 
derers into  deeper  and  sweeter  glades 
and  beauties.  They  skirted  the- 
avenues,  advancing  by  the  stately 
green  arcades,  walking  under  the 
chestnut  trees  in  flower,  climbing  from 
one  ivy-bound  terrace  to  another — 
from  stone  flight  to  stone  flight,  from 
avenue  to  avenue  again,  and  so  onward 
through  the  glorious  spring  into 
greener  and  yet  greener  places.  The 
larks  were  singing  overhead,  nightin- 
gales and  thrushes  were  answering 
from  end  to  end  with  notes  so  sweet, 
so  loud,  so  mellow  that  all  these  human 
beings,  with  one  accord,  ceased  talking 
to  listen  to  the  sweet  pertinacious 
melody.  After  a  time  they  found 
themselves  coming  out  into  an  open 
place  where  a  lake  lay  glistening  in  the 
spring. 

"  There  is  a  terrace  somewhere 
near  this,"  said  Mr.  Bagginal.  "  Who 
knows  the  way  to  it  ? "  And  Du  Pare 
went  to  inquire  of  some  women  with 
flowers  in  their  hands,  who  stood 
smiling,  and  pointing  out  the  road. 

"  One  certainly  gets  a  capital  pano- 
rama of  Paris  here,"  says  Tempy, 
breathlessly,  and  ascending  the  steps 
of  the  terrace,  and  talking  in  her  loud, 
cordial  voice  to  Mr.  Bagginal.  "  I 
should  like  to  sketch  it,  but  I'm  not 
good  at  sketching !  Jo  could  do  it, 
couldn't  you,  Jo  1 " 

"  Would  you    also    like  to  see  me 


Mrs.  Dymond. 


stand  on  my  head  on  the  dome  of  the 
Invalides  ? "  said  Jo  gravely. 

"  What  do  you  mean,  you  silly  boy  ?  " 
said  Tempy.  "  You  sketch  beautifully  ; 
doesn't  he,  Monsieur  du  Pare  ?  " 

But  Max  didn't  answer.  He  had 
not  yet  reached  the  others,  and  stood 
leaning  against  the  lower  end  of  the 
stone  parapet  by  Mrs.  Dymond,  and 
looking  out  at  the  wondrous  circle  of 
hills.  Susy  lingered  for  an  instant,  she 
had  almost  forgotten  that  such  happi- 
ness was  possible — such  a  moment, 
such  a  spring-tide  ;  the  whole  air  was 
full  of  a  wonderful  perfume,  the  very 
branches  of  the  trees  all  seemed  to  be 
singing  and  flinging  their  incense  upon 
the  air. 

As  Mrs.  Dymond  stood,  flushed  and 
motionless,  a  new  sense  of  the  uni- 
versal community  of  life  reached  her, 
was  it  her  sorrow  that  died  away  in 
the  flame  of  the  sunshine  1  Her  black 
gown  turned  to  purple  in  the  light. 
Suddenly  she  seemed  to  know  that  she 
was  young,  that  she  belonged  to  the 
world  in  which  she  was  breathing,  to 
now,  not  only  to  the  past ;  that  the 
present  claimed  her,  that  the  past  was 
past. 

"  Come  up  this  way.  Come  !  come !  " 
cries  Jo,  looking  back,  and  in  a  sort  of 
dream  Susanna  moved  on,  still  followed 
by  Du  Pare.  At  their  feet  spreads 
Paris  in  its  sober  robe  of  white,  with 
its  thousand  domes  and  roofs  and 
spires,  pale,  shining  and  beautiful, 
delicately  outlined  and  shaded  ;  while 
the  hills  lie  like  a  charm  inclosing 
all,  and  the  silver  turns  of  the  river 
are  flowing  on  into  the  very  heart  of 
the  great  city,  as  though  to  wash  away 
every  shadow  and  stain  from  its 
stones. 

There  are  some  things  can  scarcely 
be  remembered,  much  less  written 
down  ;  among  these  is  the  quality  of 
moments  which  come  to  us  now  and 
again,  the  complexity  and  multiplica- 
tion of  happiness  and  beauty  which 
can  give  these  life. 

"  And  what  about  dinner  ? "  says 
M.  Bagginal.  "How  does  one  get 
away?" 


"  There  should  be  a  path  somewhere 
through  this  wood,"  says  Max,  looking 
about  him. 

He  found  the  way  presently,  along 
the  shade  and  the  sunshine  under  the 
trees,  past  a  sunny  glen  where  some 
milk-white  goats,  like  creatures  out  of 
an  idyll,  were  disporting  themselves. 
Pan  was  perhaps  hidden  among  the 
bushes  or  Acteon  was  sleeping  among 
the  ivy.  The  little  wood  led  down  hill 
to  iron  gates. 

CHAPTER  XXII. 

A    LA    PECHE    MIEACULEUSE. 

As  they  came  jogging  gaily  along 
the  lane  Jo  leaped  up  in  the  air,  broke 
a  branch  of  lilac  from  one  of  the  over- 
hanging trees,  and  coming  up  to  his 
stepmother  flung  it  to  her. 

"  Take  it  home  for  me,"  said  Jo ; 
"  put  it  in  your  parasol.  I'll  try  and 
paint  it  when  I  get  back,"  and  he 
hurried  past  her  to  overtake  the 
others. 

"Don't  you  think  he  has  great 
talent  1 "  said  Susanna,  with  a  thought- 
ful look,  which  brightened  as  it  fell  on 
Jo's  red  shock  head. 

"  He  must  work  on  and  find  out  for 
himself  what  he  is  capable  of,"  said 
Du  Pare,  looking  not  at  Jo  but  at 
Susy  herself  with  unconcealed  kind- 
ness and  admiration. 

Even  for  Susanna,  or  perhaps  because 
it  was  Susanna  (to  him  the  sweetest, 
fairest  woman  he  had  ever  known),  he 
could  not  say  more  than  he  felt.  Her 
concerns  seemed  to  him  next  to  his  own 
the  most  important  things  in  all  the 
world.  Perhaps  his  own  also  gained 
in  importance  from  her  coming,  her 
interest  in  them.  They  were  reaching 
the  gate  where  the  sentry  was  standing, 
armed  to  the  teeth,  and  Susy,  with  a 
woman's  disregard  of  lawful  authority, 
drew  a  fold  of  her  dress  over  the  lilac 
blossom. 

The  iron  gates  led  by  a  lane  to  the 
village  green  of  Sevres,  where  the 
children  were  at  play  and  where  many 
people  were  coming  and  going,  while 
old  people  talked  in  the  sunshine.  The 


248 


Mrs.  Dymond. 


green  led  to  the  river,  spanned  by  the 
bridge  soon  to  be  the  scene  of  so  many 
desperate  encounters,  of  unavailing 
appeals,  and  hopeless  parleys,  the 
boundary  line  between  victory  and 
defeat.  Who  could  have  realised  that 
day  the  piteous  tragedy,  already  near, 
while  the  children  danced  and  the 
peaceful  elders  rested  at  the  end  of 
their  long  day's  work,  and  the  young 
people  advanced  gay  with  the  mirth 
of  the  hour  ? 

Neither  Jo  nor  Tempy  as  they  went 
along  noticed  a  strange  -  looking 
figure,  who,  however,  seemed  greatly 
interested  in  them.  It  was  a  tall, 
pale  man,  in  a  workman's  dress,  with 
long  fair  hair  reaching  to  his 
shoulders.  He  had  been  resting  on  a 
bench  ;  he  got  up,  seeing  Du  Pare,  and 
laid  his  hand  heavily  and  familiarly 
upon  his  arm. 

"  Ah !  at  last.  I  hoped  we  might 
meet,"  he  said,  drawing  him  a  little 
aside.  Then  quickly  and  excitedly, 
"  Hast  thou  heard  the  news  1  The 
police  have  paid  a  domiciliary  visit  to 
Papa  Caron  :  they  found  nothing  ex- 
cept some  of  thy  caligraphies.  Hap- 
pily art  is  privileged.  The  com- 
missaire  was  told  that  thy  Goddess  of 
Liberty  was  the  portrait  of  the  late 
Madame  Caron.  I  have  seen  Lebris," 
the  stranger  went  on.  "  He  tells  me 
Dombrowski  is  in  Paris.  He  will  be 
in  the  Rue  de  la  Hotte  to-night,  are 
we  to  expect  you  1  Mademoiselle  vous 
es'cusera,"  said  the  long-haired  man 
somewhat  familiarly,  with  a  stare  at 
Susy. 

Du  Pare  looked  at  his  acquaintance 
with  a  very  haughty  air,  which  took 
him  of  the  long  hair  somewhat 
aback. 

"  Lebris  had  much  better  be  looking 
after  his  family  than  meddling  in 
things  he  does  not  understand,"  said 
Du  Pare,  and  turning  away  without 
a  further  answer  he  rejoined  Mrs. 
Dymond  and  almost  hurried  her 
away. 

"Is  that  an  artist?"  said  Susy, 
rather  awe-stricken. 

"  An  artist,  no  ;  that  is  one  of  our 


rising  politicians,"  said  the  young 
man,  with  a  shrug  of  the  shoulders 
as  they  walked  on.  "  I  confess  that 
if  it  was  not  for  M.  Caron' s  sake  I 
could  gladly  knock  him  down  for  his 
impertinence  to  you.  His  name  is 
Jourde,  he  is  one  of  the  best  of  them. 
But — ah !  the  whole  thing  seems  like 
a  bad  dream  now  as  I  walk  along 
by  your  side,"  cried  Du  Pare,  suddenly 
forgetting  his  reserve  and  realising 
the  utter  gulf,  the  absolute  distance, 
the  impassable  barrier  which  divided 
him  from  the  sweet  and  gracious  being 
whose  looks  rested  so  kindly  on  his, 
whose  voice  filled  his  ears,  whose  every 
word  and  motion  seemed  to  him 
touched  with  peace,  beauty,  goodwill 
upon  earth,  some  harmony  almost 
more  than  human. 

And  was  all  this  to  be  put  aside, 
thrust  away,  for  what  1  For  a  hopeless 
cause,  a  nightmare,  for  these  dirty  hands 
holding  out  a  grotesque  semblance  of 
liberty  and  justice.  Then  he  thought, 
with  a  bitter  pang  of  self-reproach,  of 
his  dear  old  master  and  friend,  of  that 
lifelong  sacrifice  and  devotion,  that 
patient  following  of  Truth  in  its  many 
disguises,  and  that  aspiration  after 
greater  things  than  tranquillity  and 
ease.  Suddenly  shaken  and  stung 
back  to  the  reality  of  life  Max  put 
a  hard  and  dogged  control  upon 
himself  for  the  rest  of  the  walk ; 
he  would  not  let  himself  think,  and 
yet  he  could  not  enjoy  the  present 
any  more.  Mrs.  Dymond  wondered 
what  had  come  to  him.  His  manner, 
his  voice,  his  face  had  changed,  he 
seemed  no  longer  her  friend  and 
companion,  but  one  strange  and  far 
removed  from  their  simple  merry- 
making. 

The  others  saw  no  difference,  and 
came  up  laughing  and  in  high  spirits, 
when  Max  called  to  Jo  to  hasten,  or 
they  might  not  get  their  table  at  the 
inn  where  they  were  to  dine.  They 
turned  down  along  the  river  -  side, 
again,  the  Peche  Miraculeuse  stood  at 
a  silver  turn  of  the  Seine,  and  the 
hungry  excursionists  were  coming  up 
from  various  sides  to  the  many  tables 


Mrs.  Dymond. 


249 


which  were  set  ready,  some  in  the 
dark  dining-rooms  down  below,  some 
on  a  broad  balcony  or  terrace  from 
which  the  river  could  be  seen,  floating 
into  those  glorified  distances,  where 
the  sweet  resounding  woods  and 
visions  through  which  they  had  been 
passing  lay  hidden  in  the  sunset. 

The  lady  in  the  camisole  sitting  in 
the  little  lodge  below  smiled  an  affable 
welcome,  and  put  out  five  ivory 
counters  for  her  guests. 

"Will  you  take  your  entrance 
tickets!"  said  Du  Pare,  holding  out 
four  of  the  counters. 

"  And  what  will  you  do  ? "  says  Mr. 
Bagginal,  rather  relieved  to  find  Max 
was  not  to  be  at  the  dinner. 

"  I  am  not  coming.  I  must  go 
back,"  he  answered. 

Susy  exclaimed  in  disappointment. 

Max  heard  her  exclaim  as,  lifting 
his  hat,  he  turned  away  quickly.  He 
could  not  explain  to  them  all  that 
when  he  had  thrust  his  last  napoleon 
into  Madame  Lebris'  trembling  hand 
he  had  given  his  share  of  the  feast  to 
the  poor  woman  who  had  appealed  to 
him  as  they  started.  At  the  time  he 
had  regretted  the  sacrifice,  now  he 
was  glad  to  get  away — his  mood  had 
changed.  He  was  in  no  difficulty 
about  his  meal.  There  was  always 
a  loaf  of  bread  and  a  bottle  of  wine  in 
his  mother's  cupboard  at  home,  and 
he  now  started  to  walk  back  to  the 
villa  and  to  partake  of  this  frugal 
repast  before  joining  Caron  at  the 
appointed  place. 

Dombrowski  had  been  sent  on  some 
mission — Du  Pare  knew  not  what, 
only  that  it  was  of  vital  influence  to 
the  cause,  so,  at  least,  Caron's  friends 
affirmed.  Max  himself  had  little  faith 
in  these  mysterious  expeditions  and 
conspiracies.  He  was  ready  to  do  his 
part,  even  to  go  on  missions  if  need 
be ;  at  all  events,  to  help  those  that 
wanted  help,  to  send  a  share  of  his 
own  strength  and  goodwill  to  others, 
but  he  had  no  fancy  for  plots  and 
secret  societies ;  and  it  may  as  well  be 
explained  at  once,  that,  although  he 
lived  in  the  company  of  schemers  and 


plotters,  he  himself  belonged  to  no 
secret  societies.  His  godfather  had 
promised  the  sturdy  madame  that 
Max  should  not  be  involved.  Caron 
was  scrupulous  to  keep  his  word  and 
his  promises.  He  was  absolutely 
trusted  and  respected ;  introduced  by 
him,  Max  was  welcomed,  although 
bound  by  no  promises.  He  was  even 
courted  by  many  of  those  who  were 
able  to  see  his  utility  to  their  cause 
if  he  once  heartily  joined  any  one  of 
the  many  cliques  and  brotherhoods 
which  were  secretly  growing  round 
about.  But,  in  truth,  his  mind  just 
then  was  full  of  other  thoughts  and 
preoccupations,  and  one's  own  experi- 
ence perforce  comes  before  that  of 
others  however  unfortunate.  As  he 
walked  along  in  the  dusk  by  the  river- 
side towards  home,  something  seemed 
calling  to  him — calling  from  the  little 
eating-house  where  the  lights  were 
beginning  to  kindle  up.  "  She  is 
going  from  you,"  said  a  voice.  "  Who 
knows,  she  might  remain,  she  might 
be  yours ;  but  she  is  happier  as  she 
is,  and  you  would  not  have  things 
altered."  He  knew  enough  of  the 
world  to  realise  that  Susy  and  her 
surroundings  were  utterly  unsuited  to 
him  and  to  his  life.  Max  was  not 
over-diffident ;  modesty  was  not  one 
of  the  qualities  with  which  nature 
had  endowed  him,  and  something  in 
Susanna's  eyes  and  voice  and  manner 
told  him  that  to  her  he  was  beginning 
to  be  no  less  interesting  than  she  had 
long  been  to  him.  Poor  child  !  she 
had  better  go  before  she  knew  the 
truth,  return  to  her  home,  her  com- 
forts, her  religion,  her  friends,  the 
reverends  in  their  white  ties,  to  her 
narrow  prejudices,  her  well-mounted 
household.  Hie  thee  to  a  monastery  ! 
What  had  induced  this  lamb  from  the 
flock  to  come  in  innocence  and  thrust 
itself  into  his  gueule  de  loup  ?  Dear 
woman,  she  should  go  as  she  had 
come.  She  should  not  know  how  near 
he  had  been  to  asking  her  to  make 
the  sacrifice  of  peace  and  home,  and 
country,  and  consideration,  "  for  she 
might  accept  me.  She  is  a  woman 


250 


Mrs.  Dytnond. 


just  like  any  other."  So  reasoned 
Max,  who  was  himself  a  man  just 
like  any  other. 

Meanwhile  Susanna  sat  silent  in  her 
darkening  corner,  also  changed  and 
silenced,  disappointed  and  angry  with 
herself  for  the  difference  she  found  in 
everything ;  wondering  why  Du  Pare 
had  left  them  so  abruptly,  where  he 
was  gone,  what  his  going  meant.  The 
western  light  shone  on  still,  but  with 
long  radiations  ;  the  fisherman's  boat, 
catering  for  the  guests,  pushed  out 
across  the  river  to  the  reservoir  of 
trout,  the  oars  flapped  with  a  sad, 
chilling  sound.  Tempy's  spirits  rose 
as  Susy's  fell,  and  she  and  Jo  and 
M.  Bagginal  joked  and  laughed  with 
an  extra  gaiety  and  noisy  enjoyment 
which  jarred  upon  poor  Susy,  sitting 
lonely  and  motionless,  with  all  the 
fading  glory  of  the  sunset  for  a  back- 
ground to  her  depression.  It  was  the 
same  thing  on  board  the  steamer  in 
the  evening  grey,  where  their  youthful 
sports  offended  not  only  Susy  but  a 
little  French  couple  sitting  by  the 
wheel.  "Anglais"  said  the  man, 
"  Barbares,"  hissed  the  pretty  little 
lady,  to  Jo's  immense  amusement. 

CHAPTER  XXIII. 
SUSANNA'S  CORRESPONDENCE. 
SUSY  came  home  still,  tired,  and  dis- 
pirited. She  left  the  others  to  their 
cheerful  interminable  leave-takings 
down  below,  and  hurried  up  the  stairs 
to  her  own  room.  As  she  passed 
through  the  sitting-room  she  saw 
some  letters  lying  on  the  round  table, 
and  she  carried  them  with  her  candle 
into  her  own  room  to  read.  It  was 
nearly  dark,  the  light  was  dying 
out  of  the  sky,  and  she  untied  her 
bonnet  and  sat  down  in  the  chair  by 
her  bedside  with  some  sense  of  rest 
and  peace.  The  first  letter  was  from 
Mrs.  Bolsover,  and  in  her  own  hand- 
writing : — 

"  BOLSOVER  HALL,  April  22nd. 
"My  DEAR  SUSANNA, — We  are  all 
glad  to  think  the  time  for  your  return 
is  so  near,  though  I  am  afraid  you  will 


find  us  very  humdrum  after  your 
foreign  friends  and  amusements.  I 
only  write  to  say  that  we  are  expect- 
ing you.  News  concerning  such  old 
fogies  as  we  are  is  generally  nothing 
but  a  catalogue  of  ills,  more  or  less 
tiresome.  Happily  we  are  all  much 
as  usual,  with  nothing  more  to  com- 
plain of  than  when  you  left  the  Place. 
A_unt  Fanny  has  been  up  in  town,  and 
has  brought  back  a  couple  of  white 
rats,  which  Phraisie  will  approve  of. 

"  The  squire  is  very  well  satisfied 
with  his  lambs  and  the  look  of  the 
spring  crops.  He  goes  over  to  the 
Place  on  Tuesdays,  and  says  all  is  as 
it  should  be.  He  brings  us  back  cart- 
fulls  of  fruit  and  vegetables,  which 
the  gardeners  might  otherwise  appro- 
priate. 

"  Our  nephew  Charles  has  been 
staying  with  us,  and  left  us  this 
morning.  He  is  thinking  of  trying 
for  the  Civil  Service.  I  was  delighted 
to  get  your  letter  contradicting  the  un- 
favourable accounts  which  had  reached 
us  of  his  conduct  in  London,  and 
which,  as  you  know,  I  never  believed. 
I  was  glad  to  tell  him  how  completely 
you  had  justified  him. 

"  We  are  rather  anxious  at  the  last 
accounts  from  Paraguay,  where  my 
brother  Peregrine  is  now  living.  The 
country  seems  in  a  very  unsettled 
state.  He  has  written  us  a  very  long, 
and,  no  doubt,  interesting  letter  on  the 
subject  of  the  last  ministerial  changes 
there.  He  promises  to  send  us  another 
box  of  curiosities  before  long. 

"  Pray  remember  us  very  kindly  to 
your  mother  and  her  family.  Give 
our  fond  love  to  Jo  and  Tempy,  and, 
with  a  hug  to  the  precious  child, 
believe  me,  my  dear  Susy,  ever  your 
affectionate  old  sister-in-law, 

"CAROLINE  BOLSOVER. 

"  Tell  Phraisie  we  shall  be  looking 
out  for  her  by  the  end  of  the  week, 
and  that  we  shall  keep  the  rats  till 
she  comes  for  them." 

The  second  letter  was  also 
stamped  with  the  Bolsover  crest, 
but  it  bore  the  London  post- 


Mrs.  Dymond. 


251 


mark,  and  was  directed  in  a  dashing 
and  blotted  handwriting  at  which 
Susy  wondered  as  she  opened  it. 
Then  she  began  to  read  attentively, 
and  having  finished  she  read  the 
letter  through  a  second  time ;  and 
then,  still  holding  it  in  her  hands, 
she  sat  motionless  trying  to  think, 
to  realise  how  much  it  might  mean. 
The  words  were  simple  enough,  and 
to  the  point : — 

"RATTLE  STEEET,  SOHO,  April  23rd. 

"MY  DEAR  MRS.  DYMOND,  - 
Many  months  have  passed  since  I 
have  troubled  you,  either  by  writ- 
ing or  by  coming.  When  I  last 
saw  Tempy,  I  felt  she  would  prefer 
that  I  should  absent  myself  for  a 
time.  I  think,  however,  it  will  be 
better  for  all  our  sakes  to  get  to  a 
definite  understanding.  My  time 
at  Oxford  is  at  an  end,  and  it  is 
necessary  to  make  some  plans  for 
the  future.  My  Aunt  Fanny  has 
been  in  town,  visiting  Jamracs  and 
the  spring  exhibitions,  and  kindly 
exerting  herself  on  my  behalf.  A 
former  admirer,  she  tells  me,  has 
promised  her  to  give  me  a  nomina- 
tion for  the  Foreign  Office,  and  this, 
with  what  my  uncle  allows  me  will 
enable  me,  I  trust,  to  pay  my  wash- 
ing bills,  and  keep  me  not  only  in 
crusts  but  in  cigars.  My  Aunt 
Caroline  has  also  shown  me  a  letter 
which  you  have  been  kind  enough 
to  write,  contradicting  a  report 
which  I  never  heard  of  till  now, 
and  which  certainly  confirmed  my 
poor  Uncle  John  in  his  prejudice 
against  me.  I  will  not  dwell  upon 
this  unexpected  eclaircissement,  for 
although  in  this  particular  instance 
appearances  were  hard  upon  me 
other  facts  (that  I  am  heartily 
ashamed  of  now)  may  not  have 
reached  his  ears,  which  would  have 
undoubtedly  seemed  to  him  good 
reasons  for  opposing  my  marriage 
with  my  cousin  Tempy.  But  at 
the  same  time  I  protest  that  I  was 
hardly  dealt  with  on  the  whole ;  if 
he  had  lived  I  should  have  appealed 


once  more  to  him,  to  his  sense  of 
justice,  to  his  great  affection  for 
his  daughter.  He  is  gone,  leaving 
you  her  guardian  in  his  place,  and 
I  come  to  you.  If  you  could  see 
my  heart  you  would  understand 
that  I  am  sincere,  you  would  see 
how  truly  I  love  her.  I  also  think 
that  no  one  else  could  ever  make 
her  so  happy  as  I  could.  If  she 
still  loves  me,  I  will  come  at  once 
and  meet  you  anywhere  you  like ; 
to  her  I  would  rather  speak  than 
write.  Meanwhile,  I  can  only  ask 
you  to  believe  me. 

"  I  am  yours  very  sincerely, 

"C.  P.  BOLSOVER." 

As  Susy  sat  there  her  mind  was 
quickly  made  up;  something  in 
Charlie's  letter  rang  true  and 
seemed  to  find  a  ready  answer  in 
her  feeling.  Ah !  she  knew  now  as 
she  had  never  known  before  what 
it  [was  to  divide  yearning  hearts. 
John  would  forgive  her  even  if  he 
did  not  approve ;  but  he  would 
approve ;  true  himself,  generous,  con- 
siderate for  others,  how  could  he 
not  approve?  Why  should  she 
mistrust  his  unvarying  goodness? 
As  she  sat  there  she  found  herself 
almost  speaking,  almost  appealing 
to  her  husband,  and  a  feeling  of 
oneness  [with  him  in  her  wish  to  do 
right  seemed  to  set  her  mind  and 
her  heart  at  ease. 

Her  dreams  of  the  past  and  of 
Tempy's  future  were  not  altogether 
dispersed  by  the  voices  coming  into 
the  next  room.  Jo  and  Tempy, 
having  taken  leave  of  Mr.  Bagginal, 
had  come  up  stairs  after  her. 

"It  would  have  been  a  delightful 
day  if  it  hadn't  been  for  that  tire- 
some M.  du  Pare,"  said  Tempy  very 
loud  and  cheerfully,  dropping  down 
once  more  on  the  red  divan  which 
she  had  left  some  eight  hours  before. 
"I  can't  think  what.  Susy  finds  in 
him.  He  is  a  thoroughly  disagree- 
able man,  ard  so  are  all  his  friends. 
He  has  scarcely  the  manners  of  a 
gentleman  ;  do  you  think  so,  Jo?" 


252 


Mrs.  Dymond. 


"  I  don't  know ;  I  like  him  and  I 
like  his  friends,"  said  Jo,  lighting 
the  candles.  "They  are  rather 
rough  to  be  sure,  all  except  Mon- 
sieur Caron ;  but  I  don't  care  so 
much  about  manners.  You  like  super- 
fine cream -laid  people,  like  Baggi- 
nal  and  Charlie."  Jo  said  all  this 
walking  noisily  about  the  room 
looking  for  matches,  soda-water, 
opening  windows,  &c.,  as  people  do 
after  a  day's  absence.  "  Mrs.  Dy- 
mond  likes  them  rough,"  he  went 
on,  "  without  too  much  polish,  like 
me  and  Du  Pare."  He  looked  up 
and  stopped  short,  for  "  Mrs.  Dy- 
mond "  had  come  back,  she  was 
there,  she  had  heard  what  they 
said.  She  was  blushing  crimson 
and  waiting  in  the  doorway. 

Jo  gave  one  glance  at  Tempy, 
then  another  at  Susy,  as  she  stood 
quite  still  looking  down,  and  ner- 
vously smoothing  the  ribbons  of  her 
cloak  which  she  had  not  laid  aside, 
then  he  took  up  his  hat  and  was  pre- 
paring to  go  out  again  for  an  evening 
pipe  in  front  of  the  house. 

"  Don't  go  yet,  Jo,"  said  Susanna, 
in  an  odd  voice.  "I  have  something 
to  say  to  you  and  Tempy.  Some- 
thing which  has  been  on  my  mind 
for  some  days."  Tempy  sat  bolt  up- 
right on  her  sofa,  and  wondered  what 
on  earth  was  coming. 

"M.  du  Pare,  whom  you  dislike, 
Tempy,  so  much,"  said  Susy,  with  a 
touch  of  severity  in  her  voice  which 
Tempy  had  never  heard  before,  "  has 
done  us  a  service  for  which  we  ought 
all  to  be  grateful.  He  has  cleared  away 
a  cruel  injustice.  Do  you  not  both 
remember  the  things  which  were  said 
of  your  cousin,  Charlie,  that  sad  time 
when — when  he  first  spoke  t6  your 
father  ?  They  were  all  false.  Monsieur 
Max  knows  it  was  all  untrue  about 
the  drinking.  Your  father  never 
knew  it.  M.  du  Pare  used  to  go  and 
see  your  cousin  who  was  ill  in  his 
lodgings.  He  hears  from  him  some- 
times now,  and  I  too  have  heard  from 
Charlie — the  letter  was  here  when  I 
came  in.  Tempy,"  said  Susy,  trem- 


bling, but  recovering  herself  and 
speaking  more  quickly,  and  looking 
very  sweet,  "it  is  for  you  to  answer 
the  letter.  I  should  no  longer  feel  I 
was  doing  right  if  I  continued  to 
oppose  your  marriage.  I  think — I 
cannot  say  for  certain — but  I  think 
your  father  would  agree  to  it  now. 
He  used  to  say,"  and  Susy  turned  to 
her  stepson,  "  that  her  husband  must 
be  a  good  man,  Jo,  a  man  to  be 
trusted  and  that  she  could  depend 
upon — and  surely  Charlie  has  proved 
himself  faithful  and  to  be  trusted." 

Susy's  voice  failed  her  from  sheer 
emotion  and  excitement,  her  eyes  were 
full  of  tears,  she  felt  terrified  by  the 
responsibility  she  was  taking,  and  yet 
she  had  no  doubt  in  her  mind.  She 
came  up  to  the  divan,  and  sitting  down 
by  Tempy,  in  her  excitement  she 
caught  her  hand  in  both  hers,  but 
Tempy  started  to  her  feet  and  shook 
off  the  gentle  fingers  which  Susy  had 
laid  upon  her  own.  The  letter  between 
them  fell  to  the  ground. 

"  You  will  not  oppose  !  You  want 
to  get  rid  of  me,  that  is  what  you 
mean,"  cried  the  girl  in  a  sudden 
jealous  fury,  speaking  with  volubility 
and  vehemence.  "  You  want  to  be 
free  to  marry  that  Frenchman — and 
you  expect  me  to  be  grateful  to  him 
and  to  you — for  months  and  months 
you  have  looked  on  at  my  misery,  and 
now  because  that  man  tells  you  to 
change  your  mind,  to  forget  my  father's 
wishes,  you — you —  Oh,  Susy,  Susy,  I 
don't  know  what  I  am  saying,"  cried 
Tempy  breaking  down  suddenly,  fling- 
ing herself  back  upon  the  cushions 
and  bursting  into  wild  passionate 
sobs. 

Susanna  sat,  scared,  terrified,  too 
deeply  wounded  to  speak  or  to  show 
any  sign.  Jo,  greatly  embarrassed, 
came  forward  and  stooped  to  pick  up 
Charlie's  letter  which  was  lying  at 
Susy's  feet. 

"  Yes,  read  it,  Jo,"  said  Mrs. 
Dymond,  in  an  odd  chill  voice.  "  You 
can  show  it  to  her  when  she  is  more 
reasonable.  You  can  tell  her  that 
I  did  not  look  on  unfeelingly ;  I 


Mrs.  Dymond. 


253 


have  tried  to  be  sincere  with  your 
father  and  with  his  children.  Tempy 
ought  to  trust  me,  and  to  know  that 
I  have  no  secret  reasons — though  I 
understand  better  than  I  did  once, 
perhaps,  what  she  has  had  to  suffer." 

As  Susy  spoke  the  meaning  of  her 
own  words  seemed  to  overcome  her. 
She  started  up.  She  was  wanting 
to  get  back  to  her  own  room,  to 
be  alone,  to  hide  her  agitation,  to 
rest  from  her  fatigue  and  exhaus- 
tion of  spirit.  Her  tears  were 
gone,  but  as  she  stood  up,  suddenly 
everything  became  dim  to  her  eyes. 
In  one  instant  life's  perplexities, 
joys,  and  agitations,  ceased  for  Susy 
Dymond,  except,  indeed,  that  in  some 
utter  depths  of  unexplored  dark- 
ness, something  was  still  struggling, 
amid  strange  and  distant  clangings 
and  reverberations,  struggling  and  float- 
ing back  towards  life — a  something 
which  became  herself  once  more  as 
Susy  opened  her  eyes  to  find  herself  in 
Tempy's  repentant,  loving,  trembling 
arms,  dabbed  and  fanned,  sprinkled 


and  dribbled  over  by  tears,  Eau  de 
Cologne,  and  wet  sponges.  Jo  was 
rubbing  her  hands,  Wilkins  was 
present.  Susy  found  herself  lying 
back  in  a  chair  by  the  open  window, 
the  moon  and  stars  were  looking  in  at 
her,  a  soft  wind  was  blowing  in  her 
face.  The  windows  of  the  opposite 
balcony  were  lighted  up,  a  chance 
spectator  in  a  white  waistcoat  leaning 
over  the  rails  was  watching  the 
incident  with  interest.  This  was, 
the  first  trivial  fact  which  impressed 
itself  on  Susy's  reviving  senses. 

"  Another  sup  of  water,  mem,"  says 
Wilkins,  sympathetically.  "  Them 
expeditions  is  too  much  for  her  !  Ah  ! 
your  colour  is  coming  back,  let  Miss 
Tempy  fan  you." 

"  Darling,  sweet  Susy,"  whispered 
Tempy,  in  a  tender  voice,  like  a  child's 
treble.  "  Oh,  my  Susy,  I  nearly 
killed  you." 

"Well,"  said  Jo,  who  looked 
still  quite  white  and  frightened,  "I 
thought  you  had,  Tempy,  and  no 
mistake." 


To  be  continued. 


254 


THE  KIEL  REBELLION  IN  NORTH-WEST  CANADA. 


DURING  the  winter  of  1869-70,  there 
took  place  in  the  upper  valley  of  the 
Red  River,  which  lies  north  of  the 
International  Boundary  between  the 
United  States  and  Canada,  that  rising 
of  the  Metis  or  French  Half-breeds 
against  the  Dominion  Government 
which  is  known  as  the  Red  River 
Rebellion.  The  scene  of  that  episode 
now  forms  the  most  important  and 
populous  portion  of  Manitoba,  which 
was  subsequently  organised  as  a 
province  of  the  Dominion  upon  the 
collapse  of  the  rebellion.  The  flourish- 
ing city  of  Winnipeg  now  extends  for 
a  considerable  distance  on  all  sides 
from  what  were  the  rebel  head- 
quarters, Fort  Garry,  at  one  time  the 
chief  post  of  the  Hudson's  Bay  Com- 
pany. In  the  general  prosperity  of 
that  part  of  Canada,  the  whole  affair 
had  well-nigh  passed  away  from  the 
public  memory,  but  the  events  which 
have  recently  occurred  in  the  district 
of  Saskatchewan  bring  it  back  vividly. 
It  is  hardly  possible  to  understand  the 
rebellion  which  has  just  been  sup- 
pressed by  General  Middleton,  with- 
out a  glance  at  the  former  rising  of 
the  Metis. 

In  1869,  Louis  Riel  appeared  at;  the 
head  of  an  armed  band  of  the  Metis 
to  compel  the  Dominion  to  give  them 
what  they  considered  their  just  rights. 
After  a  lapse  of  fifteen  years,  and  five 
hundred  miles  from  the  scene  of  the 
former  disturbance,  this  is  exactly 
what  has  taken  place  again.  The 
only  absolutely  new  feature  of  the  re- 
cent rebellion,  and  one  that  is  not 
without  a  dark  hint  of  terrible  possi- 
bilities, was  the  fact  that  it  was  aided 
by  Indians  from  reserves  in  the  vicinity 
of  the  disaffected  district.  It  is  also 
the  case  that  various  tribes,  mainly 
belonging  to  the  Cree  family,  through- 
out the  north-west  territories,  have 


been  stirred  up  to  an  ominous  rest- 
lessness unknown  before.  One  band 
of  Indians,  under  a  turbulent  chief 
called  Poundmaker,  who  had  already 
given  trouble  to  the  authorities,  ac- 
tually broke  out  and  went  on  the  war- 
path. It  was  the  terror  felt  in  pre- 
sence of  a  threatened  Indian  war,  far 
more  than  any  fear  inspired  by  the 
movement  under  Riel,  which  roused 
Canada  from  Halifax  to  Winnipeg. 

To  understand  the  position  of  the 
Half-breed  and  the  nature  of  his  claims, 
it  is  necessary  to  go  back.  By  the 
British  North  America  Act,  the 
Dominion  of  Canada,  whose  western 
frontier  was  then  Lake  Superior,  ac- 
quired from  the  Imperial  Government 
the  enormous  area  of  territory  gene- 
rally known  at  that  time  as  Rupert's 
Land,  or  the  Hudson  Bay  Company's 
territories.  This  vast  region,  lying 
between  the  province  of  Ontario  on 
the  east  and  the  rocky  mountains  on 
the  west,  which  will  probably  in  time 
come  to  be  known  by  the  appropriate 
name  of  Central  Canada,  has  been 
divided  off  into  the  province  of  Mani- 
toba, and  the  districts  of  Keewatin, 
Assiniboia,  Saskatchewan,  Alberta, 
and  Athabasca.  With  the  exception 
of  Keewatin,  they  are  wholly  or  par- 
tially situated  in  what  is  sometimes 
designated  the  "Fertile  Belt."  The 
soil  is,  for  the  most  part,  rich  and 
capable  of  supporting  an  immense 
population ;  and  though  the  country 
labours  under  the  great  disadvantage 
of  a  severe  winter  climate,  there  can 
be  no  reasonable  doubt  but  that  Canada 
gains  enormously  by  the  possession  of 
this  splendid  territory. 

When  the  Dominion  entered  upon 
its  occupation,  there  were  sundry  prior 
claims  which  had  to  be  considered. 
There  was  first  of  all  the  Hudson's 
Bay  Company,  which  held  certain  ill- 


The  Riel  Rebellion  in  North- West  Canada. 


255 


defined  rights  over  the  whole  region. 
What  these  rights  exactly  were  was  a 
matter  of  dispute,  but  an  agreement 
was  made  by  which  they  were  handed 
over  to  the  Canadian  Government  on 
the  payment  of  300,000?.  sterling  to 
the  company,  which  at  the  same  time 
received  a  large  and  valuable  grant  of 
lands. 

Then  came  the  claims  of  the  Indian 
population ;  and  it  was  proposed  to 
deal  fairly  and  generously  with  them. 
Yarious  treaties  have  from  time  to 
time  been  made  with  the  different 
tribes,  and  until  recently  it  was  be- 
lieved that  the  Indians  were  satisfied 
with  the  treatment  they  had  received. 
This  illusion  has  been  rudely  dispelled 
by  the  occurrences  of  the  past  few 
months.  It  has  been  the  custom  of 
Canadians  to  point  with  a  pride  which 
took  a  keener  edge  as  they  looked 
southwards  across  the  "  Line,"  to  the 
loyalty  and  contentment  of  their 
Indians.  Loyal  most  of  them  still 
are,  but  whether  they  will  remain  so 
must  be  regarded  as  uncertain.  Dis- 
contented many  of  them  certainly 
are. 

But  in  addition  to  the  claims  of  the 
Hudson's  Bay  Company  and  the 
Indians,  there  had  to  be  taken  into 
account  the  fact  that  some  parts  of  the 
newly- acquired  country  were  settled  ; 
and  the  settlers  desired  to  be  confirmed 
in  the  possession  of  their  lands.  These 
settlers,  for  the  most  part,  were  to  be 
found  along  the  banks  of  the  Red 
Biver  and  its  chief  tributary,  the 
Assiniboine.  At  the  time  of  the 
transfer,  as  the  cession  of  Rupert's- 
land  to  the  Dominion  is  usually 
called,  there  were  upwards  of  12,000 
people  in  the  Red  River  Settlement, 
of  which  Fort  Garry  was  the  centre 
both  of  government  and  trade.  Half 
this  number  were  French  Half-breeds 
or  Metis,  and  a  majority  of  the  other 
half  were  English  or  Scotch  Half-breeds. 
There  was  only  a  sprinkling  of  pure 
whites,  mostly  retired  officers  and  em- 
ployes of  the  Hudson's  Bay  Company. 
At  Kildonan,  three  or  four  miles  from 
Fort  Garry,  there  existed  and  still 


exists  a  considerable  settlement,  which 
was  originally  established  by  the  Earl 
of  Selkirk  some  seventy  years  ago,  and 
which  consisted  of  Scotch  families  of 
pure  descent.  The  people  lived  to- 
gether quietly  and  peacefully  a  life 
of  almost  patriarchal  simplicity. 
Many  of  them  were  intelligent  and 
educated  ;  every  parish  had  its  church 
and  school.  The  government  was  in 
the  hands  of  a  council  of  local  mag- 
nates, the  nominees  of  the  Hudson's 
Bay  Company,  but  who  fairly  repre- 
sented the  population. 

In  1869  it  looked  as  if  the  Dominion 
were  going  to  ignore  the  existence  of 
the  settlement  by  the  precipitate  action 
it  took.  Without  any  reference  to  the 
wishes  of  the  settlers,  it  drew  up  a 
scheme  of  government  from  which 
they  appeared  to  be  excluded.  Before 
the  country  had  actually  come  into  its 
possession,  surveyors  were  sent  to  ex- 
amine the  land,  and  it  can  hardly  be  a 
matter  of  surprise  that  their  presence 
excited  suspicion.  By  the  manner  in 
which  they  dealt  with  the  unoccupied 
lands  close  to  the  existing  holdings  it 
seemed  not  only  as  if  they  were  about 
to  allot  them  according  to  their 
pleasure,  but  as  if  they  intended  to 
deny  the  old  settlers  any  room  for 
growth  and  expansion  in  the  future. 

The  Half-breed  advanced  a  double 
claim  upon  the  Dominion.  Not  only 
did  he  ask  that  the  land  on  which  he 
had  squatted  should  be  made  over  to 
him,  but  he  demanded  also  that  the 
title  which  came  to  him  from  his  Indian 
ancestry  should  be  acknowledged  and 
an  adequate  compensation  made  for  it. 
At  first  it  appeared  as  if  this  claim 
were  going  to  be  completely  passed 
over  ;  and  the  rebellion  of  1869  was 
the  result.  Another,  though  secondary, 
cause  was  the  desire  for  a  local  repre- 
sentative legislature,  which  it  was 
feared  was  to  be  withheld.  The  situa- 
tion was  further  complicated  by  dif- 
ferences of  race  and  religion.  The 
English  Half-breed,  though  sympathis- 
ing to  some  degree  with  the  French, 
did  not  go  so  far  as  to  join  in  the 
rebellion. 


256 


The  Riel  Rebellion  in  North- West  Canada. 


The  insurgents  held  possession  of 
Fort  Garry,  where  were  the  central 
depot  and  warehouses  of  the  Hudson's 
Bay  Company  during  the  winter.  In 
the  following  spring  an  expedition, 
composed  of  a  British  battalion,  some 
artillery,  and  two  regiments  of 
Canadian  militia,  was  equipped  and 
sent  to  suppress  the  rebellion.  When 
Lord  (then  Sir  Garnet)  Wolseley,  who 
was  in  command,  marched  into  Fort 
Garry,  he  found  that  it  had  been 
abandoned.  The  insurrection  had 
melted  away.  But  the  victory  lay 
with  the  rebels,  as  all  their  demands 
were  conceded.  It  has  even  been 
maintained  that  a  general  amnesty 
was  promised  them,  but  this  the 
Canadian  Government  denied,  and  Riel 
and  the  other  leaders  were  subsequently 
condemned  to  various  punishments. 
Riel  was  outlawed  from  the  Dominion, 
and  has  since  become  a  citizen  of  the 
United  States.  The  claims  of  the 
Metis  and  of  other  Half-breeds,  how- 
ever, were  satisfied  by  grants  of  land 
or  its  equivalent.  Every  head  of 
family  received  so  much  land  for 
himself  and  each  of  his  children  ;  and 
patents  were  issued  for  such  lands  as 
were  already  occupied. 

With  a  little  forethought  all  the 
difiiculties  might  have  been  arranged 
before  Canada  had  taken  possession  of 
the  north  west  territories.  It  was 
afterwards  contended  by  the  Dominion 
that  all  claims  upon  it  made  by 
residents  in  the  territories  would  have 
been  satisfied  had  there  been  no 
rebellion  in  '69,  but  with  what  has 
just  passed  before  our  eyes  in  the 
Saskatchewan  it  is  idle  to  say  that  all 
such  matters  would  have  been  equit- 
ably adjusted  "  in  due  course."  It  is 
impossible  to  imagine  that  the'Dominion 
desired  then  to  withhold  justice  from 
any  of  its  citizens  any  more  than  it 
desires  to  withhold  it  now;  but  the 
wheels  of  government  move  but  slowly 
unless  there  is  some  extraordinary 
force  brought  to  bear  upon  them.  The 
arguments  which  appeal  to  govern- 
ments have  various  degrees  of  influence ; 
and  the  Metis  were  not  likely  to  forget 


what  kind  of  argument  had  greatest 
weight      on      the     former      occasion. 
Whether  their  grievances  were  such  as 
to  justify  their  rising  in  open  rebellion 
then  is  another  thing,  but  its  result 
was  so  favourable  to  them  that  they 
could    not    regret    it.      The   genuine 
success  which   attended  it,  no  doubt 
contributed  greatly  to  encourage  that 
rebellion  which  has  just  been  crushed. 
The  district  of  Saskatchewan,  which 
has  been  the  theatre  of  the  rebellion, 
lies  nearly  sin  the   middle  of  Central 
Canada.     Its    boundaries   have    been 
made  by  lines  drawn  by  the  surveyor 
and  are  not  marked  out  by  any  great 
natural   features.      On    the   south   it 
touches  Assiniboia  and  Manitoba,  on 
the   west   Alberta,   and   on   the   east 
Keewatin — names,  with  the  exception 
of  Manitoba,  little  known  to  the  world. 
It  takes   its  name  from  the  Saskat- 
chewan River,  the  two  main  branches 
of   which,  known  as  the  North   and 
South  Saskatchewans,  meet  at  a  point 
within  the  district  a  little  above  the 
Hudson's  Bay  Company's  trading  post 
of  Fort  a  la  Corne.     The  sources  of  the 
two  rivers  lie  at  no  great  distance  from 
each  other  in  the  Rocky  Mountains  ; 
but   on    leaving   the    mountains    the 
North  Saskatchewan  curves  away  with 
a  grand  sweep  in  a  northerly  direction, 
while    the    South    Saskatchewan,    a 
rapid-running    stream,    bends    south- 
wards for  several  hundred  miles  and 
then,  after  a  sharp  turn  at  a  point  known 
as  The  Elbow,  flows  almost  due  north 
till  it  joins  the  other  stream.     When 
united  they  form  a  broad  and  some- 
times splendid  river,  which  ultimately 
empties    itself   into   Lake   Winnipeg. 
For  the  greater  part  of   their  course 
both  of  the  Saskatchewans  flow  through 
a  prairie  country  of  which  the  soil  is 
described   as   excellent.     Both    rivers 
are  navigable  by  steamers  of  the  usual 
Western     type — flat-bottomed     stern- 
propellers,  but  navigation  is  rendered 
difficult  by  shifting  sand-bars.    Where 
yesterday    a   steamer    found    a   clear 
channel  may  to-day  be  choked  up  with 
sand.      Although     several    places    of 
interest     connected     with     the    Riel 


The  Riel  Rebellion  in  North-West  Canada. 


257 


rebellion,  such  as  Prince  Albert, 
Battleford  and  Edmonton,  are  on  the 
North  Kiver,  the  scene  of  the  recent 
military  movements  was  chiefly  laid  in 
the  small  wedge-shaped  piece  of  land 
lying  between  the  forks — at  the  junc- 
tion of  the  two  streams.  The  Metis 
settlement,  where  the  insurgents  met 
and  were  defeated  and  dispersed  by 
the  Dominion  troops,  is  on  the  south 
river. 

The   part    of   the    district   of    Sas- 
katchewan more  immediately  affected 
by  the  recent  disturbances  is,  roughly 
speaking,  about  500  miles  north-west 
of  Winnipeg,  the  capital  of  Manitoba. 
The   nearest   railway  station,  Qu'Ap- 
pelle,    325    miles    west   of   Winnipeg 
on    the   main    line    of    the    Canadian 
Pacific  Railway,  is   about  200  miles 
south-east  of  Fort   Carlton  which  lay 
— it  was  destroyed   during  the  rebel- 
lion— about  the  centre  of  the  scene  of 
the    troubles.      A    stage    road    runs 
across  the  prairies  from  the  railway  to 
the  settlements  on  the  Saskatchewan. 
The     journey    from     Qu'Appelle     to 
Carl  ton  is  in  the   spring  of  the  year 
difficult  and  tedious,  but  in  summer  it 
is  a  pleasant  enough  trip  across  the 
plains.     Leaving  the  station  the  trail 
goes  northward  to  a  trading  post  of 
the    Hudson's    Bay   Company   called 
Fort    Qu'Appelle,    at   the   head    of  a 
region  famous  for  its  beautiful  lakes. 
Here  there   is   a   considerable  settle- 
ment,   with    a    mixed    population   of 
whites  and  Half-breeds,  but  beyond  it, 
with   the   exception   of   a   few  home- 
steads thinly  scattered  over  the  Touch- 
wood  Hills'   some   thirty  miles  from 
Fort  Qu'Appelle,  the  long  lines  of  the 
prairie     are     only    broken    at    wide 
intervals  by  the  solitary  shanties  at 
which  the   Saskatchewan  stages  stop 
on  their  way  northwards.  The  country 
is,  for  the  most  part,  a  rich  rolling 
prairie,    with    wavelike    undulations, 
interspersed  here  and  there  with  bluffs 
of  poplar.    There  are  very  few  streams 
of  any  size,  but  there  are  numerous 
lakes  and  pools  which  in   spring  and 
autumn  are  alive  with  great  quantities 
of     water- fowl    of     all    kinds.      The 
No.  310.— VOL.  LII. 


prairie   chicken    (pinnated   grouse)  is 
found  in   abundance.     The   soil   is   a 
uniform  black  loam,  not   so   deep  as 
that  of  Manitoba,  but  fertile  and  well 
suited  for  the  growth  of  cereals,  until 
the  Salt  Plains  lying  between  Touch- 
wood  Hills'    district    and    the    stage 
stopping-place      at      Humboldt     are 
reached.     These  plains  are  an  alkaline 
desert  about  thirty  miles  across  from 
north  to  south,  and  of  varying  width. 
They  are  covered  with  grass,  but  no 
trees    are    to    be    seen — only    a    few 
stunted  bushes.     They  are  the  home 
of  innumerable  pelicans,  swans,  geese 
and  cranes,  and  other  wild  fowl.  Hum- 
boldt,  which  is   some   seventy    miles 
from  Carlton,  is  the  point  on  the  road 
from  which  the  different  trails  going  to 
various  crossings  of  the  South  Saskat- 
chewan diverge.     That  called  Clark's 
Crossing,    which    General    Middleton 
made    the    basis    of     his    operations 
against  the  rebels  under  Riel,  lies  some 
miles  south  of  the  Metis  settlement. 
The   two    principal   crossings    "  Bato- 
che's  "  (a  half-breed  nickname)  where 
the  insurgents  made  their  final  stand 
and  were  dispersed,  and  "  Gabrielle's  " 
are   in  the   midst   of   the   disaffected 
district. 

The  Metis  settlement  consists  of  a 
long,  continuous  row  of  farms  lying 
on  both  sides  of  the  South  Saskat- 
chewan, and  the  most  important  part 
of  it  is  called  the  parish  of  St. 
Laurent.  It  is  entirely  settled  by 
French  Half-breeds  to  the  numbers  of 
2,000,  many  of  whom  have  been  in  the 
country  for  a  long  time,  others  have 
more  recently  come  from  Manitoba 
and  elsewhere.  It  is  difficult  to  say 
how  many  men  were  in  arms  belong- 
ing to  the  Metis  proper,  as  there  is  an 
Indian  reserve  close  by,  most  of  whose 
braves  under  their  chief  Beardie  aided 
the  rebels.  But  it  is  doubtful  if  more 
than  700  or  800  men  bore  arms  on 
the  insurgent  side  ;  and  the  whole  Riel 
rebellion,  properly  speaking — for  the 
attitude  of  the  Indians  elsewhere 
should  be  viewed  separately,  was  made 
by  this  comparatively  insignificant 
body  of  men.  The  settlement  of  St. 

s 


258 


The  Eiel  Rebellion  in  North- West  Canada. 


Laurent  is  of  the  same  general  charac- 
ter as  other   Metis  settlements  in  the 
United  States  and  Canada.  The  Metis 
occupy    long    narrow    belts    of    land 
having  what  they  consider  an  essen- 
tial, some  frontage  on  the  river  bank. 
All   the  older  settlements   along   the 
Red    River    and    the  Assiniboine  in 
Manitoba  are  of  a  similar  description. 
These    holdings    are    in    their  shape 
quite  contrary  to  the  plan  pursued  by 
the   Government   surveyors  in  laying 
out  new  lands,  and  consequently  are 
not  regarded  with  favour.     The  cot- 
tage of  the  Metis,  usually  an  unpre- 
tending white-washed   log-hut  of  two 
compartments,  stands  on  the  edge  of 
the  river  ;  and  generally  one  or  two 
small  fields  near  the  house  are  culti- 
vated.    But  the   Metis  is  no  farmer. 
His    habits   and   traditions  are  alike 
against  it.    So  he  is  not  very  desirable 
as  a  settler  in  an  agricultural  country, 
if  the  likelihood  of  his  adding  to  its 
wealth  be  considered.     In  St.  Laurent 
some  very  simple  farming  was  done. 
Formerly  its  inhabitants  were  buffalo- 
hunters,  but  the  buffalo  has  for  ever 
disappeared  from  these  regions.     Now 
they  depend  almost  entirely  for  their 
subsistence  on  "  freighting  "  merchan- 
dise across  the  plains  for  the  Hudson's 
Bay  Company  or  other  traders.     The 
goods  are   drawn  by  native  ponies  in 
"  Red     River    carts  " — light   wagons 
on   a    single     pair    of    heavy   wheels 
entirely  made  of  wood,  held  together 
by    shagganappi,    i.e.     deerskin,     and 
without  any  iron  being  used  in  their 
construction.      In    the   early  pioneer 
days  of  Minnesota,  Dakota,  and  Mani- 
toba a  procession  of  these  carts  was  a 
familiar    sight,   but,    of    course,  they 
have      been      replaced     by     superior 
wagons.       A     specimen    of   the   Red 
River  cart  is  preserved  in  the  Smith- 
sonian Institute  at  Washington.     But 
in  the  north-western  plains  of  Canada, 
where  there  is  no  steamboat  transpor- 
tation available,  they  are   still  used. 
They  carry  from  six  to  eight  hundred 
pounds,    and    the     usual    charge    for 
"freightage"   is  a  cent  per  mile  for 
a  hundred  pounds.     The  wealth  of  the 


Metis  really  consisted  in  the  number 
of  ponies  and  carts  he  possessed. 

Twelve  miles  north  of  St.  Laurent 
stood  the  Hudson's  Bay  Company's 
post  of  Fort  Carlton,  formerly  an 
important  distributing  depot  for  a 
great  extent  of  country.  It  lay  in  a 
hollow  on  the  south  bank  of  the  South 
Saskatchewan,  and  immediately  behind 
it  there  rises  a  thickly  wooded  hill 
200  feet  in  height.  Here  the  mounted 
police  concentrated  at  the  beginning 
of  the  rebellion,  but  it  was  occupied 
by  them  for  a  short  time  only.  Upon 
their  withdrawal  the  fort  was  burned. 
The  police  retired  northwards  to  Prince 
Albert,  by  far  the  most  important 
settlement  in  the  district  of  Saskatche- 
wan. This  settlement  is  at  the  extreme 
north  of  the  disturbed  country,  and 
though  its  people  to  some  extent 
sympathised  with  the  rebels  it  re- 
mained loyal.  One  reason  for  that 
was  that  the  settlers  are  chiefly  English 
or  English  Half-breeds  ;  the  antipathy 
of  race  came  in  to  separate  them  from 
their  French  brethren.  Prince  Albert 
is  situated  on  the  north  branch  of  the 
Saskatchewan,  and  consists  of  a  suc- 
cession of  farms  extending  for  about 
ten  miles  along  the  south  bank  of  the 
river.  The  Hudson's  Bay  Company 
have  one  of  their  chief  trading  posts 
at  the  eastern  extremity  of  the  settle- 
ment. There  are,  besides,  numerous 
stores,  several  churches,  Emmanuel 
College  of  the  Church  of  England 
Diocese  of  Saskatchewan,  and  several 
schools.  In  this  settlement,  the  valley 
of  the  Saskatchewan  is  very  pictur- 
esque and  beautiful.  The  river  is 
about  300  yards  wide,  with  its  northern 
side  high  and  thickly  wooded  ;  on  the 
south  side  the  country  is  open  and 
rises  away  with  a  gradual  slope  from 
the  river.  Prince  Albert,  from  its 
centre,  is  about  forty  miles  from  Fort 
Carlton,  and  thirty-five  miles  from  the 
junction  of  the  north  and  south 
branches  of  the  Saskatchewan.  This 
settlement  has  been  in  existence  for 
many  years,  but  recently  it  has  grown 
very  considerably. 

For  twelve  or  thirteen  years  back 


The  Kiel  Rebellion  in  North- West  Canada. 


259 


the  settlers  in  the  district  of  Saskatche- 
wan have  urged  upon  the  Dominion 
Government  the  consideration  of  cer- 
tain grievances.  Deputations  were 
sent  to  the  heads  of  departments,  and 
various  representations  were  made,  but 
without  success.  The  distance  from 
the  seat  of  the  Federal  Government, 
the  imperfect  information  possessed 
by  it,  and  the  comparative  insignifi- 
cance in  number  of  those  pressing 
their  claims  upon  it,  perhaps  account 
for  the  extraordinary  and  fatal  dila- 
toriness  there  was  in  the  investigation 
of  the  demands  made.  However  good 
a  case  the  Dominion  may  make  out, 
the  result  of  its  conduct — policy  is  not 
the  word — in  regard  to  the  Saskatche- 
wan, can  hardly  be  said,  even  by  its 
friends,  to  be  other  than  unfortunate. 
Proceeding  upon  the  basis  furnished 
by  the  unsettled  land  questions,  the 
restless  character  of  the  Metis  was 
worked  upon  until  the  rebellion  was 
brought  about.  Then  not  only  will 
the  cost  of  its  suppression  be  a  heavy 
tax  upon  the  resources  of  Canada — 
already  somewhat  tried  by  the  expen- 
diture which  it  has  incurred  in  the 
construction  of  its  great  national  and 
necessary  undertaking,  the  Canadian 
Pacific  Railway — but  the  attitude  of 
the  Indians  will  henceforth  have  to  be 
closely  watched,  and  always  will  give 
some  ground  for  uneasiness. 

The  grievances  of  the  settlers  may 
be  classified  under  two  heads — those 
of  the  old  settlers,  and  those  of  the 
Metis.  The  former  complained  that 
patents  for  the  holdings  on  which  they 
have  squatted  had  not  been  issued  to 
them  ;  the  latter  made  certain  demands 
for  land  qud  Half-breeds. 

In  the  case  of  the  old  settlers,  who 
are  not  Half-breeds,  some  patents  had 
been  granted  prior  to  the  rebellion. 
And  no  one  can  doubt  for  a  moment 
but  that  patents  would  have  been 
given  eventually  to  all  who  were  in 
actual  occupation  of  the  lands  they 
claimed.  But  the  delay  has  been 
fatally,  ruinously  long,  resulting  in  bad 
feeling,  and  in  some  instances  in  a 
heavy  loss  in  money.  Two  or  three 


years  ago  there  was  a  violent  "  boom" 
in  land  and  property  throughout  the 
whole  north-west  of  Canada.  Farms 
at  Prince  Albert  and  elsewhere  in  the 
Saskatchewan  were  sold  and  trans- 
ferred, but  no  sales  were  valid  unless 
a  clear  title  to  the  property — such  as 
the  patents  of  course  give — existed. 
The  absence  of  such  indisputable 
titles  clouded  the  transactions  and  led 
to  serious  losses.  It  appears  that  many 
of  these  unsettled  claims  are  of  very 
old  date — that  is,  old,  when  the  new- 
ness of  the  country  is  considered. 
Some  of  the  holdings  were  taken  up 
twenty  years  ago — five  years  before 
Canada  acquired  the  north-west.  Last 
year  a  commission  was  sent  from  Otta- 
wa to  investigate  the  claims  advanced, 
and  in  the  report  made  by  the  head  of 
that  commission  it  was  stated  that 
nothing  could  have  been  done  earlier 
in  regard  to  giving  patents  for  lands, 
as  only  a  few  of  the  holdings  had  been 
surveyed.  There  is  nothing  said  as  to 
why  surveys  were  not  made  long 
before  ;  nor  does  any  notice  appear  to 
have  been  taken  of  the  exasperated 
feeling  there  was  in  the  settlement  on 
account  of  the  tardy  working  of  the 
land  department.  Though  the  old 
settlers  did  not  actually  aid  the  rebels, 
and  even  supplied  volunteers  to  fight 
against  them,  they  participated  in  the 
agitation  which  immediately  preceded 
the  armed  rising. 

The  demands  made  by  the  Half- 
breeds,  qud  Half-breeds,  were  precisely 
similar  to  those  advanced  by  the  Half- 
breeds  of  Manitoba  in  1869. 

About  the  beginning  of  last  winter 
a  petition  was  forwarded  to  the 
Governor-General  of  Canada  setting 
forth  the  grievances  of  the  whole 
settlement.  The  following  is  the  pith 
of  it.  It  begins  by  noticing  a  point 
to  which  we  shall  return  later,  viz., 
that  the  Indians  are  so  destitute  in 
many  localities  that  settlers  are  com- 
pelled to  furnish  them  with  food  to 
keep  them  from  starving,  and  to  pre- 
serve the  settlements  from  the  acts  of 
men  made  desperate  by  famine.  Then 
comes  one  of  the  chief  demands — that 

S  2 


260 


The  Riel  Rebellion  in  North- West  Canada. 


the  Half-breeds  of  the  district  of  Sas- 
katchewan receive  240  acres  of  land 
each,  as  did  the  Manitoba  Half-breeds 
after  the  Red  River  rebellion.  Next 
it  is  stated  that  Half-breeds  in  pos- 
session of  tracts  of  land  have  not  been 
given  patents  for  their  holdings,  nor 
have  the  old  settlers  of  the  north- 
west territories  received  the  same 
treatment  as  the  old  settlers  in  Mani- 
toba. Some  of  the  other  grievances 
are  that  settlers  are  charged  dues  on 
timber,  rails,  and  firewood  required 
for  home  use,  and  that  customs  are 
levied  on  the  necessaries  of  life.  It 
is  complained  that  contracts  for  the 
public  supplies  and  works,  and  posi- 
tions in  the  public  service,  are  not 
given  as  far  as  possible  to  residents  in 
the  district.  Voting  by  ballot  at 
elections  is  also  demanded.  Then  it 
is  asked  that  the  district  of  Sas- 
katchewan be  organised  as  a  province, 
with  its  own  local  representative  legis- 
lature. At  present  the  control  of 
affairs  in  the  territories  is  vested  in 
a  lieutenant-governor,  assisted  by  a 
council,  some  of  the  members  of  which 
are  elected  by  the  people,  and  the  rest 
are  officials  of  the  Government.  This 
council,  styled  the  North- West  Council, 
meets  at  Regina,  in  the  district  of 
Assiniboia,  and,  with  the  exception 
of  Manitoba  and  Keewatin,  has  the  ad- 
ministration of  the  whole  of  Central 
Canada,  that  is,  as  far  as  the  Domi- 
nion Government  has  delegated  it  the 
powers  of  administration.  With  all 
questions  relating  to  land  settlement 
the  North- West  Council  has  nothing 
to  do,  as  the  public  lands  are  managed 
entirely  from  Ottawa  by  a  cabinet 
minister.  It  is  a  far  cry  from  Prince 
Albert  in  the  Saskatchewan  to  Ottawa 
in  Ontario  ;  and  it  may  be  doubted  if 
this  system  of  centralisation  works 
smoothly  and  efficiently.  Still  it  may 
be  fairly  urged  that  the  district  of 
Saskatchewan  is  not  ripe  for  local 
government.  It  is  not  yet  thickly 
settled,  and  could  ill  bear  the  expense 
of  supporting  the  necessary  machinery 
of  government. 

With  the  exception  of  the  demand 


for  a  local  parliament,  it  is  evident 
that  the  claims  and  grievances  ad- 
vanced by  the  Half-breeds  were  all 
connected  with  land  questions.  Claims 
and  grievances  almost  identical  led  to 
the  Red  River  rebellion  ;  and  after 
that  episode,  and  as  a  result  of  it,  the 
demands  of  the  Metis  were  granted. 
The  policy  pursued  then  by  the 
Dominion  Government  of  the  day 
in  satisfying  these  demands  gave  a 
good  basis  for  pressing  similar  claims 
upon  its  attention  and  for  expecting 
similar  compensation.  Prior  to  the 
recent  rebellion  the  Dominion  Govern- 
ment were  not  prepared  to  give  the 
Metis  of  the  Saskatchewan  the  same 
treatment  as  was  given  to  the  Metis 
of  Manitoba,  if  the  following  state- 
ment made  in  the  Canadian  House  of 
Commons  by  Sir  John  A.  Macdonald, 
the  premier,  and  who  until  a  short  time 
ago  was  himself  minister  of  the  in- 
terior, is  accurately  reported  : — 

"  The  Half-breeds,"  he  said,  "  have 
been  told  that  if  they  desire  to  be 
considered  as  Indians,  a  most  liberal 
reserve  will  be  set  apart  for  them. 
If  they  desire  to  be  considered  white 
men,  they  can  get  160  acres  of  land  as 
homesteads.  But  they  are  not  satis- 
fied with  that.  They  want  to  get  up- 
wards of  200  acres  and  then  get  their 
homesteads  as  well."  In  other  words, 
the  Metis  did  not  regard  their  being 
treated  as  Indians,  or  simply  being 
confirmed  in  their  holdings,  as  suffi- 
cient compensation  for  the  title  they 
claim  to  the  lands  of  the  territories 
which  comes  to  them  both  by  right 
of  descent  and  by  right  of  possession. 
But  it  should  be  said,  in  justice  to  the 
Dominion  Government,  that  its  action 
was  embarrassed  by  the  fact  that 
many  of  the  Metis  of  the  Saskatchewan 
had  already  been  treated  with  when 
resident  in  Manitoba.  Of  course  the 
Half-breed  who  had  eaten  his  cake  in 
Red  River  could  not  expect  to  have  it 
to  eat  over  again  in  the  Saskatchewan. 
The  sense  of  the  injustice,  however, 
of  any  arrangement  which  did  not 
fully  compensate  those  who  had  re- 
ceived no  acknowledgment  of  their 


The  Riel  Rebellion  in  North- West  Canada. 


261 


claims,  was  worked  upon  by  Kiel  and 
others  until  the  rebellion  was  brought 
about.  When  the  gravity  of  the  situa- 
tion was  at  length  grasped  by  the 
Canadian  authorities,  a  commission 
was  at  once  appointed  and  sent  in 
hot  haste  to  the  various  settlements 
of  the  Metis.  The  main  business  of 
this  commission  has  been  to  grant 
what  the  Metis  asked — the  same  com- 
pensation that  the  Metis  of  Manitoba 
obtained  fifteen  years  ago.  But 
promptly  as  the  commission  went 
about  its  work,  the  mischief  had  al- 
ready been  done.  The  Metis  of  St. 
Laurent  were  in  open  insurrection, 
had  organised  a  provisional  govern- 
ment, and  had  even  met  and  defeated 
a  force  of  police.  It  then  became 
necessary  to  put  down  the  rebellion 
by  force  of  arms. 

The  Metis  of  the  Saskatchewan  were 
led  in  their  revolt  by  Louis  Kiel,  who 
was  at  the  head  of  the  Red  River 
rebellion  in  1869.  For  the  part  he 
played  in  that  episode  the  Metis  regard 
him  as  their  patriot  leader.  Sir  John 
Macdonald  referred  to  him  in  the 
Canadian  Commons  as  the  "  Mahdi 
of  the  Metis."  Riel  is  a  man  of  some 
education,  and  he  has  been  described 
as  the  equal  in  ability  of  the  average 
public  man  of  Canada.  In  his  own 
language  he  is  a  fluent  and  powerful 
orator,  and  his  speeches  have  a  great 
effect  upon  his  countrymen.  By  some 
he  is  regarded  as  a  mere  mischief- 
maker,  and  an  adventurer  whose  busi- 
ness is  insurrection  and  disturbance ; 
by  others  he  is  considered  something 
of  a  "  crank,"  who  believes  that  his 
mission  is  to  procure  for  the  Metis 
their  full  rights,  as  he  understands 
them.  He  is  now  about  forty  years 
of  age ;  is  in  person  short  and  stout ; 
he  is  energetic  and  has  plenty  of 
pluck,  but  his  mind  is  wanting  in 
balance.  Since  his  capture  by  the 
Dominion  troops  he  has  played  the 
rdle  of  a  religious  enthusiast.  His 
manner  in  ordinary  conversation  is 
pleasant,  but  during  the  time  of  the 
Red  River  rebellion,  when  he  was  in 
power,  he  assumed  an  air  of  great 


importance.  He  has  a  good  deal  of 
restless  vanity,  which  in  the  old  Red 
River  days  showed  itself  in  his  fine 
black  capote  and  the  brilliant  colours 
of  his  L'Assomption  belt — character- 
istic features  of  the  Metis  costume. 
Riel  is  a  man  who  thinks  he  has 
a  personal  'grievance  against  the 
Dominion.  He  maintains  that  he 
was  outlawed,  notwithstanding  that  a 
solemn  pledge  had  been  made  him 
that  he  would  share  in  the  general 
amnesty  to  be  granted  to  those  who 
took  part  in  the  Red  River  Rebellion. 
This  may  or  may  not  be  the  case  as 
there  is  a  conflict  of  testimony  on  the 
subject,  but  such  is  the  contention  of 
the  rebel  leader. 

Some  time  ago  Riel  became  a  citizen 
of  the  United   States,  and   settled  in 
Montana.      While  residing   there    he 
states  that  a  delegation  of  the  Metis  of 
the    Saskatchewan  came   to  him  last 
summer  to  invite  him  to  take  part  in 
pressing  their  claims  on  the  Dominion 
Government.    He  went  to  St.  Laurent, 
where  he  found  several  of  those  who 
had  been  concerned  with  him  in  the 
rising  of  1869.     Many  meetings  were 
held  throughout  the  settlements  in  the 
district,  and  the   Metis  were  inflamed 
by   his   speeches.     At   the   outset  he 
disclaimed  any  intention    of   inciting 
the  people  to  rebel,  and  this  secured 
the  sympathy  of  the   "  whites  "  who, 
as     already    stated,    had    grievances 
against  the  Government.     All  winter 
the  agitation  went  on,  until  about  the 
middle    of    March    rumours    reached 
Winnipeg  that  an   armed   rising  was 
imminent.     Winnipeg,  as  the  nearest 
large  town,  has  always  had  a  consider- 
able intercourse  with  the  settlements 
in  the   Saskatchewan ;    and    to  those 
acquainted  with  the   country  and  the 
agitation  which  had   been  developing, 
the  rebellion  occasioned  little  surprise  ; 
but  upon  the  people  of  Eastern  Canada, 
to  whom  the  Saskatchewan  was  a  far- 
off,  little-known  district,  marked  only 
on  the  newer  maps  of  the  Dominion, 
it  came  with  a  sudden  shock.   Nor  was 
the  fact  that  there  was  a  rebellion  at 
all  grasped  until  blood  had  been  shed. 


262 


The  Kiel  Rebellion  in  North- West  Canada. 


So  far  as  can  be  gathered  from  the 
imperfect  information  at  present  open 
to  the  public,  the  following  are  the 
chief  occurrences  of  the  rebellion. 

About  the  beginning  of  last  March 
a  great  meeting  of  the  Metis  was  held 
in  the  parish  church  of  St.  Laurent ; 
and  a  Bill  of  Rights,  drawn  up  by  Kiel, 
was  read  and  adopted.  (This  Bill  of 
Rights  simply  recapitulates  the  state- 
ments made  in  the  petition  addressed 
to  the  Governor-General,  which  is 
mentioned  above,  so  it  need  not  be 
given  here.)  It  was  thereupon  resolved 
that  a  provisional  government  should 
be  formed,  based  upon  the  principles 
enunciated  in  the  Bill  of  Rights.  Riel, 
on  being  nominated  president  of  the 
Saskatchewan,  announced  that  no  hos- 
tile movement  would  te  made  unless 
the  Dominion  Government  persisted 
in  refusing  to  grant  the  demands  of 
the  Metis.  It  was  even  stated  that  if 
reasonable  guarantees  were  given  that 
their  grievances  would  be  immediately 
investigated,  the  provisional  govern- 
ment would  be  forthwith  dissolved. 
In  the  meantime,  however,  the  autho- 
rity of  the  Dominion  was  repudiated, 
some  of  its  officials  and  others  were 
made  prisoners,  and  supplies  were  col- 
lected, i.e.  seized,  from  the  stores  of 
traders  in  the  vicinity,  to  provide 
against  the  emergency  of  war.  A  band 
of  Cree  Indians,  under  their  chief, 
Beardy,  many  of  whom  were  kinsmen 
of  the  insurgents,  joined  Riel. 

The  administration  of  most  of  the 
civil  and  criminal  affairs  of  ordinary 
recurrence  in  the  territories  is  in  the 
hands  of  local  magistrates,  whose 
authority  is  maintained  by  the  North- 
West  mounted  police,  a  semi-military 
force.  At  the  time  of  the  outbreak 
there  were  five  hundred  of  these  police 
stationed  at  various  important  centres, 
and  two  detachments,  amounting  in 
all  to  seventy-five  men,  were  in  the 
disturbed  district.  As  soon  as  it  was 
seen  that  there  was  to  be  serious 
trouble,  an  additional  force  with  ar- 
tillery was  despatched  from  Regina, 
the  head-quarters  of  the  police,  to 
Carlton,  under  their  chief  commis- 


sioner, an  officer  who  had  been  with 
with  General  Wolseley  in  the  Red 
River  expedition  in  1869.  Imme- 
diately before  this  force  reached 
Carlton,  an  encounter  took  place  be- 
tween the  rebels  and  the  police  at 
Duck  Lake,  in  which  the  latter  were 
worsted  and  compelled  to  retire,  with  a 
loss  of  twenty-four  killed  and  wounded. 
A  day  or  two  later  the  mounted  police 
retreated  from  Fort  Carlton  north- 
wards to  Prince  Albert.  Immediately 
on  their  withdrawal  the  fort  was 
burned,  but  whether  by  accident  or 
design  is  uncertain. 

The  news  of  these  events  created 
the  wildest  excitement  in  Canada.  And 
when  intelligence  was  received  that 
bands  of  Indians  at  Battleford,  Fort 
Pitt,  and  elsewhere  on  the  north 
branch  of  the  Saskatchewan  had  risen 
in  revolt,  this  excitement  became  a 
fever.  In  addition,  the  spectre  which 
haunts  the  thoughts  of  Canada,  a 
Fenian  invasion,  was  conjured  up  by 
an  alarmed  people.  Rumours  flew 
about  that  Riel  had  been  in  commu- 
nication with  well-known  Fenian 
leaders  in  the  United  States,  and  that 
they  had  promised  him  men,  arms  and 
money.  It  was  even  said  that  prepa- 
rations had  been  made  by  them  in 
Chicago  and  St.  Paul  in  aid  of  the 
rebellion.  Meanwhile,  the  Canadian 
Government  acted  with  the  greatest 
promptness.  Two  batteries  of  artillery 
— almost  the  only  "regular"  force  at 
the  disposal  of  the  Dominion — were 
sent  on  by  the  Canadian  Pacific  Rail- 
way via  the  north  shore  of  Lake  Su- 
perior to  Winnipeg.  General  Middle- 
ton,  an  experienced  officer,  who  had 
seen  active  service  in  the  British  army, 
and  who  held  the  chief  command  of 
the  Canadian  militia,  was  hurriedly 
despatched  to  that  city  to  organise 
an  expedition  to  suppress  the  rising. 
Various  militia  regiments  were  called 
out,  and  the  call  to  go  to  the  "  front " 
was  everywhere  throughout  Canada 
responded  to  with  the  utmost  enthu- 
siasm. All  parties  combined  in  pre- 
sence of  a  common  danger.  Whoever 
was  to  blame,  all  agreed  that  now  one 


The  Eiel  Rebellion  in  North- West  Canada. 


263 


thing  was  to  be  done.  When  Mrs. 
Blake,  the  wife  of  the  leader  of  the 
Opposition  in  the  Canadian  House  of 
Commons,  presented  the  Toronto  regi- 
ment, the  "  Queen's  Own,"  on  its  de- 
parture with  a  flag,  the  act  was  typi- 
cal of  the  universal  Canadian  senti- 
ment. The  rebellion  had  to  be  put 
down,  and  put  down  thoroughly. 

In  less  than  a  month  the  Canadian 
Government  had  put  upwards  of  4,000 
citizen  soldiers  into  the  field.  The 
main  division  under  General  Middle- 
ton,  after  a  terrible  march  amid  snow 
and  frost  and  mud,  from  Qu'Appelle  to 
Clark's  Crossing  of  the  South  Sas- 
katchewan, was  in  the  district  which 
was  the  chief  scene  of  the  Metis  re- 
bellion by  the  third  week  in  April.  A 
second  division  relieved  Battleford, 
which  had  been  closely  invested  by 
the  Cree  chief,  Poundmaker,  about  the 
end  of  the  same  month.  A  third 
division  proceeded  to  the  extreme 
west,  and  overawed  the  Indians  of 
Calgary,  and  then  going  north  to  the 
Saskatchewan  river,  occupied  the  im- 
portant Metis  settlement  of  St.  Albert 
(not  to  be  confounded  with  Prince 
Albert)  near  Fort  Edmonton.  The 
speed  with  which  all  this  was  done — 
considering  how  entirely  unprepared 
Canada  was  for  anything  of  the  kind 
— is  simply  wonderful.  Some  of  the 
troops  had  to  be  sent  a  distance  of 
2,000  miles ;  they  were  for  the  most 
part  local  volunteer  regiments,  whose 
members  were  in  business  ;  the  tran- 
sport service  had  to  be  organised  from 
the  beginning  ;  and  it  must  be  said 
that  the  whole  North- West  field  force 
proved  splendidly  efficient. 

The  main  interest  centres  around 
the  movements  of  General  Middle- 
ton's  command.  Advancing  from 
Clark's  Crossing,  the  general  met 
the  rebel  forces  under  Gabriel  Du- 
mont,  Kiel's  lieutenant,  an  able  and 
determined  man,  on  the  24th  of  April, 
at  Fish  Creek.  Though  the  Dominion 
forces  were  victorious,  and  compelled 
the  Metis  to  retire,  their  success  was 
somewhat  dearly  purchased  with  a  loss 
of  fifty  killed  and  wounded.  The  rebel 
leader  had  placed  his  men  with  great 


skill  in  an  almost  impregnable  posi- 
tion— a  deep,  thickly-wooded  ravine,  a 
natural  rifle  pit  :  and  the  nature  of  the 
ground  made  it  difficult  for  the  troops 
to  use  their  artillery  to  much  advant- 
age. The  fight  lasted  for  several  hours, 
and  was  hotly  contested  throughout. 
Both  in  this  encounter  and  at  Batoche 
the  rebels  fought  well,  taking  advan- 
tage of  every  inch  of  cover.  The 
Dominion  troops,  most  of  them  raw 
soldiers,  behaved  splendidly,  and  re- 
ceived the  warm  praise  of  the 
general. 

After  the  battle  of  Fish  Creek,  the 
rebels  withdrew  to  Batoche' s  Crossing 
where  they  had  determined  to  make 
their  final  stand.  Meanwhile  General 
Middleton  halted  for  a  few  days'  to 
await  supplies  of  men  and  ammuni- 
tion which  were  being  sent  to  him  by 
steamboat  down  the  South  Saskat- 
chewan now  open  for  navigation. 

The  expected  reinforcements  having 
arrived,  General  Middleton  advanced 
upon  Batoche  on  the  9th  of  May. 
The  rebels  held  a  strongly  entrenched 
position  and  made  a  determined  re- 
sistance. The  fighting  went  on  for 
four  days.  In  the  afternoon  of  the 
1 2th,  the  rebel  position  was,  in  a  magni- 
ficent charge,  captured  at  the  point  of 
the  bayonet.  The  loss  of  the  Domi- 
nion troops  was  slight  compared  with 
that  of  the  rebels,  who  had  many 
killed  and  wounded.  Kiel  surren- 
dered a  day  later  with  some  of  his 
prominent  supporters,  and  the  rebel- 
lion was  practically  at  an  end. 

The  prisoners  he  had  made  at  the 
beginning  of  the  rising  were  set  free 
by  the  troops,  and  everywhere  the 
Metis  hastened  in  to  make  their  peace 
with  the  general.  Kiel  was  sent  to 
Regina  to  be  tried  for  treason,  but 
his  lieutenant,  Dumont,  succeeded  in 
making  his  escape  into  American 
territory. 

Meanwhile  another  division  of  Cana- 
dian troops  had  met  and  beaten 
Poundmaker  and  his  braves.  How- 
ever, this  engagement  would  not  have 
been  decisive,  but  the  news  of  the  fall 
of  Batoche  and  the  surrender  of  Kiel 
disheartened  the  Indians.  So  when 


264 


The  Riel  Rebellion  in  North-  West  Canada. 


General  Middleton,  after  a  hurried 
visit  to  Prince  Albert,  went  down  the 
North  Saskatchewan  to  Battleford, 
Poundmaker  and  his  band  about  the 
end  of  May  gave  themselves  up  to 
him  unconditionally.  Another  chief, 
Big  Bear,  who  took  Fort  Pitt,  and 
who  had  committed  some  horrible 
outrages  in  the  usual  style  of  Indian 
warfare,  is  the  only  Indian  at  present 
iu  arms  against  the  Government,  and 
the  reckoning  with  him  will  no  doubt 
be  short  and  severe. 

This  paper  may  now  be  fitly  closed 
with  some  remarks  on  the  position  of 
the  Indians  in  the  Dominion. 

The  Indians  are  the    "  wards "    of 
the  Government,    and    as  such    have 
received    special    treatment.     In   the 
past,  the  title  of  the  Indians  to  the 
lands    they    hunted    over    has    been 
"  extinguished  "  by  the  payment  of  a 
trifling    perpetual     annuity,    usually 
five  dollars  per  head.     The  different 
bands  have  been  located  on  reserves 
set  apart  for  them,  which    are    poor 
and    insignificant  compared  with  the 
magnificent   area    of    their    ancestral 
hunting  grounds.     On  these   reserves 
160  acres  are  allotted  to  a  family  of 
four.     Some  attempts  have  been  made 
to  instruct  the  Indians  in  the  cultiva- 
tion   of     their    reserves,    and    farm- 
iraplements,  cattle  and  seed  have  been 
furnished  them.     Men  have  been  sent 
to  teach  them  how  to  farm,  but  their 
efforts  have  not  been  particularly  suc- 
cessful. It  is  hardly  to  be  expected  that 
they  would  be.     The  Indian  is  by  his 
instincts  and  traditions  a  hunter  and 
not  a  tiller  of  the  soil.      Since   the 
time    that   the    red    man    has     been 
known  to  the  white  his  main  subsist- 
ence has   been  the   buffalo — and   the 
buffalo,  alas  for  the  Indian  !  'will  soon 
be  as  extinct  as  the  dodo.     At  one 
time,    indeed,    vast   herds    of    buffalo 
were  to  be  found  as  far  south  as  the 
lower  valley  of  the  Mississippi.     But 
the    advance    of    settlement    in    the 
West,    and    the    construction    of  the 
Union  and  Northern  Pacific  Railways 
confined  them  between    the  Missouri 
and  the  Saskatchewan.  When  Canada 


acquired  the  north-west  territories 
fifteen  years  ago,  the  larger  part  of 
the  herds  were  found  north  of  the 
international  frontier.  Now  the 
buffalo  is  hardly  to  be  seen  south  of 
the  "line,"  and  they  are  rapidly 
disappearing  in  Canada.  Soon,  fatally 
soon  for  the  Indian,  will  the  western 
prairies  no  more  resound  with  the 
thunderous  tread  of  the  mighty  herds. 
Then,  not  only  is  the  buffalo  failing, 
but  other  kinds  of  game  are  getting 
scarce.  On  many  of  the  reserves  in 
North-West  Canada  the  misery  of  the 
Indians  is  said  to  be  pitiable.  There 
seems  to  be  little  doubt  but  that  the 
recent  outrages  at  Battleford,  Frog 
Lake,  and  Fort  Pitt,  perpetrated 
during  the  last  few  months,  are  the 
desperate  deeds  of  men  maddened  by 
famine.  That  they  were  incited  to 
rebel  by  Riel  is  no  doubt  true,  but 
their  chief  grievance  is  the  want  of 
food.  There  does  not  seem  any  reason 
for  suspecting  the  Indian  agents  of 
cheating  the  Indians,  whose  cry 
against  the  paternal  government  is 
that  they  are  not  able  to  live  on  the 
allowance  made  them,  and  that  their 
reserves  are  insufficient,  not  that  they 
do  not  receive  what  was  promised 
them.  When  the  Dominion  took  over 
the  north-wes£  from  the  Hudson's  Bay 
Company  the  Indians  everywhere  were 
contented,  loyal,  happy.  But  the 
situation  now  is  entirely  changed. 
Then  the  whites  lived  in  an  Indian 
country,  now  the  Indians  are  in  a 
white  country ;  and  it  is  more  than 
possible  in  these  circumstances  that 
the  Indian  is  being  ungenerously 
dealt  with.  One  effect  of  the  recent 
troubles  will  be  a  thorough  examina- 
tion of  the  whole  Indian  question. 
It  may  be  hoped  that  a  more  liberal 
policy  will  be  i  inaugurated,  otherwise 
the  Indian  may  suspect  that  it  is  the 
intention  of  the  white  to  starve  him 
out,  and  his  suspicions  once  thoroughly 
roused  will  be  hard  to  set  at  rest. 

R.  MACHKAY,  C. 

WINNIPEG,  May  31,  1885. 


265 


THE  THRUSH  IN  FEBRUARY. 

BY    GEORGE    MEREDITH. 

I  know  him,  February's  thrush, 

And  loud  at  eve  he  valentines 

On  sprays  that  paw  the  naked  bush 

"Where  soon  will  sprout  the  thorns  and  bines. 


Now  ere  the  foreign  singer  thrills 
Our  vale  his  plain-song  pipe  he  pours, 
A  herald  of  the  million  bills ; 
And  heed  him  not,  the  loss  is  yours. 


My  study,  flanked  with  ivied  fir 

And  budded  beech  with  dry  leaves  curled, 

Perched  over  yew  and  juniper, 

He  neighbours,  piping  to  his  world  : 


The  wooded  pathways  dank  on  brown, 
The  branches  on  grey  cloud  a  web, 
The  long  green  roller  of  the  down, 
An  image  of  the  deluge-ebb : 


And  farther,  they  may  hear  along 
The  stream  beneath  the  poplar  row. 
By  fits,  like  welling  rocks,  the  song 
Spouts  of  a  blushful  Spring  in  flow. 


2(iO  The  Thrush  in  February . 

But  most  he  loves  to  front  the  vale 
When  waves  of  warm  South-western  rains 
Have  left  our  heavens  clear  in  pale, 
With  faintest  beck  of  moist  red  veins  : 


Vermilion  wings,  by  distance  held 
To  pause  aflight  while  fleeting  swift 
And  high  aloft  the  pearl  inshelled 
Her  lucid  glow  in  glow  will  lift : 


A  little  south  of  coloured   sky  ; 
Directing,  gravely  amorous, 
The  human  of  a  tender  eye 
Through  pure  celestial   on  us. 


Remote,  not  alien;  still,  not  cold; 
TJnraying  yet,  more  pearl  than   star ; 
She  seems  a  while  the  vale  to  hold 
In  trance,  and  homelier  makes  the  far. 


Then  Earth  her  sweet  unscented  breathes; 
An  orb  of  lustre  quits  the  height; 
And  like  broad  iris-flags,  in  wreaths 
The  sky  takes  darkness,  long  ere  quite. 


His  Island  voice  then  shall  you  hear, 
Nor  ever  after  separate 
From   such  a  twilight  of  the  year 
Advancing  to  the  vernal  gate. 


The  Thrush  in  February.  267 

He  sings  me,  out  of  Winter's  throat, 
The  young  time  with  the  life  ahead ; 
And  my  young  time  his  leaping  note 
Recalls  to  spirit-mirth  from  dead. 


Imbedded  in  a  land  of  greed, 
Of  mammon-quakings  dire  as  Earth's, 
My  care  was  but  to  soothe  my  need; 
At  peace  among  the  littleworths. 


To  light  and  song  my  yearning  aimed ; 
To  that  deep  breast  of  song  and  light 
Which  men  have  barrenest  proclaimed  ; 
As  'tis  to  senses  pricked  with  fright. 


So  mine  are  these  new  fruitings  rich 
The  simple  to  the  common  brings ; 
I  keep  the  youth  of  souls  who  pitch 
Their  joy  in  this  old  heart  of  things : 


Who  feel  the  Coming  young  as  aye, 
Thrice  hopeful  on  the  ground  we  plough  ; 
Alive  for  life,  awake  to  die ; 
One  voice  to  cheer  the  seedling  Now. 


Full  lasting  is  the  song,   though  he, 
The  singer,  passes  :  lasting  too, 
For  souls  not  lent  in  usury, 
The  rapture  of  the  forward  view. 


2C8  The  Thrush  in  February. 

With  that  I  bear  my  senses  fraught 
Till  what  I  am  fast  shoreward  drives. 
They  are  the  vessel  of  the  Thought. 
The  vessel  splits,  the  Thought  survives. 


Nought  else  are  we  when  sailing  brave 
Save  husks  to  raise  and  bid  it  burn. 
Glimpse  of  its  livingness  will  wave 
A  light  the  senses  can  discern 


Across  the  river  of  the  death, 
Their  close.     Meanwhile,  0  twilight  bird 
Of  promise  !  bird  of  happy  breath  ! 
I  hear,  I  would  the  City  heard. 


The  City  of  the  smoky  fray  ; 
A  prodded  ox,  it  drags  and  moans: 
Its  Morrow  no  man's  child ;  its  Day 
A  vulture's  morsel  beaked  to  bones. 


It  strives  without  a  mark  for  strife ; 
It  feasts  beside  a  famished  host  : 
The  loose  restraint  of  wanton  life, 
That  threatened  penance  in  the  ghost ! 


Yet  there  our  battle  urges ;  there 
Spring  heroes  many :  issuing  thence, 
Names  that  should  leave  no  vacant  air 
For  fresh  delight  in  confidence. 


The  Tlirush  in  February.  269 

Life  was  to  them  the  bag  of  grain, 
And  Death  the  weedy  harrow's  tooth. 
Those  warriors  of  the  sighting  brain 
Give   worn  Humanity   new  youth. 


Our  song  and  star  are  they  to  lead 
The  tidal  multitude  and  blind 
From  bestial  to  the  higher  breed 
By  fighting  souls  of  love  divined. 


They  scorned  the  ventral  dream  of  peace, 
Unknown  in  nature.     This  they  knew  : 
That  life  begets  with  fair  increase 
Beyond  the  flesh,  if  life  be  true. 


Just  reason  based  on  valiant  blood 
The  instinct  bred  afield  would  match 
To  pipe  thereof  a  swelling  flood, 
Were  men  of  Earth  made  wise  in  watch. 


Though  now  the  numbers  count  as  drops 
An  urn  might  bear,  they  father  Time. 
She  shapes  anew  her  dusty  crops ; 
Her  quick  in  their  own  likeness  climb. 


Of  their  own  force  do  they  create  ; 
They  climb  to   light,  in  her  their  root. 
Your  brutish  cry  at  muffled  fate 
She  smites  with  pangs  of  worse  than  brute. 


270  The  Thrush  in  February. 

She,  judged  of  shrinking  nerves,  appears 
A  Mother  whom  no  cry  can  melt  ; 
But  read  her  past   desires  and  fears, 
The  letters   on  her  breast  are  spelt. 


A  slayer,  yea,   as   when   she  pressed 
Her  savage  to  the  slaughter-heaps, 
To  sacrifice  she  prompts  her  best : 
She  reaps  them  as  the  sower  reaps. 


But  read   her  thought  to  speed  the  race, 
And  stars  rush  forth  of  blackest  night : 
You  chill  not  at  a  cold  embrace 
To  come,  nor  dread  a  dubious  might. 


Her  double  visage,  double  voice, 
In  oneness  rise  to  quench  the  doubt. 
This  breath,  her  gift,  has  only  choice 
Of  service,   breathe   we  in   or  out. 


Since  Pain  and  Pleasure  on  each  hand 
Led  our  wild  steps  from  slimy  rock 
To  yonder  sweeps  of  gardenland, 
We  breathe  but  to  be  sword  or  block. 


The  sighting  brain  her  good  decree 
Accepts  :  obeys  those  guides,   in  faith, 
By  reason  hourly  fed,  that  she, 
To  some  the  clod,  to   some  the  wraith. 


The-  Thrush  in  February.  27 1 

Is  more,  no  mask ;  a  flame,  a  stream. 
Flame,  stream,  are  we,  in  mid  career 
From  torrent  source,  delirious  dream, 
To  heaven-reflecting  currents  clear. 


And  why  the  sons  of  Strength  have  been 
Her  cherished  offspring  ever ;  how 
The  Spirit  served  by  her  is  seen 
Through  Law ;  perusing  love  will  show. 


Love  born  of  knowledge,  love  that  gains 
Vitality  as  Earth  it  mates, 
The  meaning  of  the  Pleasures,  Pains, 
The  Life,  the  Death,  illuminates. 


For  love  we  Earth,  then  serve  we  all 
Her  mystic  secret  then  is  ours : 
We  fall,  or  view  our  treasures  fall, 
Unclouded,  as  beholds  her  flowers 


Earth,  from  a  night  of  frosty  wreck, 
Enrobed  in  morning's  mounted  fire, 
When  lowly,  with  a  broken  neck, 
The  crocus  lays  her  cheek  to  mire. 


272 


SOME  COMMONPLACES  ON  THE  COMMONPLACE. 


THE  other  day  a  bust  of  Gray  was, 
now  in  late  time,  placed  in  the  hall  of 
Pembroke  College,  Cambridge,  where 
most  of  the  poet's  tranquil  life  was 
passed,  and  in  which  he  died.  On  that 
occasion  Mr.  Lowell,  adding  one  more 
to  the  many  benefits  we  owe  to  him, 
and  the  many  regrets  with  which  we 
bid  him  good  by,  uttered  these  me- 
morable words  : — 

"I  know  that  sometimes  criticisms  are 
made  upon  Gray.  I  think  I  have  heard  him 
called  by  some  of  our  juniors  '  common- 
place.' Upon  my  word,  I  think  it  a  com- 
pliment. I  think  it  shows  a  certain  generality 
of  application  in  what  Gray  has  done,  for  if 
there  is  one  thing  more  than  another — I  say 
this  to  the  young  men  whom  I  see  seated 
around  both  sides  of  the  hall — which  insures 
the  lead  in  life  it  is  the  commonplace.  I  have 
to  measure  my  poets,  my  authors,  by  their 
lasting  power,  and  I  find  Gray  has  a  great 
deal  of  it.  He  not  only  pleases  my  youth 
and  my  age,  but  he  pleases  other  people's 
youth  and  age  ;  and  I  cannot  help  thinking 
this  is  a  proof  that  he  touched  on  human 
nature  at  a  great  many  periods,  and  at  a  great 
many  levels,  and,  perhaps,  that  is  as  high  a 
compliment  as  can  be  paid  to  the  poet.  There 
is,  I  admit,  a  certain  commonplaceness  of 
sentiment  in  his  most  famous  poem,  but  I 
think  there  is  also  a  certain  commonplaceness 
of  sentiment  in  some  verses  that  have  been 
famous  for  more  than  three  thousand  years.  I 
think  that  when  Homer  saw  somebody  smiling 
through  her  tears  he  said,  on  the  whole,  a 
commonplace  thing  ;  but  it  touched  our  feel- 
ings for  a  great  many  centuries,  and  I  think 
that  in  the  Elegy  in  a  Country  Churchyard 
Gray  has  expressed  a  simple  sentiment,  and 
as  long  as  there  are  young  men  and  middle- 
aged  men,  Gray's  poem  will  continue  to  be 
read  and  loved  as  in  the  days  when  it  was 
written." 

Let  us  hope  so.  But  what  a  shock 
to  the  young  generation  to  hear  that 
if  there  is  one  thing  more  than  another 
which  insures  the  lead  in  life,  it  is  the 
commonplace  !  A  generation  brought 
up  to  believe,  and  to  proclaim  its  be- 
lief somewhat  fanatically,  that  the 
special  glory  of  the  age  into  which  it 
has  been  born  is  to  have  done  with  all 


the  old  world  illusions,  to  have  broken 
the  fetters  of  the  Philistine,  to  toil  no 
longer, 

"Eyeless,  in  Gaza,  at  the  mill^with  slaves," 

but  to  stand  in  the  light  of  the  new 
day,  regenerate  and  free,  surveying  all 
things,  daring  all  things, 

"  As  a  young  eagle  soars  the  morning  clouds 
among." 

With  what  feelings  must  the  ardent 
spirits  of  the  time  have  heard  this  ac- 
complished and  urbane  American,  a 
man  of  culture,  surely,  if  one  there 
be,  openly  avowing  this  ancient,  and, 
as  one  had  surely  thought,  uprooted 
heresy  ! 

And  yet,  when  the  first  shock  is 
passed,  and  one  comes  to  consider 
calmly  all  the  possibilities  of  these 
tremendous  words,  there  may  be  found 
some  comfort.  Some  mode  of  recon- 
ciliation may  be  discovered  between 
the  new  faith  into  which  the  world  has 
been  baptised,  not  indeed  without  some 
workings  of  the  rack  and  stake,  and 
this  sudden  return  upon  the  old.  The 
age  of  prose  may  have  given  place  to 
the  age  of  poetry,  but  the  age  of 
reason,  perhaps,  though  in  another 
guise,  may  still  be  lingering  on. 
Some  compromise  may  yet  be  possi- 
ble ;  and  so  the  last  echoes  of  that 
kindly  and  eloquent  voice  to  which  we 
have  so  often  listened  with  delight  and 
profit  may  yet  keep  a  sweet  remem- 
brance in  our  hearts  when  the  speaker 
shall  have  left  us  for  his  own  place. 

What  is  the  commonplace,  the  con- 
ventional ?  Are  we  not  apt  now  and 
then  to  use  these  words  a  little  reck- 
lessly 1  All  history  teaches  us  that 
men,  unused  to  freedom,  will  sometimes 
play  strange  pranks.  We  are  entering 
now,  so  we  are  told,  on  a  blessed  state 
of  freedom.  "  The  Dawn,"  lately  sang 


Some  Commonplaces  on  the  Commonplace. 


273 


a  poet,  who  sang  better,  and  of  better 
things,  once, 

"The  Dawn  and  the  Day  is   coming;    and 
forth  the  banners  go." 

Very  strange  are  the  mottoes  borne 
on  some  of  these  banners ;  and  the 
advance  is  all  along  the  line.  No 
man,  nor  woman  neither,  but  shall 
be  free  to  say  the  word  that  pleases 
them  on  all  things  that  are  in  the 
heavens  above  and  in  the  earth  be- 
neath. The  bestialities  of  French  fic- 
tion are  gravely  praised  as  a  "pas- 
sionate conviction,"  "a  great  plan," 
which  "  helps  us  to  know."  English 
girls  plead  in  the  newspapers  for 
simple  representations  of  the  naked 
body ;  their  older  and  bolder  sisters 
cry  aloud,  and  spare  not,  for  Free 
Trade  in  prostitution,  as  in  all  other 
trades  ;  and  the  revisers  of  our  Bible 
have  abolished  Hell. 
"  All  the  earth  is  gay, 

And  with  the  heart  of  May 
Doth  every  beast  keep  holiday." 

But  though  the  new  order  of  things 
is  undoubtedly  large,  it  is  not  yet,  as 
is  but  natural,  on  all  points  perfectly 
lucid.  There  are  so  many  new  things 
to  be  talked  and  written  about,  so 
many  fresh  ideas,  and  new  guesses  at 
truth,  to  be  arranged  and  classified, 
that  our  poor  old  vulgar  tongue  is  not 
always  equal  to  the  work  :  and,  as 
Tacitus  tells  us  was  the  case  at  a  cer- 
tain point  in  the  history  of  Eome,  new 
words  have  to  be  coined,  or  to  the  old 
words  new  meanings  given  not  easily 
"  understand ed  of  the  people."  And 
so  it  is  possible  that  not  every  one  is 
quite  agreed  on  the  qualities  which 
give  its  true  stamp  to  the  conven- 
tional, the  commonplace. 

It  is  not  easy  to  define  the  common- 
place. Does  an  idea,  a  sentiment, 
become  commonplace  through  fami- 
liarity ?  If  this  be  so,  where  would 
our  poets  be!  Where  would  Shake- 
speare be,  with  his — 

"A  rose 
By  any  other  name  would  smell  as  sweet "  ? 

Where  Wordsworth,  with  his — 

"Dear  God!  the  very  housas  seem  asleep"? 
No.  310. — VOL.  LII. 


Where  Keats,  with  his — 
"  For  ever  wilt  thou  love,  and  she  be  fair  "  ? 

Some,  I  suppose,  would  call  that  saying 
commonplace  which  warns  us  that  no 
man  can  really  be  the  good  poet 
without  first  being  the  good  man. 
It  is  certainly  a  familiar  saying,. 
and,  like  many  other  familiar  things, 
seems  rather  to  have  come  into  con- 
tempt. Yet  Milton  thought  well 
enough  of  it  to  borrow  it  from  Ben 
Jonson,  who  in  his  turn  was  indebted 
for  it  to  the  Greek  historian  Strabo. 
Cardinal  Newman  has  elaborated  it  in 
an  essay  on  poetry ;  and  the  two 
greatest  of  living  critics  have  ac- 
quiesced in  its  sentiment,  M.  Edmond 
Scherer  and  Mr.  Matthew  Arnold. 
Yet  there  must  be,  or  a  good  deal 
of  our  current  literature  leads  one  to 
fancy  so,  a  considerable  number  of  peo- 
ple about  who  would  call  it  narrow, 
pedantic ;  something  old-fashioned,  in 
a  word,  commonplace,  and  therefore 
not  only  to  be  ignored,  but  opposed 
as  well. 

John  Ford,  in  what,  despite  the 
odiousness  of  its  subject,  one  must 
call  the  best  of  his  plays,  has 
written — 

"Far  better  'tis 
To  bless  the  sun  than  reason  why  it  shines." 

This  is  a  thought  common  to  almost 
every  age.  We  can  trace  it  upward 
through  Empedocles  to  the  writer  of 
the  book  of  Job,  and  downward 
through  Pope  to  Mr.  Kuskin.  "  God 
thundereth  marvellously  with  his 
voice ;  great  things  doeth  he  which 
man  cannot  comprehend."  "  Canst 
thou  bind  the  sweet  influences  of 
Pleiades,  or  loose  the  bands  of  Orion  1 " 
"  Have  the  gates  of  death  been  opened 
unto  thee  ?  or  hast  thou  seen  the  doors 
of  the  shadow  of  death  ? "  "  Who  is 
this  that  darkeneth  counsel  by  words 
without  knowledge  ?  "  "  What  men 
dream  they  know,"  said  Empedocles, 
"  is  but  the  little  each  hath  stumbled 
on  in  wandering  about  the  world ; 
yet  boast  they  all  that  they  have 
learned  the  whole — vain  fools !  for 
what  that  is  no  eye  hath  seen,  no  ear 
hath  heard,  nor  can  it  be  conceived 

T 


274 


Some  Commonplaces  on  the  Commonplace. 


by  mind  of  man.  But,  0  ye  Gods, 
avert  the  madness  of  those  babblers 
from  my  tongue ;  and  thou,  great 
Muse  of  Memory,  maiden  with  the 
milk-white  arms,  I  pray  thee  to  teach 
me  things  that  creatures  of  a  day  may 
hear."  All  through  the  Essay  on  Man 
the  same  thought  runs  in  words  every 
one  can  recall  for  himself,  to  be  summed 
up  thus  in  the  Universal  Prayer : — 

"  Thou  Great  First  Cause,  least  understood, 

Which  all  my  sense  confined 
To  know  but  this,  that  thou  art  good, 
And  that  myself  am  blind." 

"  To  know  himself  and  his  place ; 
to  be  content  to  submit  to  God  with- 
out understanding  Him ; "  this,  says 
Mr.  Ruskin,  man  will  find  is  "to  be 
modest  towards  God,  and  wise  for 
himself."  A  commonplace,  then,  this 
thought  must  surely  be ;  and  yet,  if 
it  will  not  actually  insure  the  lead  in 
life — and  no  doubt  that  part  of  life's 
triumph  which  consists  in  being  a 
popular  writer  for  the  magazines  it 
will  not  insure — from  how  much  con- 
fusion, perplexity,  and  disquiet,  from 
how  large  a  part  of  "  this  strange 
disease  of  modern  life,"  would  not  its 
acceptance  have  saved  men !  Then, 
instead  of  doing  our  little  foolish  best 
to  realise  Lichtenberg's  prophecy  that 
"  the  time  will  come  when  the  belief 
in  God  will  be  as  the  tales  with  which 
old  women  frighten  children ;  when 
the  world  will  be  a  machine,  the  ether 
a  gas,  and  God  a  force,"  we  should 
all  be— 

"Free   from  the  sick   fatigue,    the   languid 

doubt, 

"Which  much  to  have  tried,  in  much  been 
baffled  brings  " — 

comfortably  resting  ourselves  in  the 
assurance  of  Socrates  that,,  as  the 
three  wisest  men  in  Greece  could  show 
him  no  better  life,  he  desired  only, 
renouncing  the  honours  at  which  the 
world  aimed,  to  live  as  well  as  he 
could,  and,  when  the  time  came,  to 
die.  But  we  go  on  darkening  counsel 
with  words  tvithout  knowledge,  forgetful, 
among  the  few  truths  we  have,  of  this 
most  wholesome  one,  "  that  in  our 
present  condition  we  ought  not  to 


give  ourselves  airs,  for  even  in  the 
most  important  subjects  we  are  always 
changing  our  minds  ;  and  what  a  state 
of  education  does  that  imply !  " 

If  then  we  allow  that  an  idea  does  not 
become  commonplace  by  familiarity, 
may  we  say  that  the  commonplace  is 
not  made,  but  born  ?  It  is  hard  for 
us  to  entertain  conjecture  of  a  time 
when  the  inevitableness  of  death  was 
not  a  familiar  idea  to  man.  When 
the  Preacher  wrote  that  "  man  goeth 
to  his  long  home,  and  the  mourners  go 
about  the  street ; "  when  Homer  put 
in  Sarpedon's  mouth  the  assurance 
that  "  ten  thousand  fates  of  death  do 
every  way  beset  us,  and  these  no 
mortal  may  escape  nor  avoid  ; "  even 
then  one  fancies  the  idea  can  hardly 
have  struck  home  with  the  force  of  a 
new  conviction.  And  when  Silence 
essays  to  console  Shallow  for  the  loss 
of  so  many  an  old  acquaintance,  and 
the  mourner  accepts  the  consolation 
with  a  pious  acquiescence  in  the  words 
of  the  Psalmist,  death  is  certain  to  all, 
we  feel  that  the  Justice  was  indeed 
rightly  named,  and  that  an  essentially 
commonplace  man  has  given  voice  to 
an  essentially  commonplace  thought. 
Yet  when  Guiderius  and  Arviragus 
raise  the  dirge  over  the  seeming 
Fidele— 

"  Golden  lads  and  girls  all  must, 
As  chimney-sweepers,  come  to  dust "  : 

when  Gray  reminds  us  that — 

"  The  boast  of  heraldry,  the  pomp  of  power, 
And  all  that  beauty,  all  that  wealth  e'er 

gave, 
Await  alike  the  inevitable  hour  ; 

The  paths  of  glory  lead  but  to  the  grave  "  : 

we  have  not,  I  think,  the  sense  of 
reading  only  so  many  variations  of 
one  primarily  commonplace  theme. 

And  yet  it  is  to  this  very  quality 
of  commonplace  that  Mr.  Lowell 
assigns  the  great  and  lasting  popularity 
of  Gray's  famous  poem.  He  praises  him 
for  it.  It  is  clear  that  his  words  bear 
their  meaning  on  the  surface ;  that  no 
sneer  at  the  commonness  or  triviality 
of  Gray's  poetry  was  implied,  or  at 
the  commonness  or  triviality  of  hu- 
man nature  which  could  admire  Gray's 


Some  Commonplaces  on  the  Commonplace. 


275 


poetry.  This  would  be  clear  even  had 
he  not  exhorted  his  younger  hearers 
to  the  cultivation  of  the  common- 
place as  the  capital  road  to  success. 
Homer,  he  said,  expressed  a  common- 
place sentiment  when  he  described 
Andromache,  8a.Kpv6ev  yeXdaaa-a,  smil- 
ing through  her  tears,  and  yet  he  has 
touched  therewith  the  general  heart 
of  humanity  through  all  the  centuries 
since.  By  commonplace,  then,  it 
would  appear  that  he  meant  some- 
thing simple  and  obvious,  something 
that  requires  no  great  intellectual 
profundity  to  grasp  and  comprehend  it, 
some  natural  truth  that  goes  straight 
to  every  heart,  and  stays  there.  And 
so,  by  "his  daring  assertion  that,  "  if 
there  is  one  thing  more  than  another 
which  insures  the  lead  in  life  it  is  the 
commonplace,"  Mr.  Lowell  seems  to 
have  really  meant  that  to  be  simple, 
straightforward,  natural,  sincere,  is 
the  way  to  get  on  in  life  ;  and  that  to 
aim  at  the  opposites  of  these  qualities 
is  not  the  way.  He  was  not  just  then, 
we  may  suppose,  confining  himself  to 
a  literary  life  ;  but  it  is  clear  that  he 
designed  his  words  to  apply  to  litera- 
ture no  less  than  to  the  general  con- 
duct of  human  affairs.  On  both  sides 
they  are  equally  remarkable,  equally 
opportune,  and  to  some  at  least  whom 
they  may  have  since  reached,  if  to 
none  who  received  them  fresh  from  the 
fountain-head,  must,  one  fancies,  be 
equally  unpalatable.  The  virtues  Mr. 
Lowell  commends  are  certainly  not,  in 
our  literature  as  elsewhere,  the  pre- 
vailing virtues  of  the  age.  For  what 
in  effect  are  they  ?  May  they  not  all 
be  summed  up  in  one  word1?  Are 
they  not  all  contained  in  one  virtue — 
the  great  rejected  virtue  of  Sanity  ? 
But  Sanity,  our  young  geniuses  would 
say,  is  the  especial  virtue  of  the 
Philistine. 

The  Philistine  !  What  is  this  un- 
known quantity  in  the  great  sum  of 
human  existence  ?  Is  it  not  strange 
that  our  great  ethical  and  literary 
teacher,  who  has  passed  so  much  of  his 
life,  and  known  so  many  sorrows,  as 
he  himself  has  told  us,  in  unending 
warfare  with  the  Philistine,  should 


now,  in  the  sweet  Indian  summer  of 
his  days,  see  growing  up  around  him  a 
generation  who  rejects  his  teaching  as 
being  that  which  pre-eminently  makes 
for  Philistinism !  For  what  has  the 
burden  of  Mr.  Arnold's  teaching  been 
but  Sanity  ?  Sanitas  Sanitatum, 
omnia  Sanitas.  Three  and  thirty 
years  ago,  in  that  preface  to  the  first 
acknowledged  edition  of  his  poems 
which,  if  the  humblest  of  his  admirers 
may  venture  on  the  embarrassment  of  a 
choice,  I  should  name  as  the  finest 
expression  of  his  literary  creed,  three 
and  thirty  years  ago,  I  say,  he  first 
(unlike  Gray)  "  spoke  out,"  and  never 
since  has  he  wearied,  or  gone  back 
from  warning  us  against  our  cardinal 
foes,  eccentricity  and  caprice.  And 
yet,  how  few  seem  to  have  heard  him  ! 
They  have  looked  in  his  glass,  and  seen, 
or  fancied  that  they  have  seen,  their 
own  face  there ;  and  then  they  have 
gone  their  way,  and  straightway  forgot 
what  manner  of  man  they  saw.  Will 
the  seed  Mr.  Lowell  has  sown  fall  also 
on  stony  ground  ? 

What  makes  the  Philistine  1  Some 
one,  with  a  sense  of  humour  struggling 
through  his  perplexity,  once  said,  "that 
he  who  thought  differently  from  you 
on  any  given  subject  was  a  Philistine." 
And  this,  indeed,  does  seem  to  be  the 
definition  accepted  by  some  of  our 
young  children  of  light.  To  differ  in 
every  conceivable  way  from  the  com- 
mon mould  of  humanity,  if  not  in 
great,  then  in  small  things,  even  in 
the  fashion  of  one's  clothes,  of  one's 
speech,  of  one's  behaviour;  in  any 
way  to  show  that  one  is  not  as  others 
are ;  this  it  is  to  be  a  child  of  light, 
this  to  be  a  true  heir  of  the  promised 
land.  To  do  in  all  things,  or  haply 
even  in  any  one  thing,  as  others  do; 
this  it  is  to  be  in  bondage  to  Dagon, 
of  such  is  the  kingdom  of  Philistia. 
Originality  is  the  only  note  of  genius. 

And  yet  how  hard  it  must  be  to  get 
originality.  When  one  thinks  for 
how  many  centuries  men  have  been 
thinking,  talking,  writing,  guessing, 
discovering,  if  one  is  to  do,  or  say,  or 
write — let  us  put  thinking  out  of  the 
question — nothing  that  his  fathers, 

T  2 


276 


Some  Commonplaces  on  the   Commonplace. 


before  him  have  turned  their  minds  to, 
how  shall  any  man  be  saved  ?  These 
gay  young  champions  of  the  new  age, 

"  Loitering  and  leaping, 

With  saunter,  with  bounds — 
Flickering  and  circling 
In  files  and  in  rounds," 

are  they  original?  Not  a  whit.  All 
the  history  of  all  the  ages  shows  how 
common  has  been  the  acceptance  of 
eccentricity  for  genius,  how  grateful 
the  fancy  that  to  differ  from  one's 
fellows  is  to  surpass  them.  The  riot 
of  folly  takes,  perhaps,  more  ungrace- 
ful and  more  witless  shapes  now,  for 
folly  has  been  rioting  so  long  that  all 
the  most  alluring  masques  have  been 
played  through  long  ago ;  but  the 
fountain  and  source  are  the  same. 

"  Children  of  an  idle  brain, 
Begot  of  nothing  but  vain  fantasy," 

our  young  men  and  maidens  tread  to 
the  same  tune  that  their  forerunners 
used,  the  same  measures  round  the 
same  vacuous  painted  image,  and  still 
from  their  unmeaning  lips  rises  the 
same  prayer, 

"  From  thee,  great  God,  we  spring,  to  thee 

we  tend, 
Path,  motive,  guide,  original,  and  end." 

But  then,  it  may  be  said,  these  too 
have,  it  seems,  the  saving  virtue  of 
commonplace,  and  so  may  be,  after  all, 
insuring  their  success  in  life  on  their 
own  lines.  No  doubt,  at  first  sight, 
some  such  dilemma  seems  to  be  peep- 
ing at  us.  But  a  little  reflection  will 
serve  to  dispel  it. 

The  correspondence  on  the  necessary 
relations  in  pictorial  art  between  the 
body  and  the  senses  was  suffered  by 
the  good-natured  editor  of  the  Times 
long  enough  to  allow  one  gleam  of 
reason  to  break  through  the  nebulous 
veil  of  sentiment  in  which  pious  or 
petulant  disputants  had  enwrapped  the 
interesting  and  delicate  subject.  A 
newspaper  correspondence,  even  when 
Mr.  Herbert  Spencer,  Mr.  Frederick 
Harrison,  or  Sir  Edmund  Beckett,  are 
covering  the  columns,  rarely  yields 
anything  so  good  as  the  letter  in  which 
"H."  graciously  essayed  to  bring 
comfort  to  the  perplexed  and  fainting 


soul  of  the  "  British  Matron :  "  and 
in  all  that  letter  there  was  nothing 
better  than  this  admirable  sentence, 
"  Convention  is  tJie  prosody  of  Art." 

Admirable,  indeed ;   and  none   the 
less  so  because  it,  too,  is  a  common- 
place.    It  was   the    Alpha    and    the 
Omega  of  all  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds's 
teaching ;    and  though  it  has  pleased 
one  of  those  clever  young  gentlemen 
who  seem  able  to  find  no  better  mark 
for  their  cleverness  than  in  sneering  at 
their  fathers  who  bore  them,  to  call 
them  old  and  pedantic   and   narrow, 
and  their  writer  greatly  ignorant  of 
the  facts  of  art,  for  my  part  I  know 
not  where  wiser  or  clearer  teaching, 
so  far  as  any  teaching  can  avail,  is  to 
be  found  by  the  young  apprentice  to 
art.   Goethe,  we  are  told,  was  a  greater 
poet  than  Byron,  because,  behind  his 
poetry  there  was  a  great  critical  effort 
nourishing      and      strengthening    it ; 
behind   Byron's   there    was    no   such 
critical    effort.       "  The     many-sided 
learning   and    widely-combined    criti- 
cal effort  of  Germany,"  not  only  gave 
Goethe  materials  to  work  with,  but 
gave  him  also  "  a  quickening  and  sus- 
taining atmosphere  to  work  in."  These 
advantages   Byron,  in   common   with 
all  his  English  brotherhood  of  poets, 
lacked,  and,  in  consequence,  the  poetry 
of  that  time  had  about  it  "  something 
premature,"  and  but  little  of  it  will 
really  last.     Now,  the  critical  effort 
of  the  present  age  is  confessedly  im- 
mense, and  the  poetical  and  artistic 
product  generally  of  the  next  should 
be    "in    concatenation   accordingly." 
But  will  the  atmosphere  engendered 
hereafter  by  the  critical   forces  now 
working  be  altogether  quickening  and 
sustaining  ?     A  large  part  of  the  cri- 
ticism  of   our  day  is   certainly  very 
eloquent,  very  curious  and  wide-rang- 
ing;   but  is  it  always  very  sound  in 
its  choice,  clear  in  its  sight,  lucid  in 
its  expression  1      Consider  the  follow- 
ing passage  on  Leonardo  da  Vinci's 
portrait  of  Monna  Lisa,   the  famous 
"  Giaconda  "  :— 

"  The  presence  that  thus  rose  so  strangely 
beside  the  waters,  is  expressive  of  what  in  the 
ways  of  a  thousand  years  man  had  come  to 


Some  Commonplaces  on  the  Commonplace. 


277 


•desire.  Hers  is  the  head  upon  which  all 
'the  ends  of  the  world  are  come,'  and  the 
eyelids  are  a  little  weary.  It  is  a  beauty 
wrought  out  from  within  upon  the  flesh,  the 
deposit,  little  cell  by  cell,  of  strange  thoughts 
and  fantastic  reveries  and  exquisite  passions. 
Set  it  for  a  moment  beside  one  of  those  white 
Greek  goddesses  or  beautiful  women  of  anti- 
quity, and  how  would  they  be  troubled  by 
this  beauty,  into  which  the  soul  with  all  its 
maladies  has  passed  ?  All  the  thoughts  and 
experiences  of  the  world  have  etched  and 
moulded  these,  in  that  which  they  have  of 
power  to  refine  and  make  expressive  the  out- 
ward form,  the  animalism  of  Greece,  the  lust 
of  Rome,  the  reverie  of  the  middle  age,  with 
its  spiritual  ambition  and  imaginative  loves, 
the  return  of  the  Pagan  world,  the  sins  of  the 
Borgias.  She  is  older  than  the  rocks  among 
which  she  sits  ;  like  the  vampire,  she  has  been 
dead  many  times,  and  learned  the  secrets  of 
the  grave  ;  and  has  been  a  diver  in  deep  seas, 
and  keeps  their  fallen  day  about  her ;  and 
trafficked  for  strange  webs  with  eastern  mer- 
chants ;  and,  as  Leda,  was  the  mother  of 
Helen  of  Troy,  and,  as  Saint  Anna,  the  mother 
of  Mary  ;  and  all  this  has  been  to  her  but  as 
the  soiinol  of  lyres  and  flutes,  and  lives  only  in 
the  delicacy  with  which  it  has  moulded  the 
changing  lineaments,  and  tinged  the  eyelids 
and  the  hands. "  l 

The  dullest  cannot  but  confess  the 
eloquence  of  this  criticism,  its  curious- 
ness  and  subtlety.  But  has  it  not 
also  something  a  little  fantastic,  some- 
thing of  caprice  ?  Would  a  young  un- 
trained intelligence,  seeking  "  to  see 
things  as  they  really  are,"  be  much 
quickened  or  sustained  by  it?  Per- 
haps, to  borrow  a  phrase  from  the 
young  gentleman  we  have  seen  so 
scornful  of  poor  Sir  Joshua,  perhaps 
he  might  be  fired  by  it ;  but  would  he 
be  instructed  ?  Some  of  our  budding 
young  poets  seem  to  have  been  not  a 
little  fired  by  this  sort  of  writing,  and 
the  result  has  not  been  always  agree- 
able. Yasari  says  of  this  picture, 
through  the  mouth  of  his  English 
translator  : — 

"Mona  Lisa  was  exceedingly  beautiful,  and 
while  Leonardo  was  painting  her  portrait,  he 
took  the  precaution  of  keeping  some  one  con- 
stantly near  her,  to  sing  or  play  on  instru- 
ments ;  or  to  jest  or  otherwise  amuse  her,  to 
the  end  that  she  might  continue  cheerful,  and 
so  that  her  face  might  not  exhibit  the  melan- 
choly expression  often  imparted  by  painters  to 
the  likenesses  they  take.  In  this  portrait  of 
Leonardo's,  on  the  contrary,  there  is  so  pleas- 
ing an  expression,  and  a  smile  so  sweet,  that 

1  The  Renaissance,  by  Walter  Pater. 


while  looking  at  it  one  thinks  it  rather  divine 
than  human,  and  it  has  even  been  esteemed  a 
wonderful  work,  since  life  itself  could  exhibit 
no  other  appearance." 

About  this  there  is  certainly  nothing 
eloquent  or  subtle  ;  but  I  really  am  not 
sure  that  it  would  not  be  better  for  a 
young  apprentice  to  carry  in  his  mind 
on  his  first  visit  to  the  Louvre  Mr. 
Pater's  melodious  sentences.  Let  me 
take  a  passage  descriptive  of  another 
picture,  by  one  who  was  a  painter  as 
well  as  a  critic ;  in  short,  by  the  re- 
jected Sir  Joshua.  The  picture  is  at 
Cologne,  "The  Crucifixion  of  St. 
Peter  "  by  Rubens— 

' '  The  body  and  head  of  the  saint  are  the 
only  good  parts  of  the  picture,  which  is  finely 
coloured  (broad  light  and  shade)  and  well 
drawn  ;  but  the  figure  bends  too  suddenly 
from  the  thighs,  which  are  ill-drawn,  or  rather 
in  a  bad  taste  of  drawing  ;  as  is  likewise  his 
arm,  which  has  a  short  interrupted  outline. 
The  action  of  the  malefactors  has  not  that 
energy  which  he  usually  gave  to  his  figures. 
Rubens,  in  his  letter  to  Geldorp,  expresses  his 
own  approbation  of  this  picture,  which  he  says 
was  the  best  he  ever  painted  ;  he  likewise 
expresses  his  content  and  happiness  on  the 
subject,  as  being  picturesque  :  This  is  likewise 
natural  to  such  a  mind  as  that  of  Rubens,  who 
was  perhaps  too  much  looking  about  him  for 
the  picturesque  or  something  uncommon.  A 
man  with  his  head  doivnwards  is  certainly  a 
more  extraordinary  object  than  in  its  natural 
place. " 

Not  eloquent  this,  but  how  very  sens- 
ible !  And  as  such,  how  quickening 
and  sustaining  to  a  young  mind  !  How 
excellent,  too,  is  this  :  "  However  ad- 
mirable his  taste  may  be,  he  is  but 
half  a  painter  who  can  only  conceive 
his  subject  and  is  without  knowledge 
of  the  mechanical  part  of  his  art." 
Nay,  and  might  it  not  even  be  of  more 
value  to  a  young  painter  visiting  the 
Yerossi  Palace  for  the  first  time  to 
know  that  Poussin's  landscapes  "are 
painted  on  a  dark  ground  made  of 
Indian  red  and  black,"  than  to  deco- 
rate his  memory  with  the  most  gor- 
geous arabesques  of  words  modern 
criticism  ever  devised  ? 

Mr.  Arnold,  criticising  M.  Scherer's 
criticism  of  Goethe,  remarks  on  the 
pompous  roundabout  diction  in  which 
even  Goethe,  following  his  natural 
German  instincts,  would  sometimes 


278 


Some  Commonplaces  on  the  Commonplace. 


indulge:  and  he  quotes  a  certain 
very  high-flown  address  from  the 
Natural  Daughter  to  the  Court  phy- 
sician with  this  comment  :  "  Shake- 
speare would  have  said  Doctor."  This 
comment  often  comes  home  to  me  in 
reading  some  of  our  modern  criticism. 
But  it  may  be  said  I  have  rather 
wandered  from  my  field  ;  that  I  began 
with  literature  and  have  strayed  into 
painting,  and  that  criticism  on  paint- 
ing is  notoriously  an  impossible  thing. 
Well,  let  us  go  back  to  literature. 
Let  us  take  our  Shakespeare,  who  would 
have  said  Doctor,  and  see  what  a 
modern  critic  says  about  him.  Hear 
this  on  Pericles  from  Mr.  Swinburne, 
himself  a  poet,  and  one  who  has 
written  well  on  poetry,  besides  writing 
poetry  well : — 

"  But  what  now  shall  I  say  that  may  not 
be  too  pitifully  unworthy  of  the  glories  and 
the  beauties,  the  unsurpassable  pathos  and 
sublimity  inwoven  with  the  imperial  texture 
of  this  play  ?  the  blood-red  Tyrian  purple  of 
tragic  maternal  jealousy,  which  might  seem 
to  array  it  in  a  worthy  attire  of  its  Tyrian 
name ;  the  flower-soft  loveliness  of  maiden 
lamentation  over  the  flower-strewn  seaside 
grave  of  Marina's  old  sea-tossed  nurse,  where 
1  am  un virtuous  enough  (as  virtue  goes  among 
moralists)  to  feel  more  at  home  and  better  at 
ease  than  in  the  atmosphere  of  her  later  lodg- 
ing in  Mitylene  ?  What,  above  all,  shall  be 
said  of  that  storm  above  all  storms  ever  raised 
in  poetry,  which  ushered  in  a  world  of  such 
wonders  and  strange  chances,  the  daughter  of 
the  wave-worn  and  world- wandering  Prince  of 
Tyre  ? " 

How  the  young  neophyte's  head 
would  swim  in  this  tossing  sea  of 
syllables ;  and  with  what  a  grateful 
sense  of  rest,  such  as  the  "  wave-worn 
and  world- wandering  prince  "  himself 
might  have  felt  when  landed  at  last, 
would  be  read  on  the  calm  and  judi- 
cious page  of  Hallam  (the  byeword 
and  reproach  of  our  young  geniuses  !) — 

"It  is  generally  believed  that  he  [Shake- 
speare] had  much  to  do  with  the  tragedy  of 
Pericles,  which  is  now  printed  among  his 
works,  and  which  external  testimony,  though 
we  should  not  rely  too  much  on  that  as  to 
Shakespeare,  has  assigned  to  him  ;  but  the 
play  is  full  of  evident  marks  of  an  inferior 
hand." 

"  If  there  is  one  thing  more  than 
another  which  insures  the  lead  in  life,  it 
is  the  commonplace"  and,  "  convention  is 


the  prosody  of  art."   Here  be  two  blasts, 
of  doom,  indeed !     They  can  both,  I 
think,  be    reduced    to    one    common 
measure  :   for  on  reflection  it  will  be 
seen  that  they  are  both  in  effect  but 
different  voices  uttering  one  common 
truth.     In  all  works  of  art,  in  poetry, 
painting,  music,  sculpture,  there    are 
certain  immutable  and  inevitable  laws 
by  which  the  greatest  genius  is  bound 
equally   with   the   humblest  journey- 
man ;  and  only  he  who  is  neither,  who 
cannot  soar  with  the  genius,  and  will 
not  creep  with  the  journeyman,  affects 
to   despise   them.     By  convention  in 
art  is  meant  of  course  something  more 
than  the  mere  observance  of  mechani- 
cal rules.     It  will   not — to   take   an 
example   familiar   to  the   comprehen- 
sion of  the  "  English  Girl " —  it  will  not 
be  enough  for  the  painter  to  give  his 
presentment  of  the  human  form   its 
proper    complement    of    fingers    and 
toes  ;  it  will  not  be  enough  for  the  poet 
to  see  that  his  lines  have  the  proper 
complement  of  syllables,  or  the  proper 
assonance  of  rhymes.     There  are  cer- 
tain ethical,  certain  moral  conventions, 
every  whit  as  indispensable  to  art  as 
the    mechanical     ones.     It    will,    of 
course,  be  understood  that  I  do  not 
use     these    epithets,    ethical,    moral, 
distasteful  to  so  many  ears,  in  their 
rigid      puritanical      sense.       Neither 
(Edipus  Rex  nor  Othello  would  be  called 
by  Mrs.  Grundy  so  moral  a  play  as 
Mr.  Gilbert's   Broken  Hearts,  or  Mr. 
Merivale's   Wldte  Pilgrim;    yet   they 
both  of  them  conform  far  more  strictly 
to    the   conventions  of    art   than   do 
either  of  the  modern  works   I   have 
named. 

In  that  preface  of  Mr.  Arnold's  al- 
ready alluded  to  are  some  words  which 
form  a  very  apt  comment  both  on  Mr. 
Lowell's  saying  and  on  the  saying  of 
"  H."  As  they  were  written  so  long 
ago  I  may  quote  them  to-day  ;  indeed 
they  are  so  good  that  had  they  been 
written  yesterday  no  excuse  were 
needful  for  quoting  them  to-day  or  for 
ever : — 

"What  are  the  eternal  objects  of  poetry 
among  all  nations,  and  at  all  times  ?  They 
are  actions ;  human  actions  ;  possessing  an 


Some  Commonplaces  on  the  Commonplace. 


279 


inherent  interest  in  themselves,  and  which 
are  to  be  communicated  in  an  interesting 
manner  by  the  art  of  the  poet.  Vainly  will 
the  latter  imagine  that  he  has  everything  in 
his  own  power  ;  that  he  can  make  an  intrin- 
sically inferior  action  equally  delightful  with 
a  more  excellent  one  by  his  treatment  of  it. 
He  may  indeed  compel  us  to  admire  his  skill, 
but  his  work  will  possess,  within  itself,  an 
incurable  defect.  The  poet,  then,  has  in  the 
first  place  to  select  an  excellent  action  ;  and 
what  actions  are  the  most  excellent  ?  Those, 
certainly,  which  most  powerfully  appeal  to  the 
great  primary  human  affections  :  to  those  ele- 
mentary feelings  which  subsist  permanently 
in  the  human  race,  and  which  are  indepen- 
dent of  time.  These  feelings  are  permanent 
and  the  same  ;  that  which  interests  them  is 
permanent  and  the  same  also." 

This,  then,  as  I  take  it,  is  what  Mr. 
Lowell  meant  when  he  praised  Gray's 
poem  for  its  "  commonplaceness  of 
sentiment."  That  poem  treats  of  "  the 
great  primary  human  affections."  It 
is  not  a  poem  of  action,  but  of  medi- 
tation j  but  its  meditations  are  on 
the  actions  which  through  all  ages 
have  gone  to  swell  the  great  stream 
of  human  life.  It  expresses  itself  in 
familiar  language,  simple,  sweet,  and 
solemn.  It  indulges  in  no  freaks,  no 
fantasies,  no  caprices  :  it  conforms  to 
the  prosody  of  art.  This  is  its  value 
for  the  younger  members  of  the  audi- 
ence Mr.  Lowell  was  addressing,  for  a 
generation  which  has  turned  to  other 
models,  and  to  the  expression  of  other 
affections,  which  do  indeed  belong  to 
humanity,  as  madness  or  the  plague 
belong  to  it,  but  which  no  art  can 
make  interesting,  and  which  attract, 
where  they  do  attract,  solely  by  their 
defiance  of  art.  The  affections  which 
stir  a  Dolores  or  a  Nana  are  those 
which  human  nature  shares  in  common 
with  the  ape  and  the  tiger ;  and  the 
"  great  plan "  which  treats  of  such 
affections  only  helps  us  to  that  know- 
ledge which  increaseth  SOITOW.  An 
ingenious  writer  l  has  lately  essayed  to 
prove  that  the  most  splendid  genius 
inevitably  treads  close  on  the  heels  of 
insanity.  It  is  easy  to  imagine  with 
what  lively  satisfaction,  what  a  sense 

1  In  the  Nineteenth  Century  magazine  for 
June. 


of  comfort  and  hope,  the  scorners 
of  the  commonplace  must  have  laid 
this  flattering  unction  to  their  souls. 
But  their  consoler  seems  somehow 
curiously  to  have  failed  to  see  that  all 
his  arguments  and  illustrations  really 
make,  not  for,  but  against  his  case ; 
that  the  geniuses  in  whom  the  mental 
twist  was  most  perverse  were  pre- 
cisely those  who  came  short  of  the 
goal  to  which  their  natural  gifts  might 
have  borne  them — they  failed  pre- 
cisely because  they  had  not  the  con- 
trolling and  balancing  power,  because 
they  did  not  recognise  the  saving  vir- 
tue of  the  commonplace,  because,  in  a 
word,  they  had  not  sanity.  Originality, 
it  has  been  said,  must  come  unlocked 
for,  if  it  comes  at  all.  Certainly  it 
will  not  be  found  by  raking  in  the 
dunghills  either  of  the  past  or  the 
present.  It  is  a  virtue  which  cannot 
be  assumed ;  and,  least  of  all,  can 
it  be  assumed  by  vulgar  affectations  of 
singularity,  or  impudent  essays  on 
public  credulity.  And  if  it  be  a  virtue 
doomed  still  to  fade 

"  For  ever  and  for  ever  when  we  move," 

we  may  perhaps  assuage  our  dis- 
appointment with  the  consolation 
one  of  the  great  rejected  of  the  age  of 
prose  and  reason  found  in  his  work  : 
"  It  seems  not  so  much  the  perfection 
of  sense  to  say  things  that  have  never 
been  said  before,  as  to  express  those 
best  that  have  been  said  oftenest." 
There  is,  in  good  truth,  plenty  still  to 
be  done  that  way  —  plenty  for  cm- 
critics,  and  for  the  next  generation — 
the  generation  which  is  to  be  quickened 
and  sustained  by  the  atmosphere  en- 
gendered by  the  motive  powers  of 
those  critics.  It  were  no  bad  thing  to 
remember  the  words  addressed  to  a 
pupil  by  a  great  teacher  of  an  earlier 
time  than  ours,  a  teacher  who  assuredly 
did  not  want  sanity,  whatever  else  he 
may  have  wanted :  "  If  you  wish  to 
exercise  influence  hereafter,  beyin  by  dis- 
tinguishing yourself  in  the  regular  way, 
not  by  seeming  to  prefer  a  separate  way 
of  your  own." 


280 


A  WALKING  TOUR  IN  THE  LANDES. 


WE  entered  Biscarosse  just  as  the 
children    were    trooping   out    of    the 
communal  school,  each  pair  of  sabots 
making  as  much  clatter  on  the  pave- 
ment as  a  pair  of  bird-clappers.     We 
stopped  at  an  inn  the  merits  of  which 
my  companion  had  been  painting  for 
the  last  half -hour  in  glowing  colours. 
So  anxious  was   he  to  have  all  the 
honour  of  introducing  a  stranger  that 
he  ran  on  ahead  and  announced  my 
approach  to  a  lank  and  red-haired  girl 
who  was  exhibiting  a  pair  of  naked 
feet  on  the  threshold.     The  red-haired 
damsel  did  not  seem  at  all  overcome 
by  the  apparition  of  a  tourist.     One 
tramp  to  her  was  as  good  or  as  bad  as 
another.      As   I   entered   she   merely 
moved  a  little  on  one  side,  doubtless 
to  place  her  brown  toes  where  they 
would  be  safe  from  my  boots.     It  was 
a  straggling,  sprawling,  uninteresting, 
cheerless  auberge,  but  it  was  the  best 
in  the  place.     Having  ordered  dinner, 
I  asked   the  resin-gatherer   what   he 
would  drink  before  we  parted.     "A 
little  absinthe,"  said  he.     Oh  !   green- 
eyed  demon,  so  you  had  found  your 
way  even  to  this  Ultima  Thule  !     The 
aubergiste  poured  some  of  the  familiar 
spirit   into    a    glass.      Then    my   un- 
sophisticated man  of  the  woods  took 
the  water-bottle,  lifted  it  up,  and  let 
a  slender  stream  trickle  into  the  glass  ; 
the  demon  at  the  bottom  showed  his 
green  eye  immediately,  and  the  mix- 
ture as  it  rose  rippled  and  sparkled 
with   prismatic   hues.      My    innocent 
friend    knew  the    trick    as    well    as 
any  boulevardier.     Well,  I  ought  not 
to  have   been   surprised,  for  he   had 
been  a  soldier,  and  the  military  educa- 
tion is  not  confined  to  the  use  of  arms. 
As  we  parted  company  he  shook  my 
hand   hard   and   long,   hoped    that   I 
would  visit  him  again,  and  actually 
proposed  that  I  should  go  back  with 


him  to  his  hut  and  pass  the  night 
there,  promising  to  show  me  the  next 
day  all  the  curious  things  in  the  forest 
between  the  lake  and  the  sea.  I  some- 
times regret  that  I  did  not  accept  his 
offer. 

While  the  dinner  was  being  cooked 
I  roamed  about  the  village,  where  I 
found  two  objects  of  interest — a  church 
with  a  spire  entirely  roofed  with  strips 
of  wood,  and  a  tree.  As  it  was  getting 
dusk  I  postponed  my  visit  to  the 
church  until  the  next  morning,  but 
the  tree  I  examined  at  once.  It  was 
a  pollard  elm  of  immense  girth,  and 
so  old  that  about  a  dozen  children 
were  playing  in  the  hollow  of  it.  No- 
thing but  the  shell  of  the  great  trunk 
remained  except  a  few  gnarled  branches 
and  a  crown  of  leaves.  This  tree  I 
found  had  a  local  celebrity,  not  only 
on  account  of  its  great  age,  on  which 
speculation  was  silent,  for  it  was 
an  "  immemorial  elm,"  but  because 
it  had  the  peculiarity  of  putting 
forth  white  instead  of  green  leaves 
every  spring.  The  white  leaves  ap- 
peared near  the  trunk  and  the  green 
leaves  came  afterwards.  This  was  no 
village  myth,  for  I  could  see  clusters  of 
hoary  leaves  still  hanging  underneath 
the  green.  The  children  wondered 
much  what  there  was  in  the  venerable 
tree  to  interest  me. 

On  my  return  to  the  inn  I  found  a 
much  more  sumptuous  dinner  awaiting 
me  than  I  had  expected.  First  I  had 
tomato  soup,  then  an  omelette,  next 
the  beef  that  helped  to  make  the  soup ; 
afterwards  macaroni,  roast  turtle-dove, 
cheese,  grapes,  and  pears.  The  red- 
haired  domestic,  who  had  put  on 
stately  manners  with  a  pair  of  slip- 
pers, told  me  as  she  set  the  macaroni 
down  that  a  turtle  was  coming.  I 
told  her  I  would  have  the  roast  first. 
She  insisted  that  I  must  eat  the 


A   Walking  Tour  in  the  Landes. 


281 


macaroni  first.  We  had  a  regular 
battle  on  the  point,  but  in  the  end 
I  carried  the  day,  and  she  took  the 
macaroni  back  to  the  kitchen.  Pre- 
sently she  brought  in  the  poor  little 
dove,  with  its  pretty  rose-coloured  feet 
turned  towards  heaven.  To  eat  a 
turtle-dove  seemed  very  like  sacrilege, 
but  the  voice  of  conscience  was  soon 
hushed  and  the  deed  was  done. 

At  half-past  seven  the  angelus  rang, 
and  at  nine  there  was  scarcely  a  light 
to  be  seen  in  the  village.  I  went  to 
bed  because  everybody  else  did  so,  and 
such  is  the  force  of  example  that  I 
was  as  sleepy  as  if  it  were  midnight. 
At  four  o'clock  the  angelus  rang  again. 
Two  hours  later  I  was  up  and  about. 
I  visited  the  church.  It  was  a  six- 
teenth century  building,  with  nothing 
peculiar  to  mark  it  except  the  wood- 
covered  spire.  The  interior  was  strongly 
scented  by  the  bunches  of  peppermint 
flowers  that  had  been  gathered  by 
children  and  placed  upon  the  altars. 
The  church  stood  in  the  midst  of 
the  burying-ground — a  piece  of  rough 
field,  without  trees,  or  shrubs,  or 
garden  flowers ;  without  monuments 
and  memorial  emblems,  excepting  a 
few  stone  slabs  and  little  wooden 
crosses  stuck  here  and  there  among 
the  long  grass,  wild»carrots,  camomile, 
tow  brambles  glistening  with  black- 
berries, and  flowering  mallows. 

My  dinner,  bed,  and  breakfast  at 
Biscarosse  cost  me  5f.  50c.  I  put 
these  details  down  for  the  informa- 
tion and  guidance  of  other  tramps. 
I  do  not  mention  gratuities  to  red- 
haired  girls  and  others.  One  can 
travel  through  the  Landes  on  foot  for 
eight  francs  a  day,  and  still  afford  to 
be  liberal  according  to  the  local  notions 
of  liberality. 

The  hour  came  for  the  knapsack  to 
be  hoisted  again  and  the  journey  re- 
sumed. I  had  recovered  from  the 
fatigue  that  one  always  feels  for  the 
first  two  days  of  a  walking  tour  after 
several  months  of  comparative  inacti- 
vity. The  knapsack  now  seemed  as 
light  as  a  feather,  and  the  consciousness 
of  renewed  strength  gave  an  appetite 


for  fresh  exertion.  From  Biscarosse 
I  took  a  south-easterly  course  to 
Parentis,  and  had  the  lake  of  Parentis, 
which  is  about  two-thirds  as  large  as 
that  of  Cazau,  on  my  right.  It  was 
completely  hidden,  however,  by  the 
pines.  The  road,  which  ran  through  a 
dense  forest,  was  a  good  one.  After 
passing  an  army  of  geese  drawn  up  in 
battle  array,  I  met  a  party  of  women 
with  wide-brimmed  straw  hats  on  their 
heads,  which  gave  them  the  appearance 
of  being  thatched.  Their  curiosity 
was  so  much  aroused  by  the  sight  of 
me  that  they  stopped  still  and  stared. 
One  of  them  asked  me  a  question  in 
her  patois.  I  told  her  that  I  did  not 
understand ;  and  she  replied,  "  Je  com- 
prenais  pas  Franqais."  This  is  an 
example  of  the  funny  French  spoken 
hereabouts,  even  by  people  who  use 
the  language  fluently  enough.  The 
woman  who  wished  me  to  drink  eau 
sucree  on  the  road  to  Cazau,  in  speak- 
ing to  her  husband,  used  the  form 
"  Souvinse-tu  ?  "  for  "  Souviens-tu  ?  " 
These  corruptions,  however,  must  not 
be  confused  with  the  patois  of  the 
country,  which  is  a  distinct  dialect, 
differing  as  much  from  French  as 
French  does  from  Italian  or  Spanish  ; 
but  the  Latin  idiom  is  common  to  all. 
Even  in  the  Landes  the  patois  varies 
according  to  geographical  conditions. 
Thus,  the  farther  one  goes  south  the 
more  one  is  struck  by  the  open  vowel 
sounds  and  full  accentuation  of  syl- 
lables. In  the  Chalosse,  the  district 
south  of  the  Adour,  the  patois  con- 
tains many  words  of  Basque  origin. 
In  the  larger  villages  of  the  Landes, 
it  is  very  unusual  now  to  find  people 
who  cannot  speak  French  fluently. 
But  the  French  of  Gascony  is  not  un- 
like the  French  of  "  Stratford-atte- 
Bowe,"  so  despised  by  Chaucer.  For 
instance,  the  Gascons  give  almost  the 
English  pronunciation  of  train  and  pine 
and  franc  to  the  French  words  train, 
pin,  and  franc.  Many  other  examples 
of  this  similarity  might  be  mentioned. 
Now  I  saw  what  I  had  been  anxi- 
ously looking  out  for —  men  on  stilts. 
They  were  a  party  of  three  herdsmen, 


282 


A   Walking  Tour  in  the  Landes. 


and  their  cattle  were  browsing  among 
the   heather.     The   men   stood   about 
four  feet  from  the  ground.    Their  well- 
developed  sinewy  legs  were   bare  to 
the  knee,  but  the  soles  of  their  feet 
were  protected  from  the  wood  of  the 
stilts  by  a  piece  of 4'  sheep's  or  goat's 
skin,  the  woolly  side  turned  upwards. 
On  their  backs  were  wallets,  also  of 
sheep's   or   goat's   skin,  for   carrying 
food  and  water.     One  man  had  a  great 
green  umbrella  strapped  to  his  back. 
Before  I  reached  the  spot  where  the 
stiltmen  were  standing,  I  was  accosted 
by   a   shabby-genteel    looking   tramp 
with  along  beard,  who,  claiming  me,  no 
doubt,  as  a  brother  of  the  road,  tried 
to  draw  me  into  conversation  on  the 
advantages   of    using    stilts    in    this 
sandy  region.     He   was  not   long   in 
discovering  that  I  was  an  Englishman, 
and  he  assured  me  that  he  had  had 
the   honour   of    counting   among   his 
most   esteemed  friends  many  of  my 
countrymen  whom  he  met  in  his  native 
place,   Boulogne-sur-Mer.     It    was    a 
relief  when  he  came  to  business,  and 
told  me  he   was  sans-le-sou  and  had 
passed  the  night  on  the  heather.     I 
gave  him  some  sous  and  wished  him 
bon    voyage.     "  Tank    you,    sir,"   he 
said,  as  he  continued  his  journey.     In 
a  few  minutes  he  turned  round  again 
and  shouted,  "  Tank  you,  sir  !  "     This 
performance  he  repeated  at  intervals 
until   he   was   out   of   hearing.      The 
stiltmen  observed  this  little  comedy 
with    quiet    wonder.     One    of    them 
asked  me  if  "  that  monsieur  "  was  an 
old  acquaintance  of  mine.     I  replied 
that  he  was  not.     "I  was  then  asked  if 
I  was  a  merchant — a  polite  term  for  a 
pedlar.     "  No,    I   am   travelling   like 
this  for  my  pleasure."     Great  amuse- 
ment  and   equal    incredulity*  of    the 
stilted   gentlemen,  who    stared   alter- 
nately at  one  another  and  at  me,  but 
said  no  more.     I  saw  plainly  enough 
that  it  would  be  easier  for  me  to  con- 
vince them  that  I  was  a  ghost  than 
that  I  travelled  on  foot  through  the 
wilderness  of  the  Landes  with  a  knap- 
sack  on    my   back   for   the    sake   of 
pleasure. 


I  went  on  my  way,  but  I  soon  met 
another  stilted  mortal  who  had  a 
numerous  flock  of  goats,  most  of  them 
black  and  all  very  long  in  the  leg. 
His  dog's  suspicions  were  deeply 
stirred  by  seeing  me  stop  and  make  a 
note  in  my  book,  and  he  barked  furi- 
ously. Like  other  dogs  he  had  care- 
fully studied  all  the  movements  of  the 
human  being,  Trat  this  one  was  new  to 
his  experience. 

Occasional  breaks  in  the  forest, 
showing  fields  of  maize,  patches  of 
tobacco  and  melons,  cottages  with 
trellised  vines  for  porches,  told  me 
that  Parentis  was  not  far  off.  Further 
on  I  came  to  clumps  of  old  oaks  and 
sweet  chestnuts.  Whenever  an  oak  is 
seen  in  this  part  of  the  Landes  it  is  a 
pretty  certain  indication  that  a  town 
or  village  is  near.  In  ancient  days, 
long  before  the  pine  was  sown,  the 
country  was  fairly  wooded  with  oak. 
Was  the  timber  destroyed  in  the  wars 
of  which  Aquitaine  was  such  a  bloody 
theatre  for  centuries  ?  or  was  it  simply 
used  up  for  housebuilding  and  firewood 
by  a  people  that  had  not  yet  learnt 
that  there  are  duties  which  communi- 
ties owe  to  their  most  distant  posterity  ] 
Such  questions  are  more  easily  put 
than  answered.  Remnants  of  the 
ancient  oak  forests  remain  in  the 
Landes,  but  rarely  north  of  the  Adour, 
except  in  the  neighbourhood  of  towns 
and  villages. 

Parentis- en-Born  is  the  chef -lieu  of 
six  communes,  but  it  has  not  quite 
2,000  inhabitants.  It  is  very  pic- 
turesque, for  its  wooden  houses  with 
red  -  tiled  roofs  are  mostly  nestled 
among  trees  and  vines.  The  early 
Gothic  church  is  falling  into  ruin. 
The  tiled  floor  is  so  dilapidated  that 
unless  you  pick  your  way  as  you  walk 
up  the  aisle  your  feet  sink  into  the 
sand.  The  ledge  round  the  rail  where 
the  communicants  kneel  is  as  full  of 
holes  as  Mirza's  Bridge.  The  ceiling  is 
beautifully  groined,  and  the  vaulting 
is  supported  by  graceful  clustered 
columns.  The  building,  roofed  with 
stones,  except  where  these  have  been 
blown  off,  is  capped  by  a  broach  spire 


A   Walking  Tour  in  the  Landes. 


283 


very  broad  and  low.  An  ancient 
wooden  image  of  Christ  to  be  found  in 
this  church  is  a  very  interesting  ex- 
ample of  quaint  sculpture. 

I  stop  at  an  auberge.  It  is  a  strange 
place,  with  great  rooms  and  many 
passages,  but  solemn,  silent,  and 
seemingly  deserted.  No  dog  runs 
forward  to  sniff  the  stranger,  no  cat 
cocks  its  tail  and  rubs  against  the 
table-legs ;  not  even  a  clock  ticks.  I 
knock  on  the  table  with  my  stick,  and 
a  woman  appears  so  suddenly  that  I 
think  she  must  have  popped  up  through 
the  floor  like  a  stage  fairy.  As  it  is 
nearly  noon,  and  I  see  a  ham  hang- 
ing to  a  beam,  I  ask  the  phantom 
hostess  to  fry  me  some  of  the  ham 
— which  is  the  least  ghostly-looking 
object  in  the  place — together  with  some 
eggs.  All  she  says  is  "  Eien,"  but  the 
word  is  quite  to  the  purpose.  She 
goes  into  the  kitchen,  blows  some 
life  into  the  whitened  embers  on  the 
hearth  and  sets  to  work  with  the 
frying-pan.  Ah  !  now  the  flame  leaps 
up,  the  jocund  frying-pan  hisses,  the 
absent  cat  comes  in  stretching  its  legs 
after  a  long  doze  in  the  sun,  the 
pinched  faces  of  ghostly  guests,  with 
their  noses  in  ghostly  glasses,  vanish 
from  the  imagination,  and  the  phantom 
inn  is  humanised  by  the  crackling  fire 
and  the  genial  odour  of  frizzling  ham. 
All  honour  to  the  pig,  for  he  is  a 
merry  beast  when  alive,  and  when 
dead  and  properly  cured  his  body 
inspires  homely  sentiment.  I  have  a 
cheerful  lunch  after  all,  in  spite  of  the 
flies  which  have  been  lavishly  cooked 
with  the  ham  and  eggs,  and  I  am  in 
such  a  good  humour  now  that  I  can  be 
amused  by  the  glass  water-bottle  on 
the  table — a  dolphin  standing  on  its 
head  and  using  its  tail  to  make  a  neck. 

I  soon  left  Parentis,  for  I  had  only 
walked  eight  miles  before  lunch,  and 
nearly  twice  that  distance  lay  between 
me  and  Escource,  where  I  proposed  to 
pass  the  night.  After  leaving  behind 
me  a  stone  cross  with  the  inscription, 
"O  Crux,  Ave!  Mission  1860,"  the 
country  became  very  wild  and  solemn. 
Many  miles  of  forest  were  before  me, 


and  there  was  not  a  sign  of  human  life 
except  the  earthen  resin  pots  fixed  to 
the  pines.  The  road  was  a  mere  sandy 
track.  At  length  I  came  to  a  clearing 
and  a  small  farm.  Seeing  a  man  on 
stilts  I  asked  him  for  some  water.  He 
led  the  way,  stepping  like  an  ostrich, 
to  the  cottage,  where  a  pretty,  dark- 
eyed  girl,  with  dazzling  teeth,  and 
the  soft  profile  of  a  woman  in  her 
first  youth — the  sole  example  of  female 
beauty  I  had  yet  seen  in  the  Landes — 
held  the  pitcher  to  me  like  another 
Rebecca.  But  my  Rebecca's  naked 
feet,  although  they  were  as  shapely  as 
Psyche's,  were  as  dingy  as  a  monkey's, 
and  the  luxuriance  of  her  chestnut 
tresses  was  the  luxuriance  of  the 
garden  of  Eden  after  the  fall  of  the 
gardener.  The  background  harmonised 
well,  but  not  sweetly  with  the  chief 
figure  in  the  picture.  The  interior  of 
the  wooden  dwelling — the  girl  was 
standing  on  the  threshold  —  was 
squalid  and  smoke-begrimed.  It  had 
become  so  impregnated  with  the  odours 
of  the  dirt  demon  that  had  made  it  his 
tabernacle,  that  it  was  past  all 
purifying  except  by  fire.  I  felt  that  I 
was  in  a  part  of  the  Landes  where  the 
few  inhabitants  had  made  scarcely 
any  effort  to  keep  up  with  the  cen- 
turies in  their  course,  and  who  had 
been  left  far,  very  far,  behind  in  the 
race. 

Finding  that  the  road  took  me  a 
good  deal  out  of  my  southernly  course 
I  let  myself  be  guided  by  compass  and 
map,  and  struck  off  by  a  much  nar- 
rower and  rougher  track  where  the 
sand  was  as  loose  as  on  the  sea  shore. 
Now  I  was  once  more  utterly  alone 
with  nature.  There  was  not  even 
the  sound  of  a  forester's  axe  to  rouse  the 
solitude  with  a  note  of  human  sentiment. 
I  heard  nothing  but  the  sighing,  the 
everlasting  sighing,  of  the  pines.  Only 
those  who  have  listened  to  this  sound 
hour  after  hour  in  the  midst  of  a  vast 
forest,  without  even  the  voice  of  a 
friend  to  break  the  sameness  of  its 
perpetual  rising  and  falling,  know 
what  it  is  to  be  alone  with  the  sibyl. 

The  pine  is  the  high  priest  of  the 


284 


A  Walking  Tour  in  the  Landes. 


forest,  to  whom  nature  is  ever  whisper- 
ing her  deepest  mysteries.  In  all  its 
aspects  it  responds  symbolically  to  the 
inner  life  of  man.  It  is  the  most 
joyous  and  the  most  melancholy  of 
trees.  Its  crest  is  filled  with  the  ra- 
diance of  heaven,  but  its  trunk  dwells 
in  such  an  earthly  shadow  of  death 
that  its  own  leaves  cannot  live  there. 
It  is  for  ever  reaching  towards  the  sun 
and  stars,  but  the  more  it  feels  their 
beauty  and  light  the  deeper  grows  the 
shade  about  its  roots.  Who  that  has 
walked  long  among  the  pines  and 
kept  his  eyes  fixed  upon  their  naked 
trunks,  has  not  found  an  irresistible 
melancholy  steal  over  him — a  tender 
and  gracious  melancholy,  perhaps,  but 
strangely  weird  and  solemn?  And 
who  that  has  let  his  sight  wander 
aloft  where  the  branches  wave  their 
leafy  harps  against  a  sky  that  is 
bronzed  by  the  flaming  noon  or  dyed 
by  the  evening  rose,  has  not  felt  his 
mind  overflow  with  delight?  No 
sound,  I  have  said,  but  the  sighing 
of  the  pines.  Ah !  yes,  there  was 
another  sound ;  it  was  that  of  the 
dropping  cone — a  sound  which,  when 
evening  is  coming  on,  and  the  arcades 
of  the  forest  are  getting  dim  as  cathe- 
dral aisles  in  the  dusk,  makes  the  soli- 
tary wanderer  start,  and  half  expect 
to  see  the  puckered  face  of  Pan  peer- 
ing out  of  the  unreal  twilight.  The 
first  notice  one  has  of  a  cone  dropping 
is  the  sharp  metallic  ring  it  gives  out 
as  it  strikes  a  branch  in  its  downward 
course,  or  the  dull  thud  when  it  meets 
the  earth.  The  noise  would  be  hardly 
remarked  in  a  wood  resounding  with 
the  songs  of  birds,  but  in  the  silent 
forest  it  is  capable  of  sending  a  shud- 
der through  the  frame. 

But  if  there  were  no  birds  nor  ci- 
cadas to  cheer  me  on  my  way  this 
afternoon,  there  was  no  lack  of  insect 
life.  I  was  greatly  worried  by  those 
pests  of  the  forests  known  in  France 
as  mouches  grises.  For  voracity  and 
impudence  these  long-bodied  grey- 
winged  flies  are  unrivalled,  except  by 
the  mosquito.  One  is  compelled  to  be 
constantly  battling  with  them,  or  they 


will  work  havoc  with  the  face  and 
hands.  Their  cool  effrontery  is 
only  equalled  by  the  cunning  which 
enables  them  invariably  to  beat  a  safe 
retreat,  and  without  any  apparent 
effort,  when  attacked.  They  are  far 
too  sagacious  to  make  their  buzz  heard 
above  the  steady  hum  of  insect  life. 
They  drop  upon  your  neck  or  nose  or 
back  of  your  hand  without  giving  any 
warning.  A  bottle  of  diluted  ammonia 
is  a  useful  thing  to  carry  in  the  forests, 
for  the  bites  of  these  insects  may  cause 
great  irritation  and  ugly  swellings. 

I  was  glad  when  I  reached  Les 
Forges,  a  pretty  hamlet  on  a  small 
lake,  and  embowered  in  trees.  It 
was  a  blessed  thing  to  be  able  to  rest 
a  while  in  the  cool  room  of  an  auberge, 
and  have  a  talk  with  a  human  being 
over  a  bottle  of  wine.  This  human 
creature  was  the  landlord,  a  smart, 
sturdy  man  of  about  thirty,  with  an 
air  of  prosperity.  Everybody  I  saw 
at  Les  Forges  had  the  same  air.  I 
was  in  the  presence  of  a  new  and 
thriving  civilisation,  very  similar,  I 
should  think,  to  that  of  a  backwoods' 
settlement  in  America,  while  the  future 
town  is  still  in  the  seed.  This  hamlet 
owes  its  existence  to  the  iron-foundry 
which  has  given  it  its  name.  All  its 
buildings  are  made  of  pine  planks,  and 
are  scattered  around  the  lake  under 
the  shadow  of  the  trees.  My  host  told 
me  that  in  winter  the  country  for  miles 
around  was  under  water,  and  that 
everybody  then  went  on  stilts.  "Don't 
you  find  your  life  rather  mournful 
during  those  months?"  said  I. 
"  Comme  $a,"  said  he.  "  We  get 
used  to  it.  And  then,  if  we  have 
too  much  water  sometimes,  !we  have 
never  any  hail  or  cholera."  In  this  inn 
I  saw  a  newspaper,  the  first  since  I 
left  Bordeaux.  It  was  the  Petite 
Gironde,  and  it  contained  in  big  type 
an  account  of  the  bombardment  of 
Foochow. 

As  I  had  still  about  seven  miles  to 
walk  before  reaching  Escource,  and  the 
day  was  far  spent,  I  only  took  a  short 
rest  at  Les  Forges.  As  I  left  the 
hamlet,  dogs  of  all  sizes  rushed  after 


A   Walking  Tour  in  the  Landes. 


285 


me  growling  and  barking  with  great 
spirit.  They  kept  a  few  yards  from  my 
heels.  But  for  my  big  stick  they  would 
have  come  nearer.  Dogs  can  judge 
by  its  appearance  the  kind  of  sensation 
which  a  stick  would  produce  on  their 
backs  with  truly  wonderful  sagacity. 
The  little  dogs  were  the  greatest  nui- 
sance. The  big  dogs  would  have  seldom 
put  themselves  to  the  trouble  of  run- 
ning after  me  if  they  were  not  excited 
by  the  bad  example  of  their  small 
brethren.  In  the  same  manner  little 
men  often  lead  big  men  into  mischief. 
The  evening  was  settling  down  as  I 
reached  Escource.  The  principal  inn 
was  a  low  wooden  building,  with  a 
row  of  fine  plane  trees  in  front.  The 
name  Angelos  over  the  door  was  a 
sign  that  my  three  day's  tramp  had 
brought  me  nearer  the  region  where 
the  difference  between  French  and 
Spanish  blood  is  chiefly  the  Pyre- 
nees. The  entrance  to  the  hostelry 
was  not  at  all  inviting.  It  was  a  dark 
scullery  reeking  with  soapsuds,  and 
filled  with  steam,  for  the  family 
washing  was  in  full  swing.  Pere 
Angelos,  a  man  of  about  sixty,  with 
large  florid  face  deepening  to  the  colour 
of  wine  lees  on  the  cheek  bones,  a 
heavy  grizzly  moustache  and  imperial, 
a  graduated  series  of  chins,  shrewd 
dark  eyes,  and  a  body  that  by  long 
association  with  hogsheads  had  begun 
to  mimic  the  shape  of  one,  was  stand- 
ing in  the  steam  and  encouraging  with 
severe  looks  his  wife  and  daughters  to 
distinguish  themselves  at  the  wash- 
tubs. 

As  my  form  darkened  the  thres- 
hold, he  stared  at  me  with  an  ex- 
pression of  blank  astonishment  that 
contrasted  wofully  with  the  legendary 
picture  of  the  stout  innkeeper  stepping 
forward  to  greet  the  stranger  with 
cordial  words  and  smiles  suggestive  of 
the  fat  turkey  which  by  a  happy  in- 
spiration had  already  been  placed  on 
the  spit. 

But  father  Angelos  is  not  in  reality 
a  sour-tempered  man  ;  he  had  simply 
been  thrown  off  his  guard,  for  he  is 
as  much  a  farmer  as  an  innkeeper,  and 
I  am  a  stranger  whom  he  wishes  to 


understand  before  he  cares  to  welcome. 
I,  however,  treat  him  as  an  old  ac- 
quaintance, and  compel  him  to  thaw. 
He  then  asks  me  to  come  into  the 
inner  room,  and  as  if  to  apologise  for 
the  steam  and  soapsuds,  remarks, 
"  Aujourd'hui  on  fait  la  lessive." 
The  inner  room  is  the  public  room 
and  kitchen — an  almost  invariable 
combination  in  these  country  inns. 
The  lowness  of  the  ceiling  traversed 
by  heavy  beams  makes  it  look  larger 
than  it  really  is.  There  is  the  wide 
fire-place  with  chimney  open  to  within 
three  feet  of  the  ceiling,  with  the  pine- 
wood  fire  blazing  on  the  hearth  that 
one  sees  throughout  the  Landes  in  all 
seasons.  The  furniture  consists  of  a 
great  dresser  and  several  long  tables 
and  benches  for  the  convenience  of  the 
family  and  the  public.  Everybody  and 
everything,  from  host  Angelos  to  the 
jugs  and  platters,  seem  to  have  been 
carefully  smoke-dried  for  better  pre 
servation. 

To  my  usual  inquiry  about  a  night's 
lodging  I  received  an  affirmative  an- 
swer, but  it  did  not  come  from  the 
heart.  I  imagined  Angelos  inwardly 
growling,  "  Yes,  you  can  stop  here, 
since  you  have  come  ;  but  I  had  rather 
you  had  gone  elsewhere,  especially  as 
it  is  washing  day."  Washing  day  is  a 
dreadful  family  earthquake  all  the 
world  over.  Having  expressed  a  de- 
sire to  see  my  bed-room,  Angelos  called 
one  of  his  daughters,  and  said  some- 
thing to  her  in  patois.  She  made  a 
sign  to  me,  and  I  followed  her  up  a 
wide  uneven  staircase  and  along  a 
white-washed  passage  from  which 
other  and  narrower  passages  branched 
off  to  the  right  and  left ;  for  the 
house,  although  entirely  of  wood, 
was  built  upon  an  ambitious  plan. 
She  led  the  way  into  a  room. 

"  Voilfk  votre  chambre,"  she  said,  and 
left  me  to  my  reflections  before  I  had 
time  to  look  round.  Prepared  as  I 
always  am  to  make  the  best  of  things 
when  on  the  tramp,  I  did  not  like  this 
bedroom.  It  was  not  the  extreme 
poorness  and  scantiness  of  the  furni- 
ture, but  the  dirty  appearance  of  the 
bed  linen  that  disheartened  me.  I  per- 


286 


A   Walking  Tour  in  the  Landes. 


ceived  at  a  glance  that  the  previous  occu- 
piers had  been  travelling  labourers  or 
tramps.  Having  resolved  to  lie  in  my 
clothes  on  the  outside — it  was  useless 
to  think  of  seeking  better  quarters  in 
the  village — I  returned  to  the  kitchen, 
and  invited  the  landlord  in  the 
cheeriest  voice  I  could  muster  to 
drink  a  glass  of  his  best  cognac  with 
me.  I  have  always  found  it  good 
policy  to  be  convivial  with  landlords. 
Under  the  warming  influence  of  the 
brandy,  father  Angelos's  mercury  rose 
twenty  degrees.  In  the  course  of  ten 
minutes  he  became  quite  genial.  He 
then  remembered  that  he  had  a  better 
bedroom  than  the  one  I  had  just  been 
shown  into,  and  he  again  called  his 
daughter  and  told  her  to  lead  the  way 
to  it.  This  room  pleased  me.  It  was 
evidently  the  best  one  in  the  house, 
and  intended  for  distinguished  visi- 
tors, such  as  commercial  travellers. 
The  old-fashioned  furniture  was  still 
good,  the  bed  linen  was  white,  the 
walls  were  embellished  with  coloured 
prints  of  a  religious  character,  and  the 
window  looked  out  upon  a  row  of 
luxuriant  plane  trees,  whose  branches 
touched  the  panes.  I  opened  the 
rickety  and  worm-eaten  casement, 
and  let  in  the  pine-scented  breath  of 
evening.  The  sun  had  set ;  the  sky 
was  still  blue,  but  blue  with  a  dash  of 
indigo,  and  the  deep  shadows  of  night 
issuing  from  the  crypts  of  the  forest 
were  chasing  the  fleet  twilight  towards 
the  last  western  glow.  The  only 
sound  that  broke  the  calm  was  one 
that  hushed  it  too.  The  youngest 
daughter  of  the  inn,  a  little  creature 
of  five  or  six  years,  was  sitting  alone 
on  a  damp  green  bench  in  the  dusk, 
under  the  broad  motionless  leaves  of 
the  plane  trees.  She  was  singing  to  a 
doll,  with  the  soft  warble  of  childhood 
that  has  forgotten  human  neighbour- 
hood, an  old  song  that  has  been  sung 
by  many  generations  of  French 
children : — 

"  Frere  Jacques,  dormez-vous  ? 

Dormez-vous  ?  dormez-vous  ? 
Sonnez  les  matines,  sonnez  les  matines — 
Bim,  baum,  baum  ! ' ' 

The   child  was    only  two   or   three 


yards  beneath  me,  but  she  had  no 
thought  that  anybody  was  looking  at 
her  brown  head  swaying  between  the 
leaves,  and  her  small  sunburnt  feet 
dangling  over  the  lighter  sand.  Some- 
thing reminded  me  that  these  pretty 
pictures  were  not  food  for  the  hungry, 
and  I  retraced  my  steps  to  the  kitchen. 
"  What  is  there  for  dinner?  " 
"Pas  grand' chose.  Part  of  a  fowl 
that  was  cooked  this  morning,  and  a 
pigeon  if  you  wish." 

"A  pigeon,  by  all  means." 
A  boy,  whom  I  noticed  then  for  the 
first  time,   went   into  the  yard    and 
returned  in  a  minute  with  a  fluttering 
pigeon. 

"  Have  you  killed  it  ? " 
"  Not  yet ;  I  am  just  going  to." 
"Don't  do  it.     Let  it  go  again.     I 
don't   like  pigeons  quite  so   fresh  as 
that." 

The  boy  was  nothing  loth  to  do  as  I 
bade  him,  for  the  bird  was  his  own. 
Having  commenced  the  evening  with 
a  good  action,  I  was  rewarded  with  the 
company  of  my  host  at  dinner  in  an 
adjoining  room.  Father  Angelos  had 
made  himself  beautiful.  He  had  taken 
off  his  blouse  and  put  on  a  black  coat 
in  my  honour.  The  dinner  turned  out 
better  than  Madame  Angelos  had  led  me 
to  expect.  A  snowy  cloth  had  been 
laid  on  the  table,  together  with  two 
linen  napkins  that"  with  little  stretch- 
ing might  have  served  for  sheets. 
The  repast  was  not  confined  to  the 
remnants  of  the  mid- day  fowl,  for  we 
had  also  soup  and  boiled  beef  (bouilli, 
which  I  can  only  appreciate  when  on  a 
walking  tour).  We  were  waited  upon 
by  the  eldest  daughter,  a  girl  with  a 
face  as  mild  and  submissive  as  a  nun's. 
She  did  not  venture  to  say  a  word 
throughout  the  meal,  for  Angelos 
inspired  his  family  with  awe  when  he 
put  on  his  best  coat  and  society 
manners.  When  the  dessert  came  his 
mercury  had  risen  as  high  as  it  would 
go,  and  that  was  a  long  way.  He 
talked  incessantly,  and  so  fast,  and 
with  such  a  full-flavoured  Gascon 
accent  that  I  had  some  difficulty  in 
following  him.  The  fact  of  my  being 
an  Englishman  brought  back  to  his 


A  Walking  Tour  in  the  Landes. 


287 


mind  pleasant  memories  of  his  soldering 
days — the  days  of  the  Crimean  war. 
When  he  talked  of  English  soldiers 
and  sailors  he  held  his  sides  and  roared 
so  loud  with  laughter  that  his  timid 
daughter  looked  scared.  I  did  not  at 
first  take  these  explosions  of  mirth  as 
complimentary,  hut  I  soon  found  that 
they  were  caused  by  a  genuine  admira- 
tion of  the  only  British  qualities  which 
had  left  a  lasting  impression  on  my 
host — love  of  fighting  and  capacity  for 
drinking.  The  good  wine  that  he 
brought  from  "  behind  the  faggot  " 
helped  down  his  stories,  but  after  a 
while  neither  his  thunderclaps  of 
laughter  nor  his  old  wine  would  keep 
me  awake.  So  I  excused  myself  on 
the  ground  of  fatigue  and  went  to 
bed. 

I  was  up  early  the  next  morning, 
for  I  had  had  visitors  during  the  night 
which  made  me  keenly  alive  to  the 
attractions  of  the  outer  world.  The 
radiance  of  the  morning  and  the 
lightness  and  sweetness  of  the  air 
soon  enabled  me  to  throw  off  the 
depressing  effects  of  a  night  spent  in 
battling  with  innumerable  foes.  I 
strolled  into  the  church,  a  building  of 
the  worst  taste.  Just  inside  the  door 
a  village  urchin  was  tolling  the  bell. 
Each  time  the  rope  slid  up  through  the 
hole  in  the  ceiling  the  boy's  naked 
heels  rose  out  of  his  sabots.  The  bell 
stopped,  and  an  old  priest  with  long 
white  hair  began  to  sing  his  mass  in  a 
voice  of  beautiful  tone,  and  the  acolyte 
who  gave  the  responses  had  a  bass  of 
tremendous  power.  The  altar  boys, 
seven  or  eight  in  number,  wore  their 
blouses  and  sabots.  No  pomps  and 
vanities  there. 

I  returned  to  the  auberge  for  my 
cafe  au  lait,  and  to  take  leave  of  my 
friend  Angelos.  He  only  charged  me 
4  francs  50  centimes  for  my  dinner, 
bed,  breakfast,  his  company  and  all  his 
anecdotes.  I  hope  I  may  never  fall 
into  worse  hands  than  his!  From 
Escource  I  took  the  road  to  Onesse. 
The  general  features  of  the  country 
remained  the  same.  The  seemingly 
illimitable  forest  was  on  each  side  of 


me,  and  in  front  was  a  long,  narrow 
stretch  of  sand  called  a  road.  Here 
and  there  moss  and  cut  heather  had 
been  laid  upon  it.  However  curious  it 
may  seem,  this  method  of  paving  is 
not  to  be  despised  in  a  sandy  region.  I 
met  no  human  kind,  except  a  party  of 
charcoal  burners,  until  I  reached 
Onesse,  a  larger  and  busier  village  than 
Escource.  It  being  nearly  noon  I 
stopped  to  lunch  at  an  inn  of  some 
importance.  I  had  a  companion  at 
table ;  a  young  man  with  a  face  like  a 
red  apple  full  ripe,  and  eyes  like 
black  glass  beads.  He  told  me  that 
he  was  "  in  the  cognac,"  a  state  to 
which  his  looks  conformed,  and  that 
he  represented  a  firm  at  Bordeaux. 
Wishing  to  be  very  friendly,  he  opened 
a  mahogany  case  which  I  thought  must 
have  contained  some  musical  instru- 
ment. Instead  of  flute  or  clarinet  I 
saw  a  row  of  little  bottles.  These 
contained  his  samples  of  brandy. 
Taking  one  of  them  he  poured  a  few 
drops  into  a  glass  and  insisted  upon 
my  drinking  them.  Then  he  took 
another  and  another,  repeating  the 
same  experiment  each  time  upon  me 
until  he  reached  the  highest  note  of  the 
gamut.  I  saw  by  the  protuberance 
and  glitter  of  his  black  beads  that  he 
expected  me  then  to  give  signs  of 
ecstasy.  So  not  to  disappoint  him  I 
exclaimed  "  Magnificent !  superb  !  " 
— all  the  adjectives  most  dear  to  the 
French  heart.  He  then  shut  up  his 
case  with  the  air  of  a  missionary  who 
had  just  baptised  a  heathen.  For 
lunch,  the  piece  de  resistance  was  a 
roast  fowl— a  fowl  that  had  been  killed 
weeks  or  months  before  and  preserved 
in  grease.  This  is  a  very  common 
method  of  treating  poultry  in  Gascony. 
It  enables  people  always  to  have  a 
fowl  in  the  house  ready  for  use  at  a 
moment's  notice.  In  the  better  class 
of  rural  inns,  large  provision  of  hams 
and  preserved  poultry  is  generally 
made  for  the  winter.  In  passing 
through  the  kitchen  I  noticed  that  the 
spit  on  which  the  fowl  was  roasting 
close  to  the  hearth  before  a  wood  fire 
was  turned  by  clockwork  fixed  to  the 


288 


A    Walking  Tour  in  the  Landes. 


side  of  the  chimney  and  moved  by  a 
heavy  weight.  There  were  two  other 
noteworthy  dishes  at  this  meal :  one 
was  stewed  mushrooms  that  had  been 
preserved  in  oil,  and  the  other  was 
green  capsicums  fresh  cut  from  the 
garden  and  mixed  with  olive  oil  and 
red  wine  vinegar. 

The  walk  from  Onesse  to  the  next 
village,  Lesperon,  gave  me  some  very 
rough  work.  I  had  fallen  upon  a 
range  of  dunes  running  at  right  angles 
with  the  coast  line  about  twenty  miles 
inland.  The  country  was  even  more 
desolate  than  the  wilderness  between 
Parentis  and  Les  Forges ;  but  the 
forest  was  less  dense,  and  the  brush- 
wood of  furze  and  heather  was  some- 
times varied  by  broad  masses  of 
bracken. 

After  some  hours  of  difficult  walk- 
ing I  came  to  a  stream  running  with 
crystal  clearness  at  the  bottom  of  a 
gully  of  its  own  making.  It  was 
evident  from  this  that  the  tuff  lay 
much  deeper  here  than  in  much  of  the 
Landes  which  I  had  already  traversed  ; 
consequently  the  water  would  pro- 
bably be  better.  On  each  side  of  the 
stream  was  a  steep  bank  of  almost 
snow-white  sand.  Here  I  may  remark 
that  this  is  the  true  colour  of  the 
Landes  sand,  from  the  large  propor- 
tion of  quartz  crystals  which  it  con- 
tains, and  that  its  generally  dirty 
appearance  is  due  to  the  vegetable 
soil  that  has  become  mixed  with  it. 
Although  the  stream  was  spanned  by 
a  rough  wooden  bridge  I  could  not 
resist  the  temptation  of  sliding  down 
the  nearest  sand  bank  in  that  elegant 
posture  which  mountaineers  frequently 
assume  in  travelling  down  the  snowy 
flanks  of  the  Alps,  for  the  sparkle  of 
that  water  at  the  bottom  of  the  gully 
would  have  fascinated  any  thirsty 
wanderer.  It  was  just  as  I  expected, 
pure  and  cold.  But  the  most  lasting 
impression  which  the  spot  will  leave 
upon  my  mind  is  the  difference  be- 
tween climbing  up  a  steep  sand  bank, 
and  sliding  down  one. 

The  evening  was  so  young  when  I 
reached  Lesperon,  my  stopping  place 


for  the  night,  that  I  had  time  to  look 
at  the  church  before  dinner.  This 
building  is  one  of  great  interest, 
especially  to  Englishmen,  for  it  was 
raised  by  their .  forefathers.  Local 
authority  is  unanimous  on  this  point. 
The  portal  nearly  corresponds  to  Eng- 
lish Norman,  but  the  interior  arches 
are  slightly  pointed,  and  supported  by 
low  and  massive  round  pillars  without 
capitals.  The  side  aisles  and  choir 
have  been  partially  renewed.  Over 
the  west  front,  strengthened  by  but- 
tresses, rises  a  broad  tower  capped  by 
a  very  low  broach  spire  in  two  angles. 
On  the  slanting  top  of  one  of  the 
buttresses  is  a  self-sown  pine,  several 
feet  in  height,  which  adds  greatly  to 
the  picturesqueness  of  the  building. 
But  the  most  characteristic  feature  of 
the  church — one  that  compels  the 
modern  to  stand  still  and  wonder  at 
the  strange  contrasts  of  the  turbulent 
times  in  which  it  was  raised — is  a 
square  tower  built  out  on  the  south 
side  with  narrow  loopholes  for  defence. 
I  put  up  for  the  night  at  a  great 
comfortless  auberge,  and  dined  upon 
a  couple  of  turtle  doves,  and  about  a 
dozen  small  birds,  suspiciously  like 
tomtits,  which  an  old  woman  with 
nose  and  chin  bent  by  time  to  the 
shape  of  sugar-nippers  was  threading 
on  a  spit  as  I  entered.  After  dinner 
the  schoolmaster  dropped  in  to  smoke 
his  evening  pipe.  As  he  was  dressed 
like  a  countryman,  it  was  some  time 
before  I  learnt  that  I  was  in  the  pre- 
sence of  so  distinguished  a  person. 
One  after  another  his  cronies  came  in 
and  joined  him  in  a  game  of  cards. 
They  were  small  tradesmen  or  farmers — 
men  of  rough  exterior,  but  of  pleasant, 
kindly  manners.  They  called  for  beer 
— a  boisson  de  luxe  in  these  parts — and 
invited  me  to  join  their  party.  I  did 
so,  but  only  as  a  spectator,  for  the 
game  they  played,  called  "  manillf," 
was  quite  new  to  me.  When  not 
talking  to  me  they  spoke  the  language 
of  the  country,  which  I  thought  at 
first  was  Basque.  I  was  mistaken. 
The  schoolmaster  described  the  Basques 
as  tetus  et  bourrus,  but  the  Landais  he 


A  Walking  Tour  in  the  I/andes. 


289 


said  were  quiet,  amiable  people  who, 
when  they  quarrelled — which  very 
seldom  happened — never  drew  murder- 
ous knives  from  their  pockets  and 
blew  out  the  candles.  He  was  a 
Landais. 

This  genial  schoolmaster  was  so 
anxious  that  I  should  visit  the  Chateau 
de  Lesperon  in  the  neighbourhood, 
that  I  accepted  his  offer  to  conduct  me 
thither  the  next  morning.  We  started 
at  an  early  hour.  My  new  friend 
was  so  transformed  by  black  cloth 
that  I  scarcely  recognised  in  him  the 
card-player  of  the  night  before.  The 
Chateau  de  Lesperon  merits  no  de- 
scription. It  is  an  uninteresting  ruin 
of  a  castellated  mansion  built  at  the 
close  of  the  fifteenth  century.  In 
one  of  the  rooms  is  a  framed  manu- 
script giving  some  extracts  from  the 
Commentaires  of  Blaise  de  Mont 
Luc.  Certain  passages  of  these  ex- 
tracts are  stamped  by  a  very  quaint 
humour,  and  tell  us  what  sort  of  man 
it  was  who  -built  this  house  in  the 
desert.  Blaise,  after  referring  to  the 
services  he  had  rendered  by  bearing 
arms  for  "  the  kings,  my  masters ' 
makes  the  following  curious  observa- 
tion : — "  Croyez  moi  que  les  playes  qtie 
j'ay  regues  m'ont  plus  donn6  de  recon- 
fort  que  d'ennuy  ;  et  m'asseure  quand 
je  serai  mort  qua  grand  peyne  dira  on 
que  j'emporte  au  jour  de  la  resurrec- 
tion en  Paradis  tout  le  sang  os  et 
veines  que  j'ay  apporte  au  monde  du 
ventre  de  ma  mere." 

But  although  the  sturdy  old  soldier 
professes  to  have  no  cause  to  regret 
his  devotion  to  his  royal  masters,  he 
records  with  evident  relish,  not  un- 
mixed with  malice,  the  following  local 
anecdote: — "Le  roy  Louis  douzieme 
allant  a  Bayonne  logea  en  un  petit 
village  nomme  1'Esperon,  lequel  est 
plus  pres  de  Bayonne  que  de  Bordeaux. 
Or,  sur  le.  grand  chemin,  Le  Cayle  eust 
fait  bastir  une  tres  belle  maison.  Le 
roy  trouva  estrange  qu'en  un  pays  si 
maigre  et  dans  les  landes  et  sables 
qui  ne  portoient  rien  ce  Cayle  eust 
fait  bastir  une  si  belle  maison ;  de 
quoy  il  entretint  pendant  son  souper 
No.  310. — VOL.  LII. 


son  Mareschal  des  Logis  qui  luy 
fait  responce  que  Le  Cayle  estait 
un  riche  homme,  ce  que  le  roy  ne 
pouvait  croire  veu  le  miserable  pays 
ou  la  maison  estait  assise  ;  il  1'envoya 
querir  sur  1'heure  mesme  et  luy  dit 
ces  mots  :  '  Yenez  §a,  Cayle,  pourquoy 
n'avez  vous  fait  bastir  cette  maison 
en  quelque  endroit  ou  le  pays  fust 
bon  et  fertile?'  'Sire,'  dit  Le  Cayle, 
'  je  suis  natif  de  ce  pays  et  le  trouve 
prou  bon  pour  moy.'  '  Estes  vous  si 
riche,'  dit  le  roy,  'comme  Ton  m'a 
dit?'  'Je  ne  suis  pas  pauvre,'  dit-il. 
'  Graces  &  Dieu  j'ay  de  quoy  vivre.' 
Le  roy  dit  lors,  '  Comment  est-il  pos- 
sible qu'en  un  pays  si  maigre  et 
sterille  tu  sois  peu  devenir  si  riche  1 ' 
'  Cela  m'a  este  bien  ayse,'  dit  Le  Cayle, 
'sire.'  'Dites  moy  done  comment,' 
dit  le  roy.  '  Par  ce,  sire,  que  j'ay 
tous jours  plustost  fait  mes  affaires 
que  celles  de  mon  maistre  et  de  mes 
voisins.'  '  Le  diable,  ne  m'emport,' 
dit  le  roy  (ainsi  estait  son  serment), 
'  ta  raison  est  bonne,  car  en  faisant 
de  ceste  sorte  et  te  levant  matin  tu 
ne  pourrais  faillir  de  devenir  riche.' 

0  combien  d'enfants  a  laisse  ce  Cayle 
heritiers  de  ses  complexions  !     Je  n'ay 
jamais  est6  de  ceux-la." 

I  took  leave  of  the  friendly  school- 
master under  the  wide-spreading  oaks 
which  surround  the  Chateau  de  Les- 
peron, ajid  soon  struck  the  high 
road  to  Bayonne.  As  I  wished  to 
pass  through  Dax,  it  was  not  long 
before  I  quitted  the  excellent  national 
road  for  one  of  those  narrow  sandy 
tracks  through  the  forest  of  which 

1  had  already  had  so  much  experience. 
The  morning   was   glorious,  and    the 
cicadas    were    scraping    on   their   one 
note  like  insect  fiddlers  that  had  lin- 
gered too  long  over  the  sun's  naming 
beaker.     Seeing   one  of   these   happy 
creatures    low    down    on    a    pine,    a 
school-boy's  inspiration  seized  me.     I 
would  try  to  catch  it.     I  was  within 
a   yard    of    it,    and    the    insect,    still 
playing  upon  its  fiddle,  was  not  aware 
of  my  approach.     It  was  full  in  the 
sunlight,  and  the  rays  falling  on  its 
back   made   it    shine    like    burnished 

u 


290 


A  Walking  TOUT  in  the  Landes.. 


gun-metal.  As  I  raised  my  hand  away 
it  went  to  another  pine,  with  a  heavy 
flight  and  a  strident  scream  of  fear 
or  anger.  At  the  same  moment  a 
lizard,  about  eight  inches  long,  which 
I  had  not  noticed  before  because  it  was 
nearly  the  same  colour  as  the  pine 
bark,  ran  up  the  tree  with  the  speed 
of  lightning,  and  was  instantly  lost  to 
view.  Had  I  disturbed  these  crea- 
tures in  a  friendly  tete-a-tete,  or  in  a 
bitter  quarrel  for  the  possession  of 
the  tree  ? 

My  next  stopping-place  was  Taller, 
a  pretty  village,  where  the  people 
seemed  to  spend  their  lives  basking 
like  lizards.  I  arrived  here  in  the 
full  blaze  of  noon,  and  the  shade  of 
host  Lassalle's  back  room  was  so  re- 
freshing that  I  soon  began  to  shiver, 
and  was  obliged  to  go  outside  again 
and  sun  myself  against  the  southern 
wall. 

While  I  am  standing  here  the 
aubergiste's  young  wife  is  engaged  on 
the  problem  of  preparing  an  accept- 
able meal  from  such  ingredients  as  the 
house  affords.  I  have  no  misgivings 
on  this  subject,  for  there  is  scarcely 
a  Frenchwoman  from  Dunkerque  to 
the  Pic  du  Midi  who  cannot  produce 
in  half  an  hour  a  savoury  and  attrac- 
tive repast  with  next  to  nothing,  if 
her  heart  is  in  it.  And  I  can  see  that 
Madame  Lassalle's  heart,  is  in  her 
work.  It  is  a  pleasure  to  her  to 
cook  for  a  genuine  stranger,  from 
whom  she  may  hear  some  news  of 
the  outer  world.  In  almost  no  time 
she  appears  on  the  threshold,  and 
says  with  a  smile,  "  Monsieur  est  servi." 
In  the  cool  back  room  a  white  cloth 
has  been  spread  over  a  little  table,  and 
a  napkin  has  been  laid  beside  a  plate. 
In  the  centre  is  a  tureen  full  of 
steaming  soupe  aux  choux.  Cabbage 
soup  has  a  barbarous  sound  in  Eng- 
lish ears,  but  more  than  one  hungry 
Englishman  has,  I  expect,  felt  his 
heart  glow  with  gratitude  towards 
the  clever  Frenchwoman  who  has  set 
it  before  him.  Do  not  turn  up  your 
fastidious  noses,  English  housewives, 
but  humble  yourselves  before  the 


French  menagere  until  you  have  learnt 
her  secret  for  making  cabbage  soup. 
I  can  tell  you  that  the  ingredients  are 
a  cabbage,  a  piece  of  ham  or  bacon, 
and  a  dry  sausage  with  garlic  in  it ; 
but  this  knowledge  is  only  half  the 
battle.  If  no  woman  not  bred  in 
England  can  boil  a  potato  or  grill  a 
chop,  so  no  woman  not  bred  in  France 
can  make  a  soupe  aux  choux  or  an  ome- 
lette au  cerfeuil.  After  the  soup  I 
have  the  ham  that  was  boiled  with 
it,  and  a  little  dish  of  green  capsicums 
with  oil  and  vinegar.  The  next  course 
is  a  fowl,  cut  up,  and  served  with  a 
sauce  which  is  another  secret  of  the 
Frenchwoman.  Then,  for  dessert,  I 
have  a  plate  of  figs  just  picked  from 
beneath  the  cool  broad  leaves  that 
droop  from  the  wall  of  the  little  inn, 
and  beautiful  in  their  purple  bloom. 
Hitherto  in  the  Landes  I  have  found 
the  wine  bad,  for  the  aubergistes  have 
bought  it  of  the  Bordeaux  dealers, 
who  have  knavishly  counterfeited 
nature ;  but  host  Lassalle's  wine  is 
a  sound  and  generous  liquor — real 
blood  of  the  grape.  It  comes  from  the 
Chalosse,  an  excellent  wine-growing 
country,  where  he  has  a  vineyard.  It 
has  the  strong,  sweet,  and  full  flavour 
of  all  the  red  wines  of  the  south.  If 
it  is  less  pleasant  than  the  light  wines 
of  the  Gironde,  it  is  vastly  superior 
to  the  compounded  liquor  that  is  so 
often  called  Bordeaux. 

I  had  a  long  talk  with  Lassalle, 
who,  when  he  perceived  that  I  was  an 
Englishman,  became  strangely  ex- 
cited. He  first  told  me  that  Taller 
was  named  after  Tallas,  an  English- 
man, and  then  that  he  too  was  "a 
sort  of  Englishman."  I  asked  him  to 
sit  down  and  take  his  coffee  with  me, 
and  explain  how  it  was  that  he  was 
a  sort  of  Englishman.  While  we 
were  drinking  our  coffee  he  told  me 
that  he  was  descended  from  an  Eng- 
lish mendicant  friar,  who  came  over 
to  Gascony  during  the  religious  wars 
(his  mind  was  very  misty  as  to  dates), 
and  was  a  long  while  concealed  in  the 
house  of  a  woman  of  Taller.  He  was 
at  length  discovered  and  killed,  but 


A  Walking  Tour  in  the  Landes. 


his  blood  continued  to  flow  in  the 
veins  of  a  son  whom  his  benefactress 
gave  to  the  world.  The  son  took  his 
mother's  name,  which  was  Lassalle. 
While  my  host  told  me  this  story,  with 
the  pride  of  a  man  who  endeavours 
to  prove  that  he  is  descended  from 
John  of  Gaunt  or  Robert  Bruce,  his 
wife,  fidgeting  uncomfortably,  said  she 
did  not  see  the  good  of  repeating  "  such 
histories,"  and  looked  as  if  she  would 
like  to  place  a  hand  over  her  hus- 
band's mouth.  She  evidently  did  not 
think  that  the  mendicant  friar  was  an 
ancestor  to  be  proud  of,  notwithstand- 
ing his  English  nationality.  But  Lassalle 
was  much  too  full  of  his  family  tradi- 
tions to  pay  any  heed  to  her. 

The  church  at  Taller,  like  the  one 
at  Lesperon,  was  built  by  the  English 
during  the  three  hundred  years'  occu- 
pation. It  has  all  the  appearance  of 
having  been  originally  designed  for  a 
fortress,  and  subsequently  used  for  re- 
ligious purposes.  The  walls  are  of  great 
thickness,  and  are  pierced  in  places  by 
narrow  loopholes.  The  low  and  mas- 
sive portal  is  in  the  form  of  a  tre- 
foiled  arch.  After  leaving  Taller,  a 
two  hours'  walk  through  a  forest  of 
beautiful  young  pines,  their  colour 
that  "  living  green  "  of  which  Dante 
speaks,  brought  me  into  the  high  road 
to  Dax.  Parched  with  thirst,  and 
half  dazed  by  the  fierce  light  of  the 
afternoon  sun,  I  read  with  thankful- 
ness the  word  "  Aubergiste  "  in  un- 
couth letters  over  the  door  of  a  way- 
side hovel.  I  knocked  with  my  stick 
against  the  closed  door.  No  answer, 
no  movement  from  within.  I  knocked 
with  increased  force,  and  presently  I 
heard  a  shrill  voice  from  the  farther 
end  of  a  field  of  maize,  and  saw  the 
head  of  a  human  being  coming  towards 
me,  just  above  the  green  leaves  and 
yellowing  spikes.  In  a  few  minutes 
a  woman  struggled  into  full  view. 
What  a  woman  !  There  was  nothing 
to  mark  her  sex  except  a  piece  of 
tattered  stuff  about  her  body  that 
looked  as  if  it  would  be  left  on  the 
first  bramble  that  touched  it,  and  which 
barely  covered  her  knees.  Her  face, 


arms,  and  legs  were  as  brown  as  the 
sand — a  living  woman  in  terra-cotta. 
All  she  had  to  sell  was  a  white  wine, 
but  the  drinkers  called  so  seldom  that 
she  shut  up  her  house  nearly  all  day 
while  she  worked  in  the  field. 

I  take  no  pleasure  in  recalling  my 
sensations  during  the  tedious  trudge 
along  the  hot  and  dusty  road  to  Dax. 
I  looked  wistfully  at  the  milestones. 
Every  kilometre  now  seemed  a  league. 
Oxen,  with  fringes  of  string  bobbing 
over  their  faces,  dragging  their  creak- 
ing wains  along  at  a  snail's  pace  that 
neither  goads  nor  curses  would  quicken ; 
troops  of  panting  cattle  with  drovers 
and  dogs  ;  country  carts  spinning  over 
the  road  in  a  cloud  of  dust  and  drawn 
by  fleet  Landais  horses,  and  tramps 
like  myself,  all  wending  southward 
— were  so  many  proofs  that  I  was  near- 
ing  some  centre  of  human  activity : 
but  the  hours  passed,  the  sun  sank 
low,  and  no  town  was  in  sight.  Ah 
well !  I  reached  Dax  at  last,  covered 
with  dust,  and  as  weary  as  any  pil- 
grim. I  entered  the  town  at  the  hour 
when  all  the  Dacquoises  were  dropping 
the  last  pinch  of  salt  into  the  evening 
soup. 

It  was  my  luck  to  fall  upon  a  good- 
old-fashioned  inn  with  a  table  d'hdte 
and  a  merry  company.  Those  who 
have  not  known  the  happiness  of 
reaching  a  good  inn  and  genial  society 
after  a  long  day's  walk  may  console 
themselves  with  the  thought  that  they 
have  not  yet  tasted  one  of  the  chief 
pleasures  of  life. 

Dax,  like  many  an  old  town  with  a 
stirring  history,  builds  up  expectations 
in  the  mind  of  the  stranger  which  are 
not  realised  on  the  spot.  Not  a  ghost 
of  any  Roman,  Vandal,  Yisigoth,  Sara- 
cen, Frank,  Norman,  or  Englishman 
among  its  old  masters  could  feel  at 
home  in  Dax  of  to-day.  As  far  as  I 
could  discover  there  are  but  two  things 
in  the  place  which  visibly  connect  it 
with  antiquity.  These  are  the  hot 
springs,  as  hot  and  abundant  as  in  the 
days  when  they  attracted  the  Romans 
thither,  and  the  Gallo-Roman  wall 
that  still  surrounds  a  portion  of  the 
u  2 


292 


A  Walking  Tour  in  the  Landes. 


old  town.  The  springs  to  which  Dax 
owes  its  corrupted  Latin  name  are 
certainly  very  curious  and  remarkable. 
They  rise  in  the  centre  of  the  town  in 
a  large  basin  inclosed  by  railings. 
Over  the  water  is  a  perpetual  cloud  of 
steam  that  completely  obscures  the 
view  when  the  weather  is  cold.  At 
other  times  one  can  see  the  holes  in 
the  ground  from  which  hot  water  and 
air  bubbles  are  eternally  rising.  So 
great  is  the  flow  of  water  that  the 
municipality  can  only  employ  a  very 
small  portion  of  it  for  bathing  and 
drinking  purposes.  People  are  allowed 
to  bring  pitchers  and  pails  and  tap  it 
as  they  please  for  household  use.  Its 
temperature  is  158°  Fahr.  These  ther- 
mal springs  cause  a  moist  heat  that 
makes  the  climate  of  Dax  very  enjoy- 
able to  mosquitoes.  Like  all  mineral 
waters  put  to  commercial  purposes 
these  are  credited  with  marvellous 
medicinal  properties.  All  the  ills  to 
which  flesh  is  heir,  except  death,  they 
are  supposed  to  cure.  The  ancient 
wall  already  mentioned  was  almost 
perfect  until  1858,  when  the  intelli- 
gent Dacquois,  finding  it  greatly  in 
the*  way  of  their  desire  of  expansion, 
proceeded  to  pull  it  down.  They 
would  have  completed  the  task  they 
set  themselves  had  not  the  govern- 
ment interfered  in  time  to  save  just 
"  enough  of  the  past  for  the  future  to 
grieve."  To  these  people,  in  whom  the 
blood  of  their  temporary  rulers — the 
Vandals — still  courses  gaily,  belongs 
the  honour  of  nearly  destroying  a  work 
of  unique  interest.  What  remains  of 
the  wall  is  a  marvellous  piece  of  solid 
masonry.  .  Although  post-Roman  the 
construction  is  on  the  Roman  model — 
a  simple  parapet  strengthened  with 
round  towers.  Planted  with  trees  in 
boulevard  fashion  this  fragment  of  the 
ancient  ramparts  has  become  the 
favourite  promenade  of  the  people  of 
Dax.  The  fourteenth-century  castle 
on  the  left  bank  of  the  Adour  is  a 
noticeable  object,  but  it  is  not  an  im- 
posing specimen  of  a  mediaeval  strong- 
hold. From  its  position  it  could  never 
have  been  worth  much  as  a  fortress. 


It  is  now  used  for  soldiers'  barracks. 
In  the  matter  of  ecclesiastical  build- 
ings the  town  can  show  nothing  of 
interest. 

I  dropped  into  Dax  on  the  eve  of  its 
annual  fete.  The  next  day  at  an  early 
hour  the  town  was  fast  filling  with 
sightseers  and  revellers  from  all  the 
country  side.  The  majority  came  from 
the  villages  and  hamlets  of  the  rich 
valley  of  the  Adour  in  carts  drawn  by 
horses,  donkeys,  and  oxen  A  spec- 
tacle had  been  announced  for  the 
afternoon,  the  most  irresistible  form 
of  amusement  that  these  southerners 
know.  It  was  announced  as  "  Courses 
de  taureaux  ;  landaises  et  espagnolles." 
I  had  heard  about  the  courses  lan- 
daises, but  had  never  seen  them,  so 
I  paid  for  a  seat  in  the  great  wooden 
amphitheatre,  where  the  feats  of 
prowess  and  agility  were  to  take 
place.  The  building  had  been  con- 
structed hastily,  but  with  consider- 
able science.  In  general  design  it 
was  almost  identical  with  that  of  the 
Roman  amphitheatres,  such  as  we  see 
them  at  Nimes  and  Aries.  The  arena 
was  inclosed  by  planking  about  five 
feet  high.  Around  this  ran  a  pas- 
sage, and  then  after  another  parti- 
tion the  seats  for  the  spectators  began, 
and  were  continued  upward  in  receding 
tiers  to  a  height  sufficient  to  afford 
accommodation  for  several  thousand 
people.  Some  ten  or  twelve  doors 
opening  into  the  arena  indicated  the 
stables  where  the  beasts  that  were  to 
provide  the  amusement  were  kept. 
The  building  was  open  to  the  sky, 
which  was  of  that  dusty  blue  so 
characteristic  of  a  burning  day  in 
southern  Europe.  The  sun  struck 
full  upon  the  assembled  multitude, 
but  everybody  was  too  intent  upon 
the  programme  to  care  about  the 
heat. 

The  exciting  moment  comes.  A 
band  of  Spanish  bull-fighters  step  into 
the  arena,  for  politeness  decrees  that 
the  foreigners  shall  have  the  first  in- 
nings. They  are  all  fine  specimens  of 
the  human  animal,  tall,  square-built, 
strong,  and  agile  as  panthers — perfect 


A  Walking  Tour  in  the  Landes. 


293 


athletes.  They  wear  the  picturesque 
and  showy  costume  of  the  toreador. 
One  of  the  stable  doors  is  now  thrown 
open,  and  a  thick-set,  broad-horned 
Spanish  bull  rushes  into  the  arena. 
He  stops  in  the  middle  and  glares 
round.  The  Spaniards  walk  leisurely 
towards  him,  and  one  of  them  shakes 
open  a  red  scarf  just  before  his  eyes. 
The  man  steps  on  one  side  with  the 
studied  movement  of  a  dancing  master, 
and  the  bull  rushes  past  with  the  scarf 
on  his  horns.  This  performance  is  re- 
peated by  each  of  the  Spaniards  in 
turn,  until  the  bull,  finding  that  all 
his  efforts  to  gore  his  adversaries  only 
cover  him  with  ridicule,  begins  to 
think  it  beneath  his  dignity  to  take 
any  notice  of  his  tormentors.  He 
needs  waking  up,  and  the  Spaniards 
soon  give  him  the  necessary  fillip. 
While  one  engages  his  attention  by 
fluttering  a  red  scarf  before  his  eyes, 
another  glides  up  to  him  with  a  ban- 
derilla — a  short  barbed  spear  about 
two  feet  long — in  each  hand.  These, 
by  a  most  adroit  movement,  he  plants 
in  the  bull's  hide  just  behind  the 
neck.  Then  the  animal  stamps  and 
roars  with  fury,  as  the  banderillas, 
with  their  streaming  ribbons,  hang 
by  their  barbs,  and  dangle  one  on  each 
side  of  his  neck.  He  makes  a  few 
frantic  efforts  to  shake  them  out,  but 
finding  he  cannot  do  so  gives  up  the 
attempt,  and  with  all  his  nerves 
quickened  by  pain,  turns  once  more 
upon  the  gaudy  human  insects  that 
dart  before  his  eyes.  For  a  moment 
he  paws  the  ground,  and  roars  again, 
while  the  foam  gushes  from  his  mouth. 
He  does  not  know  which  of  his  enemies 
to  single  out.  A  waved  scarf  decides 
the  poor  fool.  He  goes  at  it  with  a 
mighty  rush.  In  a  moment  he  has  the 
piece  of  fluttering  silk  upon  his  horns, 
and  while  he  is  madly,  blindly  trying 
to  toss  it,  two  more  banderillas  are 
thrust  into  his  neck.  The  whole  scene 
is  repeated,  and  now  he  has  six  bande- 
rillas dangling  to  his  hide.  He  no 
longer  hesitates  to  single  out  a  victim. 
He  fixes  his  lurid  eyes  on  the  nearest 
Spaniard,  and  follows  him  up.  The 


man,  hard  pressed,  vaults  the  barrier, 
and  the  bull  almost  at  the  same  in- 
stant leaps  the  planking  also.  The  man 
again  vaults  the  barrier  and  drops  this 
time  into  the  arena.  The  bull  in  im- 
potent fury  runs  round  the  narrow 
passage  until  he  also  returns  to  the 
arena  by  the  door  that  has  been  opened 
for  him.  His  stable  is  now  thrown 
open,  for  he  is  supposed  to  have  per- 
formed his  share  of  the  programme. 
He  is,  however,  in  no  humour  to  go 
home ;  he  is  still  anxious  to  wet  his 
horn  in  blood.  But  a  bull  can  gene- 
rally be  led,  although  he  refuses  to  be 
driven.  A  little  stratagem  is  all  that 
is  necessary.  A  black  cow  is  drive  u 
into  the  arena.  The  bull  turns  round 
sharply,  believing  the  sound  to  come 
from  an  enemy,  and  is  ready  for  an- 
other rush.  Suddenly  his  whole  de- 
meanour alters.  I  would  not  have 
believed  that  the  expression  of  a 
savage  brute  could  have  so  quickly 
changed  from  ferocity  to  gentleness 
had  I  not  seen  it.  The*  blood-glare 
vanishes  from  his  eyes,  and  with  mild 
looks  the  poor  bull  trots  after  the  cow, 
forgetting  the  banderillas  that  still 
hang  to  his  hide,  and  allows  himself 
to  be  led  by  the  trained  deceiver  into 
his  stable,  to  wait  there  until  again 
called  upon. 

How  the  multitude  of  men  and 
women  cheered  and  shouted  and 
waved  their  caps  and  handkerchiefs  as 
the  banderillas  were  planted  upright 
in  the  quivering  hide,  and  when  the 
bull  leapt  the  barrier  !  In  a  tribune 
reserved  for  the  notables  of  the  district 
were  several  ladies  whose  rich  toilets 
showed  all  the  cachet  of  the  Hue 
de  la  Paix.  These  ladies  must  have 
had  southern  blood,  for  their  beautiful 
dark  eyes  grew  round  and  gleamed 
with  excitement.  If  they  had  known 
that  the  bull  would  have  driven  his 
horn  through  the  man's  body,  they 
could  not  have  raised  their  fans  before 
their  faces  —  so  fascinating  is  the 
horrible,  so  intoxicating  is  the  prospect 
and  the  very  fear  of  bloodshed  to 
these  meridionals.  The  assemblage 
was  a  thoroughly  mixed  one,  repre- 


294 


A  Walking  Tour  in  the  Landes. 


senting  all  classes  of  society  in  the 
province ;  but  not  a  cry  of  pity,  not  an 
indignant  protest  was  heard  as  the 
barbed  darts  were  thrust  into  the 
necks  of  the  bulls.  People  who  could 
watch  such  acts  of  barbarity  unmoved 
except  by  the  excitement  of  the  duel 
between  brute  rage  and  man's  com- 
bined intelligence  and  agility,  would,  I 
fear,  have  been  equally  eager  to  see  the 
end  of  the  spectacle  had  horses  been 
disembowelled  and  bulls  slaughtered  in 
real  Spanish  fashion.  But  the  last 
Spanish  bull  fight  in  France  took 
place  only  a  few  months  before  my 
visit  to  Dax.  There  was  such  an 
agitation  in  Paris  in  consequence  of 
some  unusually  revolting  courses 
espagnolles  at  Nimes  that  the  Minister 
of  the  Interior  was  compelled  to  send 
a  circular  to  the  provincial  prefects 
forbidding  the  use  of  horses  and  the 
slaughter  of  bulls  in  the  arena. 
Further  than  this  he  did  not  go,  for 
high  political  reasons. 

Bull  fighting,  properly  so-called,  is 
not  one  of  the  national  pastimes  of 
France.  It  is  a  Spanish  importation. 
But  the  courses  provenc^ales  and  the 
courses  landaises  are  national  French 
sports,  and  it  would  be  carrying  senti- 
mentality much  too  far  to  denounce 
them  on  the  score  of  barbarity.  No 
picture  of  life  in  the  Landes  would  be 
complete  if  the  courses  landaises  were 
left  out  of  it. 

The  Spaniards  having  retired,  their 
place  is  taken  in  the  arena  by  the 
etwrteurs  of  the  Landes.  They  are 
much  smaller  men  than  those  from 
beyond  the  Pyrenees,  but  they  are 
younger  and  more  active.  They  wear 
the  ordinary  costume  of  acrobats.  A 
cow  bounces  into  the  arena  with  a 
long  cord  tied  to  her  horns,  and  a  man 
at  the  end  of  it.  Cows  are  much  more 
frequently  employed  than  bulls  for  the 
courses  landaises,  not  because  they  are 
less  dangerous,  but  because  they  afford 
better  sport  than  bulls  by  the  greater 
facility  with  which  they  can  turn 
round  and  follow  up  an  enemy.  It  is 
the  "wicked  cows  "  which  are  selected 
for  this  purpose,  and  thus  their  bad 


qualities  are  turned  to  good  account. 
As  a  rule  they  have  never  calved. 
They  are  lean,  sinewy  brutes,  remark- 
ably active,  and  always  eager  for  a 
fray.  One  after  another  the  ecarteurs 
attract  the  attention  of  the  cow,  and 
induce  her  to  rush  at  them.  When 
her  horns  are  so  close  to  a  man's  body 
that  his  escape  seems  impossible  to  the 
spectator  unaccustomed  to  such  sights, 
he  springs  on  one  side  with  amazing 
agility  and  perfect  composure.  The 
beast  continues  her  furious  course 
until  she  feels  the  tug  of  the  rope; 
then  she  wheels  round  and  rushes  at 
the  same  or  another  man.  Each 
ecarteur  strives  to  make  a  reputation 
by  running  the  greatest  possible  risk 
without  actually  coming  to  harm. 
There  are  hairbreadth  escapes.  One 
man  slips  and  falls,  and  is  only  saved 
from  being  gored  or  trampled  upon  by 
a  jerk  of  the  rope,  so  vigorous  as 
almost  to  upset  the  cow.  Another  is 
momentarily  between  the  horns,  but 
frees  himself  and  is  unhurt.  Some 
of  the  ecarteurs  are  also  sauteurs.  One 
of  these,  the  son  of  a  pork  butcher, 
has  become  famous  throughout  the 
Landes  ;  when  therefore  he  takes  his 
stand  the  buzz  of  voices  is  unusually 
loud.  As  the  cow  lowers  her  head  to 
strike  he  leaps  into  the  air  and  drops 
on  the  other  side  of  her. 

The  Landais  and  the  Spaniards 
having  succeeded  one  another  several 
times  in  the  arena,  the  programme 
was  brought  to  a  close  with  showers 
of  cigars. 

The  next  day  I  started  for  Peyre- 
horade,  which  lies  near  the  boundary 
line  between  the  Landes  and  the  Basses 
Pyrenees.  The  distance  by  the  road 
is  about  twelve  miles,  but  I  greatly 
exceeded  this  by  taking  a  short  cut. 
I  was  anxious  to  move  in  a  straight 
line,  but  I  forgot  I  had  a  river  to  deal 
with,  and  that  bridges  are  not  always 
conveniently  placed  for  those  who  quit 
the  beaten  track.  So  I  managed  to 
lose  myself  completely  along  the  banks 
of  the  winding  Adour.  When  I  be- 
lieved that  I  was  walking  south  the 
compass  told  me  that  I  was  going 


A  Walking  Tour  in  the  Landes. 


295 


north  -  west.      There    was,    however, 
nothing  for  it  but  to  follow  the  river 
until   I   came   to   a  bridge    or   ferry. 
The  scenery  was  charming,  but  alto- 
gether different   from  that  to  which  I 
had   lately   grown   accustomed.      The 
sand  had  quite  disappeared,  and  been 
succeeded  by  an  alluvial    or  argilla- 
ceous soil.     I  had  also  left  the  pines 
behind  me,  and  had  entered  a  district 
broken  up  into  fields  and  oak  woods. 
For  so  rich  a  part  of  the  Chalosse  I 
was  surprised  to  find  it  so  thinly  popu- 
lated.     For  some  miles  the  only  in- 
habitants I  met  were  three  bare-legged 
women  and  a  troop  of  turkeys.    After 
many  windings  the  river  reached  away 
in  a  southernly  course,  and  by  dint  of 
perseveringly  following  it  I  came  at 
length   to   a    bridge.     This  led   to   a 
road  which  I  found  would  take  me  to 
Peyrehorade,  but   it   was    even   more 
tortuous  than  the  river.     It  seemed  to 
twist  in  every  direction  but  the  right 
one.     I  left  the  valley]  and  began  to 
climb  the  outer  spurs  of  the  Pyrenees. 
The  maize  gradually  disappeared,  but 
vineyards  became  frequent.    The  vines 
were  about  ten  feet  high,  bushy  and 
spreading  at  the  top,  and  trailed  over 
sticks.    Although  it  was  the  beginning 
of  September  the  grapes  were  far  from 
being   ripe.     I  was  in  quite  another 
climate  from  that  of  the  sandy  Landes. 
Forgetting  the  vines,  I  could  imagine 
myself    among  the   Devonshire   hills. 
The  air  was  cool  and  moist,  streams 
trickled  by  the  wayside,  the  road  was 
soft  with  wet  clay,  and  clouds  charged 
with  rain  chased  one  another  across 
the   blue   sky.      As   I   ascended,   the 
landscape  became  wild  and  mournful. 
Pasturage  and  vineyards  gave    place 
more  and  more  to  forests  of  stunted 
oak   or   moorland   covered   with    tall 
bracken   and  broom.     There  was  not 
a  chateau  or  good-sized   house  to   be 
seen  ;  indeed,  there  was  no  sign  of  the 
influence  either   past  or  present  of  a 
territorial  aristocracy.     Such  land  as 
was  cultivated  was   in  the    hands  of 
peasant  proprietors,  and  their  houses 
were  few  and  far  apart  and  frequently 
mere  hovels.     I  took  refuge  in  one  of 


these  cabins  from  a  smart  storm.  It 
was  a  little  auberge,  far  more  wretched 
than  any  English  hedge-tavern  that 
I  have  seen.  It  was  kept  by  two 
old  women,  one  of  whom,  judging  from 
her  appearance,  must  have  been  born 
some  time  in  the  last  century.  She 
was  seated,  or  rather  doubled  up,  in  a 
cavernous  arm-chair  as  antique  in  style 
as  herself.  She  could  scarcely  under- 
stand a  word  I  said,  but  the  other  old 
woman,  who  I  took  to  be  her  daughter, 
poured  me  out  the  white  wine  I  asked 
for,  and  which  she  said  was  grown  in 
the  little  vineyard  at  the  back  of  the 
cottage.  I  was  sure  I  could  detect  an 
uneasy  and  distrustful  expression  on 
the  faces  of  these  women.  The  per- 
sons whom  they  ordinarily  served  with 
wine  were  well  known  to  them,  or  they 
bore  the  stamp  of  an  occupation  which 
inspired  confidence.  But  I  was  a 
puzzle  to  them.  I  read  this  in  their 
faces.  I  might  have  been  a  robber 
and  an  assassin,  and  they  had  heard  of 
lonely  women  like  themselves  being 
murdered  by  mysterious  strangers.  I 
relieved  their  suspense  by  quickly  pay- 
ing and  going. 

I  noticed  that  over  the  door  of  every 
house  I  passed  was  a  bunch  of  driedi 
grass  or  herbs,  and  being  curious  to 
know  the  meaning  of  this  custom,  1 
questioned  the  first  man  I  met  on  the 
subject.  He  told  me  that  the  dried 
herbs  were  in  honour  of  St.  John,  and 
that  on  St.  John's  Eve  and  the  follow- 
ing night  bonfires  were  lighted  on  all 
the  hill-tops  in  the  district.  The  cus- 
tom of  lighting  bonfires,  or  rolling 
wheels  of  fire  down  hills  on  St.  John'&- 
Eve  has  astonished  travellers  in  the- 
Ardennes  and  in  Normandy.  It  is. 
unquestionably  of  Scandinavian  origin, 
and  was  connected  with  the  worship  of 
the  sun.  Its  survival  to  this  day 
among  the  hills  of  the  Pyrenean  region 
is  strong  presumptive  evidence  of 
northern  blood  in  the  population.  At 
any  rate,  it  is  a  trace  of  the  Gothic 
tribes  who  are  supposed  to  have  been 
lost  in  Spain. 

The    dreariness     of     my    walk    to 
Peyrehorade  was  much   enlivened  by 


296 


A  Walking  Tour  in  the  Landes. 


the  marked  hostility  of  the  dogs. 
They  were  all  of  the  same  breed — 
spotted  dogs  like  English  foxhounds, 
but  smaller.  I  have  read  that  travellers 
in  the  Pyrenean  districts  should  carry 
revolvers  to  defend  themselves  against 
dogs.  Of  course  it  is  always  well  for 
the  foot-traveller  to  be  armed  with  a 
revolver,  for,  although  under  ordinary 
circumstances  it  is  not  a  useful  com- 
panion, but  rather  an  incumbrance,  one 
never  knows  what  may  occur  in  the 
way  of  unpleasantness  to  render  its 
services  invaluable.  But  it  is  more 
difficult  to  know  how  to  deal  with  an 
aggressive  dog  than  with  an  aggressive 
man,  or  with  animals  reputed  wild.  A 
dog  may  bark  at  you  and  cause  you 
much  annoyance  and  yet  have  no  bad 
intentions,  while  another  may  silently 
creep  up  behind  you  and  seize  you  by 
the  leg.  The  silent  dog  is  the  worst, 
but  to  fire  at  him  with  a  revolver  be- 
cause he  is  silent  would  be  an  act  that 
his  master  would  be  sure  to  resent. 

At  length  I  saw  the  ruined  feudal 
castle  of  Orthe  perched  on  a  height, 
and  immediately  below  it,  in  a  bright 
valley  watered  by  the  Gave,  the  white 
houses  of  Peyrehorade.  This  town, 
which  can  only  boast  2,500  inhabit- 
ants, has  a  tasteful  modern  Gothic 
church,  and  a  curious  wooden  bridge 
thrown  across  the  Gave  on  piles.  My 
kindly  star  led  me  as  usual  to  a  good 
inn,  where  I  dined  in  the  company  of 
commercial  travellers,  one  of  whom 


wore  such  an  air  of  dignity  that  I  mis- 
took him  for  a  juge  de  paix.  I  gathered 
from  his  conversation  that  I  was  in 
error,  and  that  he  was  "  in  the  drapery." 
After  dinner  I  became  one  of  the 
spectators  of  a  Punch  and  Judy  show. 
It  was  set  up  in  the  corner  of  the 
market-place,which,  but  for  the  candles 
fixed  to  the  portable  theatre,  would 
have  been  in  absolute  darkness.  I  was 
in  the  midst  of  all  the  gaminerie  of 
Peyrehorade.  It  is  always  a  pleasure 
to  witness  that  tragi-comedy  of  Punch 
and  his  prosperous  rascality,  which  re- 
calls that  rapturous  sensation  of  child- 
hood, when,  following  the  pan-pipes  and 
drum,  we  first  knew  what  it  was  to  be 
stage-struck.  It  is  especially  pleasant 
to  meet  in  some  obscure  corner  of  a 
foreign  land  our  old  friend  Punch, 
who  made  our  bare  legs  run  so  many 
miles  in  the  far-off  days.  He  will 
speak  a  different  language  from  the 
one  he  spoke  long  ago,  but  his 
squeak  is  the  familiar  squeak  of 
yore,  and  his  looks  and  dress  and 
cheerful  depravity  are  everywhere  the 
same.  They  make  us  feel  that  time 
and  distance  and  language  have  no 
power  upon  the  festive  follies  which 
knit  the  world  together. 

The  next  morning  I  crossed  the 
beautiful  valley  of  the  Gave  by  a 
road  whose  sides  were  brilliant  with 
great  cornflowers  and  marshmallows, 
and  left  the  Landes  for  the  Basses 
Pyrenees. 


297 


RHODIAN   SOCIETY. 


IF  an  invalid,  that  is  to  say  an  inva- 
lid whose  malady  merely  necessitates 
his  removal  to  an  excellent  climate, 
wishes  to  strike  out  a  new  line  for 
himself,  and  to  get  rid  of  the  conven- 
tionalities of  popular  health  resorts,  he 
could  do  no  better  than  plunge  into 
society  in  the  Turkish  Island  of 
Rhodes.  He  will  probably  find  that 
he  is  the  only  Englishman  there;  he 
will  be  as  safe  as  anywhere  in 
Europe  ;  he  will  enjoy  a  climate  where 
winter  is  unknown  and  summer  heats 
are  tempered  by  sea  breezes  ;  he  will 
be  made  much  of  at  the  snug  little 
inn ;  and  he  will  be  received  with 
open  arms  by  as  conglomerate  a  society 
as  the  world  can  well  produce. 

In  the  bazaar  of  a  morning  he  will 
be  able  to  chat  with  exiled  Turkish 
pashas,  who  are  paying  the  penalty  of 
their  misfortunes  in  the  Russian  war  ; 
he  will  meet  Italians  and  Greeks, 
Spanish  Jews,  Levantine  English,  and 
Asiatics — nay,  even  Egyptian  exiles 
will  be  on  his  visiting  list,  which  will 
afford  him  a  wonderful  and  diversified 
study  of  humanity.  When  tired  of 
the  town  he  can  wander  through 
mountain  villages  and  study  the  sim- 
plicity of  the  Greek  peasantry,  whose 
homes  have  been  undisturbed  by  the 
successive  occupation  of  Italians, 
Knights  of  St.  John,  and  Turks. 

Rhodes  is  an  open  roadstead  now, 
for  the  Turks  have  allowed  the  excel- 
lent harbour  to  become  choked  up 
with  rubbish,  so  there  is  often  some 
difficulty  attending  the  landing  there  ; 
not  unfrequently  during  stormy 
weather  the  steamers  on  their  way 
north  and  south  have  to  pass  without 
touching.  This  is  an  obvious  incon- 
venience, especially  in  winter  when 
storms  are  of  frequent  occurrence.  A 
Smyrniote  lady  a  few  months  ago  had 


to  pass  her  destination  three  times, 
and  spend  three  weeks  on  the  sea 
between  Smyrna  and  Alexandria 
before  she  could  be  put  ashore  at  the 
haven  where  she  would  be. 

The  portly  hotel  keeper,  Nicholas, 
is  sure  to  appropriate  the  stranger  on 
the  steamer,  and  carry  him  to  his 
hostelry  in  the  Greek  quarter,  built  on 
a  sandy  promontory  about  half  a  mile 
from  the  old  walled  town.  It  is  as 
quaint  an  inn  as  one  could  possibly 
desire,  with  snug  little  rooms  giving 
on  to  a  balcony  which  overhangs  a 
courtyard  paved  with  pebbles.  As  he 
enters  the  dark  archway  he  will  be 
confronted  with  the  larder,  for  here 
junks  of  meat  are  hung  from  the 
rafters  by  pulleys  so  that  they  can  be 
let  down  when  a  slice  is  required. 
Granny,  Nicholas's  mother,  is  the 
moving  spirit  of  the  inn.  She  toils 
from  morning  to  night  with  her  legs 
bare,  and  her  head  enveloped  in  a 
dirty  black  handkerchief.  She  cuts 
the  wood ;  she  tills  the  vegetable 
garden  ;  she  answers  every  clap  of  the 
hands,  for  there  are  no  bells.  She  is 
the  recognised  slave  of  the  establish- 
ment. It  is  always  the  same  amongst 
these  Greeks  ;  old  age  is  treated  with 
no  respect.  It  is  to  them  a  recognised 
law  of  nature  that  when  the  body  is 
decaying  it  must  give  way  to  the 
rising  generation.  It  is  a  common 
sight  to  see  a  gaily-dressed  young 
married  woman  riding  a  mule,  accom- 
panied by  her  tottering  old  mother  on 
foot  as  muleteer.  This  evil  is  in  a 
measure  atoned  for  by  the  devotion 
which  exists  between  brother  and 
sister.  No  brother  thinks  of  marry- 
ing until  he  sees  each  sister  provided 
with  a  husband,  and  many  romantic 
stories  occur  in  this  respect ;  perhaps 
it  is  the  same  with  all  primitive  socie- 


298 


Rhodian  Society. 


ties,  that  the  useless  aged  are  deemed 
of  no  account. 

Everything  is  pebbled  in  Nicholas's 
hotel — the  courtyard,  the  dining-room, 
the  balcony,  are  all  laid  out  in  patterns 
of  black  and  white.  These  pebbles 
are  quite  a  trade  in  Rhodes ;  veiled 
Turkish  women  wander  along  the 
shore  in  search  of  them,  and  deposit 
their  treasures  in  little  heaps  along 
the  beach.  In  the  good  time  of  the 
Khedive  Ismail  in  Egypt,  very  large 
quantities  were  exported  to  Cairo,  and 
large  fortunes  were  realised  thereby. 
Even  now  the  trade  is  a  good  one, 
and  every  Rhodian  house  is  adorned 
with  them.  If  you  go  out  into  society, 
you  will  find  before  long,  to  your  cost, 
that  you  have  to  dance  on  a  pebbled 
floor. 

The  Turkish  element  in  Rhodes  is 
larger  than  in  most  towns  of  the 
Turkish  Empire ;  the  whole  of  the  old 
walled  town  which  the  Knights  of 
St.  John  built  and  fortified  is  inhabited 
by  Turks  and  Spanish  Jews.  No 
Christians  are  allowed  within  the 
gates  after  they  are  shut  at  sunset. 
No  beasts  of  burden  are  allowed  in- 
side the  town  at  any  time,  for  there  is 
a  current  tradition  amongst  the  Turks 
that  the  Christians  will  follow  in  their 
wake  as  conquerors.  Yery  few  Turks 
live  outside  in  the  villages,  and  when 
they  do  they  can  hardly  be  distin- 
guished from  the  Greeks,  whose  dress, 
customs,  and  in  many  cases  religion, 
they  have  adopted.  It  is  a  curious 
feature  in  these  degenerate  descend- 
ants of  Mohammed,  that  they  are  not 
content  to  trust  to  their  own  prophet 
alone  for  succour.  If  they  hear  of  a 
miracle-working  Madonna,  they  are 
not  above  sending  her  a  present,  and 
worshipping  at  her  shrine. 

The  Turk  of  Rhodes,  curiously 
enough,  is  a  more  energetic  individual 
than  the  Greek.  Many  of  them  are 
fishermen,  and  possess  light  sailing 
vessels  for  this  purpose.  Others  are 
blacksmiths,  tanners,  painters  and 
joiners.  The  bazaars  are  chiefly  con- 
ducted by  their  industry,  and  they 
may  be  seen  plying  their  various 


trades  all  day  long  in  tiny  boxes  along 
the  streets.  The  Greek  is  an  idle 
vagabond  for  the  most  part,  whose 
great  ambition  is  to  become  proprietor 
of  a  sweet  shop,  to  which  is  added,  as 
time  goes  on,  a  bar  for  spirits  and 
sometimes  a  cafe.  They  pass  their 
days  in  complete  inactivity  in  the 
midst  of  tobacco  fumes,  listening  to 
the  shrill  sound  of  a  lyre,  and  singing 
bacchic  songs.  In  these  establishments 
the  oft-recurring  feast  days  are  ob- 
served with  rigorous  fidelity,  and  from 
morning  till  night  drunken  revelry  is 
conducted  therein.  As  for  the  Greek 
women,  they  never  seem  to  have  any 
thing  to  do  ;  they  sit  on  their  door- 
steps and  gossip  from  morning  to 
night.  They  are  a  degraded  lot ;  and 
the  ease  with  which  a  husband  can 
get  a  divorce  on  the  merest  caprice 
cannot  tend  to  elevate  them. 

It  is  not  difficult  to  make  your  way 
into  the  society  of  Rhodes.  If  you 
stroll  down  the  bazaars  of  a  morning, 
enter  the  druggists'  shops  and  talk  to 
the  first  person  you  meet,  you  will 
immediately  be  welcomed  as  an  addi- 
tion to  the  circle.  You  are  sure  to 
come  across  the  stout  florid  ex-minister 
of  war,  Rigdoff  Pasha,  who  was  sent 
off  here  after  the  Russian  affair,  and 
has  not  yet  succeeded  in  obtaining 
leave  to  return  to  Constantinople ; 
he  will  be  taking  a  cup  of  coffee  in  the 
principal  druggist's  shop,  and  will  be 
complaining  in  bitter  terms  of  the 
narrow  limits  of  his  present  society  as 
compared  to  what  he  was  accustomed 
to  in  "  the  city." 

Mohammed  Pasha  has  been  more  for- 
tunate ;  he  was  recalled  from  this 
exile  a  short  time  ago  to  the  sphere 
of  his  former  labours.  When  in  Rhodes 
he  bought  for  2501.  a  most  charming 
residence,  with  lovely  grounds,  and 
views  over  the  mountains  of  Caria, 
and  sheltered  from  every  wind  by 
Mount  Smith,  which  rises  just  behind 
the  town,  and  still  retains  the  name 
and  memories  of  Sidney  Smith,  who 
lived  there  for  a  short  time. 

But  the  aged  Suleiman  Pasha  is  per- 
haps the  most  fortunate  of  all  these 


Rhodian  Society. 


299 


Turkish  exiles.  After  being  known  as 
the  Victorious,  the  Invincible,  he  belied 
his  epithets  at  the  Shipka  Pass,  and 
was  banished  for  life;  to  Rhodes. 
This  life  came  to  a  close  at  the 
advanced  age  of  ninety-six,  when  we 
were  in  Rhodes,  and  we  attended  his 
simple  but  impressive  funeral. 

Khamel  Bey  is  governor  of  Rhodes. 
He  is  an  invalid,  and  does  not  often 
appear  in  the  bazaars  or  at  the  bath, 
and  he  now  lives  in  Mohammed  Pasha's 
charming  house.  He  is  a  man  of  ex- 
traordinary literary  attainments  for  a 
Turk,  and  is  considered  the  best  poet 
they  have ;  but  his  writings  are  too 
liberal  and  European  to  suit  the 
Sultan,  who  pays  him  501.  a  year  to 
keep  his  pen  quiet — quite  a  novel  and 
oriental  way  of  making  the  profession 
of  literature  pay.  He  has  one  son, 
Khem  Bey,  a  youth  of  twenty,  who 
affects  most  oppressively  dilettante 
manners.  We  asked  him  why  we  had 
not  seen  him  at  any  of  the  social 
gatherings,  and  if  he  liked  dancing. 
"  No,"  he  replied,  "  I  always  remember 
what  Napoleon  the  Great  said  of 
dancing— that  it  was  too  trivial  for 
a  soldier.  But,"  continued  he,  "for 
some  years  I  gave  way  to  a  life  of 
pleasure,  the  chase,  riding,  &c.,  but 
now  my  papa  has  impressed  me 
with  the  necessity  of  work,  and  my 
only  diversion  is  a  little  walk."  He 
is  not  a  pleasant  youth  to  look  upon, 
being  fat  and  pasty,  and  as  he  talks 
to  you  he  cracks  his  knuckle  joints  in 
a  most  irritating  fashion. 

Many  of  the  Turks  are  the  pro- 
prietors of  gardens  and  houses  on  the 
slopes  behind  the  town,  just  outside 
that  dismal  belt  of  Turkish  tombs 
which  entirely  hems  in  the  town  on 
the  land  side.  These  gardens  they 
cultivate  with  truly  oriental  laziness. 
We  were  surprised  occasionally  to  see 
their  wives  assisting  in  the  garden, 
hewing  wood,  drawing  water,  and 
making  themselves  generally  useful. 
Turkish  women  are  not  so  strict  about 
veiling  themselves  as  they  used  to  be  ; 
some  indeed  affect  very  thin  gauze 
veils,  whilst  others  do  not  mind  show- 


ing their  faces  to  a  Frank,  and  only 
cover  themselves  when  they  see  a  red 
fez  coming  along.  Owing  to  the 
poverty  which  reigns  in  Turkey, 
harem  life  is  not  what  it  used  to 
be ;  most  men  can  only  afford  one 
wife,  and  she  must  be  useful  as  well 
as  ornamental.  All  the  lovely  em- 
broideries which  travellers  see  in  the 
show  harems  of  Constantinople  or 
Smyrna  have  long  since  disappeared 
from  ordinary  homes,  and  have  found 
their  way  to  European  markets. 

As  a  rule  the  Greeks  and  Turks  of 
the  upper  class  do  not  amalgamate  so 
well  as  those  of  the  lower.  The  better- 
class  Greek  is  aware  of  the  state  of 
politics  in  Europe,  and  looks  ardently 
for  the  day  when  he  will  cease  to  be  a 
Turkish  subject ;  such  matters  do  not 
trouble  the  peasant  population,  who 
live  like  beasts  iu  the  darkest  igno- 
rance. But  the  upper-class  Greek 
is  essentially  an  astute  time-server. 
He  knows  well  how  to  make  himself 
indispensable  at  the  Konak,  and  treats 
the  governor  with  flattery  and  respect, 
reserving  his  remarks  on  freedom  for 
the  bosom  of  his  own  family  or  the 
ears  of  an  Englishman.  He  is  the 
personification  of  the  traditional  old 
Greek  woman,  who  always  in  church 
lit  one  candle  before  the  picture  of 
St.  George  and  another  before  a  pic- 
ture of  the  devil,  and,  in  reply  to 
inquiries,  stated  it  as  her  principle 
always  to  be  well  in  with  both 
parties. 

Sometimes  at  a  Greek  party  you 
may  meet  a  few  Turks,  but  they  sit 
together  in  the  smoking-room,  growl- 
ing away  at  their  narghiles.  They 
never  join  in  the  dance,  and  if  one 
may  judge  from  their  faces,  one  would 
say  that  they  are  internally  laughing 
at  what  they  see;  and  well  they  may, 
for  a  Turkish  gentleman  is  always  a 
man  of  refined  manners  and  gcod 
breeding,  and  that  cannot  be  said  of 
the  Greeks  of  Rhodes.  A  ball  in  a 
Greek  house  is  a  thing  for  ever  t  o  be 
remembered.  The  dresses  of  the  la  dies 
would  provoke  a  smile  from  even  the 
most  indifferent  beholder.  Rou  ncl 


300 


Rhodian  Society. 


dances  are  not  much  appreciated  ;  but 
what  they  really  love  is  a  species  of 
romping  quadrille  with  most  compli- 
cated figures,  through  which  a  master 
of  the  ceremonies  puts  you  in  vile 
French.  On  one  occasion  this  ofiicial 
insisted  on  directing  us  to  dance  a 
variety  of  the  Lady's  Chain,  which  he 
called  Chame  de  Chevaliers,  and  which 
my  partner  naively  remarked  was  ex- 
cusable in  a  place  which  is  everywhere 
haunted  by  reminiscences  of  the 
Knights  of  Rhodes. 

When  the  romp  was  over  we  con- 
ducted our  partners  to  the  smoking- 
room,  where  the  chaperones  were 
sitting,  smoking  cigarettes,  and  where 
the  air  was  dense  with  the  fumes  of 
tobacco.  I  noticed  that  the  younger 
ladies  did  not  venture  on  the  entire 
control  of  a  cigarette  themselves,  but 
pressed  their  partners  to  do  so,  with 
a  view  to  enjoying  an  occasional  pull. 
Supper  was  provided  on  the  most 
primitive  principles.  A  large  dish 
of  tinned  lobster  salad  was  put  on  a 
table,  round  which  every  one  crowded ; 
those  who  were  not  lucky  enough  to 
secure  a  knife  did  not  hesitate  to 
plunge  their  fingers  into  the  tempting 
dish.  Glasses  of  wine  circulated  freely, 
and  after  the  repast  was  over  the  ball 
degenerated  into  a  scene  worthy  of  a 
Parisian  music-hall.  No  wonder  the 
Turks  smiled  a  little  as  they  watched 
this  scene,  and  retired  as  soon  as 
politeness  would  permit. 

Another  easy  method  of  studying 
this  conglomerate  society  is  afforded 
by  the  bath.  Every  Ehodian,  of 
whatever  nationality,  indulges  in  the 
Turkish  bath  on  some  day  or  another  in 
the  week,  from  the  lowest  menial  to 
the  exiled  pashas,  and  every  one  pays 
according  to  his  rank.  The  common 
soldiers — of  whom  there  are  many  in 
Rhodes — only  pay  a  penny  a  piece  ; 
they  go  to  the  bath  in  companies,  and 
they  shampoo  and  rub  each  other. 
Anybody  who  has  travelled  in  the 
Turkish  dominions  will  have  been 
struck  with  the  wretchedness  of  the 
soldiers'  uniform,  but  this  is  nothing  to 
their  underclothing,  any  portion  of 


which  a  London  beggar  would  reject 
with  scorn.  When  a  pasha  is  coming 
to  take  a  bath  they  clear  the  place  of 
all  such  objectionable  people,  and  the 
pasha  is  then  supposed  to  leave  a 
pound  after  he  has  bathed.  This 
must  be  a  great  tax  on  their  limited 
incomes,  and  if  Khamel  Bey  were  to 
be  regular  in  his  ablutions  he  would 
more  than  exhaust  all  the  income  that 
he  derives  from  not  writing,  in  this 
way.  This  Turkish  method  of  making 
the  rich  pay  for  washing  the  poor  cer- 
tainly has  decided  merits,  worthy  of 
the  consideration  of  reformers,  who 
might  enlarge  upon  it.  For  instance, 
if  every  time  we  bought  a  new  pair 
of  trousers  we  had  to  supply  a  pauper 
with  a  pair  of  corduroys,  our  poor-rate 
might  be  so  elegantly  disguised  in 
tailors'  and  other  bills  that  we  should 
cease  to  grumble. 

The  Spanish  Jews  are  not  a  pleasing 
element  in  Rhodian  society.  With  the 
usual  astuteness  of  their  race  they 
have  managed  to  secure  for  them- 
selves the  best  quarter  of  the  walled 
town,  and  they  are  as  far  as  possible 
removed  from  the  Greeks,  for  there  is 
always  enmity  between  Greek  and 
Jew.  In  Greece,  properly  so  called, 
a  Jew  is  rarely  seen  ;  and  a  Greek,  if 
he  mentions  a  Jew  in  conversation, 
always  apologises  for  alluding  to  so 
despicable  a  personage.  These  Jews, 
however,  have  interesting  costumes, 
and  a  most  astonishing  patois,  being 
quite  the  most  polyglot  I  ever  strug- 
gled with  ;  and  the  Jewish  children  in 
Rhodes  are  far  more  inquisitive  than 
those  of  the  other  nationalities.  If 
you  venture  into  the  Jewish  quarter 
you  are  sure  to  be  mobbed  by  them  ; 
and  this  you  must  do,  for  these 
Israelites  have  secured  for  themselves 
the  best  houses  in  the  old  town, 
containing  wood  carving  and  decora- 
tions dating  from,  the  days  of  the 
Knights. 

The  Jewish  "  Sunday  "  is  the  recog- 
nised beggars'  day  in  Rhodes.  Beggars 
from  the  country  villages  invade  the 
town  on  Saturday  afternoon,  and  they 
do  not  disguise  their  expectations,  for 


Rhodian  Society. 


301 


they  all  carry  on  their  shoulders  many- 
coloured  mule  bags  in  which  to  deposit 
the  alms  which  they  collect  from  door 
to  door;  and  to  judge  by  what  one 
sees,  the  Rhodians  appear  to  be  very 
generous ;  a  beggar  is  never  refused. 
On  Saturday  morning  the  house- 
wife collects  in  the  corner  of  the  yard 
scraps  of  food  which  she  doles  out  to 
each  beggar  as  he  comes ;  and  most  of 
the  peasants  when  they  come  into  the 
town  with  their  market  produce  de- 
posit a  gift  of  fruit  or  vegetables  by 
what  is  commonly  known  as  the  lepers' 
well. 

As  spring    comes   on — and   spring 

comes  on  early  in  Rhodes — the  invalid 

will  doubtless  feel  anxious  to  see  what 

the  Rhodian  peasants  are  like  in  their 

mountain  villages.     The  lovely  slopes 

around   the  town,  the  old  walls  and 

fortifications  around  the  harbour,  the 

gay  scenes  in  the  bazaar  will  pall  in 

time ;    he    may  try  his   strength   by 

hiring     one     of     the     tiny    Rhodian 

donkeys,    no    bigger     than    a     large 

Newfoundland    dog,  which    will  take 

him  to   Mount  Philermo,  from  which 

he  will   enjoy  one    of   nature's   most 

lovely  views,  and  whet  his  appetite  for 

a  more  extended  tour.      If  he  would 

see  the  peasant  in  his  full  simplicity, 

he  must  go  some  days'  journey  inland 

to  the  village  of  Embona,  on  the  slopes 

of  Mount  Atabyros,  the  ancient  hill  of 

Jupiter,   where  two  temples  stood  in 

olden  times,  and  where  was  the  bronze 

ox  which  bellowed  whenever  any  evil 

was  in  store  for  Rhodes — a  story  of 

antiquity  which  has  lately  been  in  a 

measure  substantiated  by  the  discovery 

of  numerous  little  bronze  votive  figures 

of  bulls,  near  the  site  of  the  supposed 

temple.     Doubtless  the  bellowing  bull 

was    something    like  ,the    oracle     of 

Delphi,  over  the  utterings    of   which 

the  priests  had  entire  control. 

The  country  folk  of  Rhodes  cannot 
be  said  to  be  either  rich  or  poor.  Every 
one  has  a  house  which  he  has  probably 
built  for  himself,  and  a  plot  of  land, 
containing  olives,  figs,  and  vegetables. 
The  ordinary  peasant's  house  consists 
of  one  square  room  ;  the  roof  is  made 


by  placing  rough  branches  of  cypress 
trees  on  the  walls,  on  which  are  spread 
reeds  and  oleander  branches,  with  the 
leaves  left  on.  Upon  this  foundation 
is  deposited  a  certain  kind  of  earth, 
which  they  press  with  rollers  and 
with  the  foot  until  it  attains  the  firm 
consistency  of  cement,  and  is  usually 
impervious  to  rain.  The  interior  of 
this  house  is  humble  enough  :  the  floor 
is  of  pressed  manure,  and  the  furniture 
of  the  simplest.  A  sort  of  platform, 
supported  by  four  stakes  fixed  in  the 
ground,  and  surrounded  by  planks, 
answers  two  purposes;  within  is  the 
family  store-room,  above  is  the  family 
bed — not  that  the  family  trouble  the 
bed  much,  except  on  the  three  import- 
ant occasions  of  birth,  marriage,  and 
death.  They  chiefly  lie  down  to  sleep 
wherever  night  --overtakes  them — in 
winter  on  their  home-spun  cloaks, 
and  in  summer  on  the  grass.  Against 
the  bed  is  placed  a  great  chest,  which 
also  serves  for  two  purposes,  firstly,  as 
a  step  by  which  to  climb  on  to  the 
platform,  and  secondly,  as  a  wardrobe 
for  the  family  clothes,  the  gay  costumes 
which  are  only  brought  out  on  feast 
days  and  marriages.  Along  the  wall 
runs  a  long  sort  of  settee,  the  top  of 
which  is  covered  with  many-coloured 
cushions,  and  inside  which  is  the 
granary,  and  the  receptacle  for  all 
sorts  of  horrible  luxuries,  in  which 
the  frugal  Rhodians  indulge  when 
their  lengthy  fasts  do  not  compel 
them  to  abstain — rancid  lard,  which 
they  dignify  with  the  name  of  "  pig's 
butter,"  to  distinguish  it  from  "milk 
butter  ;  "  red  caviare  and  old  twisted 
rolls  of  bread,  which  have  developed 
more  or  less  of  green  mould,  according 
to  the  lapse  of  time  that  has  inter- 
vened since  they  were  made  for  the 
last  festival. 

Then  there  is  a  hole  in  the  wall  in 
which  the  water-jar  is  leaning,  for  these 
primitive  mountaineers  still  adhere  to 
the  same  shape  of  jars,  made  on  the 
principle  of  soda-water  bottles  with  no 
foot,  in  which  their  forefathers  rejoiced. 
The  inconvenience  of  these  is  great, 
and  why  the  Greeks  should  have  been 


302 


Rhodian  Society. 


so  conservative  in  this  respect  for  so 
many  centuries  is  unaccountable.  The 
walls  are  surrounded  by  plates  and 
jugs  for  household  use.  Once  upon  a 
time  these  utensils  consisted  of  Lindos 
ware,  but  now  these  have  all  found 
their  way  to  the  museums  and  draw- 
ing-rooms of  Europe.  The  greatest 
feature  of  a  peasant's  house  is  the 
decoration  of  the  wall  opposite  the 
door  as  you  enter.  In  the  middle  of 
this  wall  is  a  large  painting  in  nume- 
rous compartments,  the  work  of  some 
local  artist,  the  subject  of  which  it  is 
often  very  difficult  to  discover ;  they 
are  always  devotional,  illustrating 
some  quaint  legend  in  a  highly  gro- 
tesque fashion. 

For  example,  on  one  wall  we  saw 
the  legend  of  St,  Gregory  Thauma- 
tourgos  (the  miracle  worker)  repre- 
sented in  the  following  fashion  :  The 
saint  in  one  portion  of  the  picture 
was  followed  by  two  individuals 
dressed  in  Phrygian  caps ;  they  entered 
a  forest,  which  was  represented  by 
three  trees,  like  those  of  a  child's 
farmyard,  reaching  up  to  the  waists  of 
the  men.  Another  portion  of  the 
picture  represented  them  as  cutting 
off  a  branch,  which  act  is  for  the 
benefit  of  the  uninitiated  described  in 
writing.  Again  the  branch  is  next 
represented  as  having  grown  too  big 
for  the  men  to  carry,  so  they  dig  a 
hole,  plant  it,  and  watch  it  growing  to 
an  enormous  size.  Next  we  saw  St. 
Gregory  and  his  friends  filling  gourds 
at  a  stream  so  as  to  water  their  new 
plant,  and  on  their  return  they  found 
to  their  surprise  that  a  church  had 
sprung  up  where  the  branch  had  been 
planted,  and  the  holy  men  were  so 
amazed  at  this  phenomenon  that  they 
did  not  perceive  the  devil  sneaking  up 
behind  and  drinking  the  water  in  the 
gourds  so  that  they  might  not  be  able 
to  water  the  newly-planted  church ; 
but  in  this  extremity  the  final  portion 
of  the  picture  depicted  St.  Gregory's 
horse  as  appearing  on  the  scene,  and 
before  the  devil  had  time  to  empty 
the  gourds  he  was  kicked  back  into 
hell. 


This  picture  is  always  painted 
in  startling  colours,  and  rejoices  in 
surprising  contrasts,  and  it  is  the 
special  property  of  the  master  of  the 
house ;  all  the  rest,  the  house,  the 
furniture,  and  the  plate,  are  the  wife's 
property,  and  will  go  to  her  eldest 
daughter.  No  Rhodian  peasant  girl  is 
eligible  for  the  marriage  market  until 
her  parents  or  next  of  kin  have  pro- 
vided her  with  a  house  and  furniture. 
Under  the  great  picture  are  hung  the 
wedding  crown,  a  profusion  of  plates, 
bottles,  images  of  saints,  scraps  of 
illustrated  European  papers  —  any- 
thing, in  short,  that  is  deemed  to 
possess  decorative  merit.  An  oil 
lamp,  suspended  from  the  roof,  hangs 
before  this  picture,  and  is  lighted 
every  night  in  honour  of  the  saint  re- 
presented thereon.  Chairs  and  tables 
are  deemed  superfluous  in  these  houses ; 
they  sit  on  the  ground,  and  eat  out 
of  a  big  bowl  placed  in  their  midst. 

If  the  hardships  of  a  few  days  in 
this  mountain  village  are  not  too 
much  for  our  invalid  he  will  revel  in 
the  simplicity  of  these  people.  He 
will  be  treated  with  that  primeval 
hospitality  which  teaches  that  to  place 
before  the  guest  the  best  of  every- 
thing is  a  duty  imposed  by  the  gods. 
Before  he  has  partaken  of  food  he 
will  not  be  asked  whence  he  has 
come  or  whither  he  is  going.  From 
all  the  cottages  round  the  peasants 
will  bring  gifts  to  assist  the  host 
in  entertaining ;  one  will  bring  a  fat 
sucking  pig,  another  wine,  another 
fruit,  eggs,  and  milk ;  the  best  embroi- 
deries will  be  spread  over  his  bed,  and 
in  that  hyperbole,  which  finds  such 
favour  amongst  Greeks,  he  will  be 
pressed  to  stay  a  thousand  years  under 
the  hospitable  roof.  If  this  lengthy 
invitation  be  commuted  for  by  pro- 
mising to  stay  a  few  days  the  guest 
will  see  much  to  amuse  him.  He  will 
assuredly  be  asked  to  stand  as  god- 
father to  any  unbaptised  infant  that 
the  place  may  produce — a  doubtful 
compliment  indeed  when  it  is  con- 
sidered that  the  godfather  has  to  pro- 
vide quite  a  trousseau  for  the  child  : 


Rhodian  Society. 


303 


but  in  this  delicate  way  he  will  be 
able  to  repay  the  hospitality  with 
which  he  has  been  received,  for  a 
direct  offer  of  money  would  be  con- 
sidered rather  an  insult  than  other- 
wise. 

Then  again  the  guest  is  sure  to 
develop  a  hitherto  unknown  talent — 
he  will  find  that  he  has  quite  an 
extensive  knowledge  of  medicine  as 
compared  to  these  poor  peasants.  In 
a  remote  corner  of  the  world  where 
doctors  do  not  exist,  and  where  the 
people  are  too  poor  to  send  for  one 
from  the  town,  it  is  extraordinary  to 
find  how  the  inhabitants  live  and  die 
without  the  most  rudimentary  know- 
ledge of  physic.  Charms  and  incan- 
tations abound,  to  be  sure ;  traditional 
remedies  for  both  external  and  in- 
ternal use,  in  which  garlic  and  onions 
are  the  chief  ingredients,  are  nume- 
rous ;  and  there  will  always  be  found 
an  old  crone  who  visits  the  invalids 
with  a  sickle  in  her  hand,  and  executes 
certain  passes  around  them  as  she 
mutters  her  incantations  in  an  awe- 
inspiring  voice  ;  but  of  the  use  of  the 
simple  remedies  with  which  the  country 
abounds  the  aromatic  herbs,  camo- 
mile, rue,  &c. — this  old  crone  is  pro 
foundly  ignorant.  And  the  stranger 
who  comes  amongst  them  with  quinine, 
pills,  vaseline,  and  the  ordinary  stock 
of  a  traveller's  medicine  chest,  will  be 
embarrassed  not  only  by  the  multi- 
plicity of  his  patients,  but  also  by  the 
nature  of  his  fees — hard  boiled,  coloured 
Easter  eggs,  stale  bread,  snails,  and 
kindred  luxuries  will  be  showered 
upon  him  by  his  grateful  patients. 

The  village  priest  will  soon  be  dis- 
covered to  be  the  ringleader  of  all 
superstitious  practices  he,  of  course, 
is  only  a  peasant  himself,  and  he  has 
no  income  except  what  he  gets  from 


reading  liturgies,  consequently  it  is 
only  natural  that  he  should  seek  to 
multiply  the  occasions  for  these 
liturgies  by  every  means  in  his  power, 
even  though  his  bishop  has  given  strict 
orders  to  the  contrary. 

Many  of  these  liturgies  are  per- 
formed under  cover  of  night,  and  at 
the  dark  of  the  moon.  A  mother  may 
be  seen  secretly  carrying  a  sickly 
child  to  church,  that  the  priest  may 
read  an  exorcism  over  it  to  drive 
away  the  demon  which  she  thinks 
possesses  it ;  for  this  he  receives  twice 
as  much  as  for  a  liturgy  during  the  day. 
The  priest  again  will  be  summoned  by 
a  farmer  whose  shed  is  infested  by 
rats  an'd  mice,  to  exorcise  the  same. 
Under  an  ancient  olive  (with  gnarled 
stem  and  creeping  branches  he  will 
read  the  \  liturgy  to  St.  Tryphon  ;  the 
farmer  will  say  the  following  words — 

"  Rats  and  mice,  and  vermin  vile, 
Hurry  away  full  many  a  mile  ; 
That  I  may  gather  in  my  seed 
Free  from  such  a  hurtful  breed." 

The  priest  has  a  cure  for  fever,  too ; 
he  writes  on  a  scrap  of  paper  "  Mother 
of  God,  divine  miracle ;  "  this  he  ties 
round  the  sufferer's  neck  with  a  red 
thread,  and  goes  away  with  a  fee  in  his 
pocket,  or  with  a  basket  of  bread  and 
figs  on  his  arm.  No  wonder  the  priests 
support  superstitions  which  pay  so 
well,  and  that  they  and  the  old  crone 
are  great  allies,  and  throw  work  into 
one  another's  hands.  Perhaps  they 
will  look  suspiciously  at  the  traveller's 
quinine  and  pills  as  commodities 
likely  to  interfere  with  their  practice  ; 
but  I  don't  think  they  need  be  afraid 
as  long  as  the  Turks  rule  in  Rhodes, 
and  education  is  at  a  discount. 

J.  THEODORE  BENT. 


304 


POPULAR   SONGS    OF   THE   SCOTTISH   HIGHLANDERS. 


THE  Highlands  of  Scotland  is  a  coun- 
try of  which  the  great  army  of  tourists 
and  travellers  know  as  little  as  one 
might  know  of  a  celebrated  character 
when  he  had  merely  counted  the 
buttons  on  bis  coat.  Of  the  Bens 
and  the  glens  and  the  waterfalls  they 
take  a  flying  note,  of  the  regions 
immortalised  by  the  picturesque 
genius  of  Scott  they  may  even  make  a 
minute  register,  but  of  the  people  who 
inhabit,  or  who  once  inhabited,  those 
charmed  regions,  after  they  have 
discovered  that  they  neither  show  bare 
legs  nor  walk  unshod,  they  know  no- 
thing. Into  their  social  condition  and 
moral  estate  they  would  no  more  think 
of  inquiring  than  they  would  into  the 
economy  of  a  few  sparrows  on  the  road- 
side, or  a  troop  of  starlings  whirring  out 
of  an  old  ruined  keep.  Nor  are  they  to 
be  blamed ;  they  are  only  flying  birds 
themselves,  and  have  neither  leisure 
nor  opportunity  to  make  profitable 
advances  into  the  soul  of  a  people 
living  behind  the  bristling  barricade  of 
a  language  which  no  man  knows  any- 
thing about,  and  which  is  supposed  to 
have  as  little  in  common  with  the 
sounds  familiar  to  every  civilised  ear 
as  the  cry  of  the  peewit  on  the  moor, 
or  the  plash  of  the  cormorant  on  the 
reef.  Nevertheless,  the  people  have  a 
soul,  a  very  distinct  and  emphatic 
soul,  and  a  language  also,  which,  how- 
ever stunted  for  lack  of  culture,  is, 
like  the  Scotch  dialect,  as  an  organ  of 
popular  song  in  some  important 
respects,  decidedly  superior  to  the 
imperial  English.  This  is  a  truth 
which  is  now  gradually  coming  to 
light ;  and  comparative  philology  is 
prepared  to  go  hand  in  hand  with  an 
enlarged  public  sympathy  in  welcom- 
ing the  popular  poetry  of  the  Cale- 
donian Celts  into  the  great  sisterhood 
of  the  British  Muses.1  Towards  this 

1  A  promising  overture  to  what  maybe  done 
in  this  field  we  gladly  welcome  in  Songs  of  the 


appreciation  we  propose  here  making 
a  small  contribution,  in  the  way  of 
translation  from  some  of  the  best 
known  collections  of  the  Celtic  lyre 
recently  published. 

In  the  palmy  days  of  the  High- 
lands, when  there  existed  that  essen- 
tial element  of  every  well-constituted 
society,  a  native  resident  middle  class, 
to^stimulate  and  draw  out  the  talent 
of  the  whole  people,  every  considerable 
district  had  not  only  its  own  school  of 
pipers,  who  belonged  to  the  chief,  as 
naturally  as  a  choir  does  to  a  cathe- 
dral ;  but  its  own  bard,  whose  busi- 
ness it  was  to  celebrate  the  exploits  of 
the  great  man  of  the  clan,  to  cherish 
the  legendary  traditions  of  the  glen,  and 
to  elevate  to  the  platform  of  rhythmical 
beauty  whatever  events  of  the  day 
might  rise  noticeably  above  the  level 
of  common  life ;  and  this  bard  of  the 
district,  though  reft  of  social  pomp 
and  circumstance,  is  to  be  found  even 
at  the  present  day  in  his  old  haunts, 
the  representative  of  the  lyrical  genius 
so  characteristic  of  the  British  Celt. 
One  of  these  the  present  writer  had  the 
good  fortune  to  encounter  in  the  neigh- 
bourhood of  Connell  Ferry,  shooting 
right  across  the  bay  northward  from 
Dunstaff  nage  Castle,  at  a  place  called 
Ledaig.  The  name  of  this  man,  as 
was  natural  to  expect  in  such  a  place, 
was  Campbell.  He  had  chosen  for 
himself  a  most  picturesque  habitation, 
hollowed  out  of  the  live  rock  on  the 
broad  and  beautiful  bay  of  Loch  Nell, 
looking  westward  towards  the  lofty 
mountains  of  Mull,  and  there,  with  the 
usual  open  hospitality  so  characteristic 
of  Highlanders  he  received  us,  and  to 
the  creature  comforts  of  the  national 
beverage  added  the  intellectual  de- 
light of  popular  song  of  his  own 

North,  by  Annie  Macleod,  Harold  Boulton, 
and  Malcolm  Lawson,  with  illustrations.  An 
elegant  volume  dedicated  to  her  Majesty  the 
Queen.  London,  Field  and  Tuer,  E.G.,  1885. 


Popular  Songs  of  the  Scottish  Highlanders. 


305 


composition.  The  song  which  he  sang 
was  on  that  favourite  theme  of  all 
Highlanders,  the  beauties  and  the 
glory  of  their  country,  and  we  are 
pleased  to  find  it  receiving  a  prominent 
place  in  a  neat  little  volume  of  the 
author's  effusions,  recently  published.1 
Mr.  Campbell  is  not,  like  Mrs.  Makel- 
lar,2  an  accomplished  bilingual  rhymer, 
utriusqiw  linguae  docta,  as  Quintilian 
phrases  it ;  but  he  has  had  the  wis- 
dom and  the  good  luck  to  append  to 
this  song  an  English  translation 
from  the  pen  of  a  Lowland  friend, 
which  reads  smoothly  enough,  and, 
though  a  little  free  in  some  passages, 
represents  fairly  the  spirit  and  the  hue 
of  the  original. 

THE  GAEL  TO  HIS  COUNTRY  AND 
HIS  COUNTRYMEN. 

A   SONG. 

"  My  heart's  in  the  Highlands,  I  love  every 

glen, 
Every  corrie  arid  crag  in  the  land  of  the 

Ben, 
Each  brave  kilted  laddie,  stout-hearted  and 

true, 
With  rich  curly  locks  'neath  his  bonnet  of 

blue. 

"  A  brave  Highland  boy,  when  light-footed 

he  goes, 
With  plaid,  and  with  kilt,  dirk,  sporan,  and 

hose  ; 
Oh,  who  will  compare  with  my  Highlander 

then, 
When  he  comes  fresh  and  fair  like  a  breeze 

from  the  Ben  ! 

"  When   foemen  were   banded  to  spoil   and 

annoy, 
Who    then    fronted   death  like  my  brave 

Highland  boy  ? 
For  his  cause  and  his  country,  in  battle's 

rude  shock, 
When  kingdoms  were  reeling  he  stood  like 

a  rock. 

"  And  the  dear  Highland  lasses,  bad  luck  to 

the  day, 
When  I  look  in  their  faces  and  wish  them 

away  ; 

I'll  cross  the  wide  seas  to  the  far  coral  isles, 
With   Mary  to  lighten  the  road  with  her 
smiles. 

"  And  the  songs  of  the  Gael  on  their  pinions 

of  fire, 

How  oft  have  they  lifted  my  heart  from  the 
mire  ; 

1  Poems    by  John    Campbell.     Edinburgh, 
McLachlan  and  Stewart,  1884. 

2  Gaelic  and  English  Poems.    By  Mrs.  Mary 
Makellar.     Edinburgh,  1880. 

]STo.  310.— VOL.  TIT. 


On  the  lap  of  my  mother  I  lisped  them  to 

God  ; 
Let  them  float  round  my  grave,   when   I 

sleep  'neath  the  sod. 

"  And  dear  to  my  heart  are  the  chivalrous 
ways, 

And  the  kindly  regards  of  the  old  High- 
land days, 

When  the  worth  of  the  chief,  and  the 
strength  of  the  clan, 

Brought  glory  and  gain  to  the  brave  High- 
landman. 

"  But  now  with  mere  sheep  they  have  'peo- 
pled the  brae, 

And  flung  the  brave  clansmen  like  rubbish 
away  ; 

But  should  foes  we  have  vanquished  the 
struggle  renew, 

They'll  sigh  for  the  boys  with  the  bonnets 
of  blue  ! 

"  At  Alma's  red  steep,  and  at  red  Waterloo, 
The  Gael  still  was  first  where  hot  work  was 

to  do! 
And  when  Ganga  and  Jumna  revolted,  who 

then 
Were  more  loyal  and  true  than  the  sons  of 

the  Ben? 

"  Where  the  East  and    the  West   by  broad 

billows  are  bounded, 
The  Gael  shall  be  known  and  his  fame  shall 

be  sounded  ; 
While  thrones  shall  have  honour,  and  right 

shall  prevail, 
Long  ages  shall   echo   the   praise   of    the 

Gael. 

"  And  when  need  comes  again  for  the  law  of 

the  sword, 
Though  few  now  the  clansmen  that  follow 

their  lord, 
The  brave  kilted  boys  for  defence  will  be 

nigh, 
And  shoulder  to  shoulder  will  conquer  or 

die  !  " 

The  man  who  cannot  sing  such  a  lay 
as  this  with  hearty  sympathy  some 
rainy  day  beneath  the  Bens,  is  not 
worthy  to  start  a  grouse  from  the 
heather,  or  to  lie  in  wait  for  the 
antlered  lord  of  the  braes  behind  a 
block  of  grey  granite.  Those  who  wish 
to  sing  it  will  find  the  music  in  Logan's 
well-known  collection.3 

From  Mrs.  Makellar,  who  is  a  ban- 
bhard  of  elevated  genius,  and,  as  we  have 
already  said,  of  admirable  bilingual  dex- 
terity, we  make  no  extracts,  because, 

3  Popular  Gaelic  Songs  with  English  Trans- 
lations, Symphonies  and  Accompaniments. 
Logan  &  Co.,  Inverness. 


306 


Popular  Songs  of  the  Scottish  Highlanders. 


though  a  genuine  Highlander  in  all  her 
sentiments,  and  with  a  strong  flavour 
of  the  heather  in  all  her  utterances,  she 
stands  on  a  platfo  rm  considerably 
higher  than  the  volkslied,  or  floating 
popular  song,  which  is  our  present 
theme. 

On  the  value  of  the  purely  popular 
song,  even  in  its  most  rude  form,  the 
great  Weimarian  poet -thinker  has 
delivered  himself  thus  : — "  The  special 
value  of  national  songs  and  ballads 
lies  in  this,  that  their  inspiration 
always  comes  direct  from  Natxire ;  in 
this,  no  doubt,  the  poet  of  culture, 
when  he  knows  how,  may  often  vie 
with  them :  but  there  is  always  one 
respect  in  which  the  popular  bard 
maintains  his  superiority.  The  un- 
sophisticated man  is  more  the  master 
of  direct  effective  expression  in  few 
words  than  he  who  has  received  a 
regular  literary  training."1  There 
could  be  no  better  example  of  this 
effective  curtness  in  the  most  rude 
form  of  popular  song,  of  course  ac- 
companied with  its  natural  music, 
than  the  following  cry  of  alarm, 
played  by  a  piper  who  came  from  a 
distance  early  in  the  morning  of  the 
infamous  massacre  of  Glencoe,  to 
rouse  the  sleeping  inhabitants  of  the 
glen,  and  warn  them  of  the  approach- 
ing danger : — 

"  0  women  of  this  glen, 
0  women  of  this  glen, 
0  women  of  this  glen, 

"Pis  time  that  you  were  rising. 

"Then  I  rose  with  the  day  dawn, 
Then  I  rose  with  the  day  dawn, 
Then  I  rose  with  the  day  dawn, 

More  need  was  yours  than-mine  then. 

"  They  have  slain  the  herd  hoy, 
They  have  slain  the  herd  boy, 
They  have  slain  the  herd  boy, 
The  boy  that  watch'd  tlie  cattle. 

1  Wisdom  of  Goethe,  p.  136. 

2  Gaelic  Songs  with  English  and  Gaelic  Words 
and  Pianoforte  Accompaniments.     By  Margaret 
Campbell-Pattison.     Swan    &    Co.,    London. 
Miss   Pattison  has  given   words  to    this   air 
composed   by   her   brother,    the   author   of  a 
well-known   volume   of    Selections  from    the 
Gaelic    Bards    (Glasgow,    1866),     no    doubt 
wisely  for  saloon  use  ;  but  for  our  purpose  we 
have   preserved   as   literally  as    possible  the 
unsophisticated  original. 


"  The  cattle  they  ha'e  lifted, 
The  cattle  they  ha'e  lifted, 
The  cattle  they  ha'e  lifted, 
And  cut  down  all  the  keepers. 

"  It's  black  John,  bitter  black, 
Black  John,  bitter  black, 
Black  John,  bitter  black 
That  drove  away  the  cattle. 

"  0  women  of  this  glen, 
0  women  of  this  glen  ; 
0  women  of  this  glen, 
'Tis  high  time{"you[were  rising." 

On  this  blood -red  blot  on  the 
'scutcheon  of  our  glorious  revolution, 
there  is  a  more  detailed  and  more 
finished  lyrical  wail  in  the  Killin 
collection,  with  which  Mr.  Charles 
Stewart,  a  well-known  Celtic  archae- 
ologist, has  recently  enriched  our 
musical  literature  : — 3 

"  Merry  came  we  in  the  gloaming 

Lilting  the  light-hearted  lay  : 
Little  recked  we  what  was  coming 

Us  to  part  ere  break  of  day  : 
Some  in  beds  sore  wounded  lying, 

Some  in  snow-wreaths  frozen  stiff, 
Through  the  woods  the  remnant  flying, 

In  the  madness  of  their  grief." 

And  so  on ;  to  which  treatment,  of 
course,  we  have  nothing  to  object ; 
but  this  is  certainly  one  of  the  cases 
in  which,  according  to  the  doctrine  of 
"Wordsworth,  the  plainest  prose  is  the 
best  poetry ;  a  case  in  which  decora- 
tion may  diminish  but  certainly  never 
can  heighten  the  effect  of  the  pathetic 
iteration  of  the  simple  volkslied — al- 
ways, of  course,  with  its  native  music, 
which  belongs  as  necessarily  to  the 
volkslied  as  the  wings  to  a  bird. 

In  war-songs,  though  a  warlike 
race,  the  Highlanders  do  not  seem  to 
be  so  rich  as  the  Germans ;  but  in 
that  best  department  of  military  song 
which  clusters  round  the  feats  of  a 
romantic  adventurer,  they  beat  not 
only  the  Germans,  but  all  military 
poetry  whatever.  We  need  scarcely 
say  that  we  refer  here  to  the  Jacobite 
songs,  some  of  the  most  popular  of 
which  no  doubt  were  composed  by 
Lowlanders  in  the  Scottish  language  ; 
but  Lowland ers,  it  must  never  be  for- 
gotten, singing  under  a  stirring  Celtic 

3  The  Killin  Collection  of  Gaelic  Songs.  By 
Charles  Stewart,  Tigh-'nduin,  Killin.  Edin- 
burgh, 1884. 


Popular  Songs  of  the  Scottish  Highlanders. 


inspiration,  and  not  a  few  of  them 
with  a  strong  infusion  of  Highland 
blood  in  their  veins.  The  Jacobite 
songs  in  fact,  whether  in  Scotch  or 
Gaelic,  must  be  regarded  historically, 
as  the  very  blossom  and  crown  of  the 
poetry  of  the  Scottish  Highlanders  ; 
and  they  will  continue  to  inspire  all 
the  generations  of  British  subjects,  as 
long  as  the  British  monarchy  lasts, 
with  that  feeling  of  loyalty  and  devo- 
tion to  the  majesty  of  the  throne 
which  is  our  great  safeguard  against 
the  violence  of  rival  factions  and  the 
horrors  of  a  possible  revolution.  One 
of  the  most  popular  of  the  Jacobite 
war- songs,  and  which  has  achieved  a 
wide  currency  in  the  Lowlands  by  a 
comical  adaptation,1  is  known  in  the 
Highlands  by  the  familiar  words  of 
the  chorus,  Gabhaidh  sinn  an  rathad 
mor — "  We  will  take  the  good  old  way" 
— of  which  a  spirited  translation  was 
made  by  the  Reverend  Dr.  Alexander 
Stewart,  of  Nether  Lochaber,  a  gentle- 
man well  known  for  his  lively  and 
graphic  contributions  to  an  influential 
northern  journal.  The  song  appears 
in  Logan's  collection,  and  is  as 
follows  : — 

WE  WILL  TAKE  THE  GOOD  OLD 
WAY. 

i. 

"  Let  Maclntyres  say  what  they  may, 
Let  Maclntyres  say  what  they  may, 
We'll  take  and  keep  the  good  old  way, 
Let  them  say  their  will  0  ! 


"  We  will  take  the  good  old  way, 
We  will  take  the  good  old  way, 
We'll  take  and  keep  the  good  old  way, 
Let  them  say  their  will  0  ! 


Up  the  steep  and  heathery  ben, 
Down  the  bonny  winding  glen, 
We  march,  a  band  of  loyal  men, 
Let  them  say  their  will  0  ! 

We  will  take,  &c. 

in. 

We  will  march  adoun  Glencoe, 
We  will  march  adoun  Glencoe, 
By  the  Ferry  we  will  go, 
Let  them  say  their  will  0  ! 

We  will  take,  &c. 

1  In  the  well-known  Ka/oosleum. 


IV. 


"  To  Glengarry  and  Lochiel, 
Loyal  hearts  with  arms  of  steel, 
These  will  back  you  in  the  field, 
Let  them  say  their  will  0  ! 

We  will  take,  &c. 


"  Cluny  will  come  down  the  brae, 
Keppoch  bold  will  lead  the  way, 
Toss  thine  antlers,  Cabar  Feigh, 
Let  them  say  their  will  0  ! 

We  will  take,  &c. 

VI. 

"  Forward,  sons  of  bold  Rob  Roy, 
Stewarts — conflict  is  your  joy, 
We'll  stand  together,  pour  le  Roy, 
Let  them  say  their  will  0  ! 

We  will  take,  &c." 

This  has  the  genuine  ring  of  a 
marching  song  made  on  the  march, 
like  the  celebrated  German  song  of 
Bluchers  March,  struck  out  by  Maurice 
Arndt  from  the  glowing  materials  of 
the  Liberation  War.  In  this  import- 
ant respect  both  the  Gaelic  and 
the  German  song  have  the  advantage 
over  Scots  who,  hae,  inspired  no  doubt 
by  the  field  of  Bannockburn,  but  which 
had  nothing  to  do  with  the  actual 
fight. 

Among  the  devotees  to  the  dash- 
ing plunge  of  the  unfortunate  young 
Stuart,  the  more  impassioned  sex 
were  naturally  in  the  van ;  and  of 
this  tendency  we  may  take  the  fol- 
lowing effusion  as  a  fair  specimen  : — 

TO  PRINCE  CHARLIE. 

i. 
"  Thou  gallant  young  prince  with  thy  foot  on 

the  heather, 
Where  the  brave  ones  that  serve  thee  are 

gathered  together, 
My  heart  is  with  thee,  and  I'd  follow  thee 

fairly, 

Through  Glencoe,  and   Strath  Fillan  thou 
bonnie  Prince  Charlie  ! 

Hillirin  ho  so  ho  bha  hd  t 
'S  na  hillirin  ho  so  ho  bha  hi, 
Na  liillirin  ho  so,  ho  bha  hb\ 
Soon  was  our  joy  turned  to  sorrow  for 
Charlie ! 


"  I'd  go  with  thee  late,  I'd  march  with  thee 

early, 
O'er    crags,    woods,  and   mountains,  thou 

bonnie  Prince  Charlie  ; 
Where  the  claymores  were  flashing  to  wel- 
come thee  rarely, 

And  the  big  heart  of  Scotland  was  beating 
for  Charlie ! 

Y    9 


308 


Popular  Songs  of  the  Scottish  Highlanders. 


' '  Cub  of  the  lion,  thou  gallant  young  Charlie, 
Not  with  yesterday's  love,  I  loved  thee  so 

dearly  ; 
No  duke,  and  no  earl  could  have  won  me 

so  fairly, 
But  now  it  were   well  I   had  never  seen 

Charlie ! 

IV. 
"  As  he  stood  in  the  glen,  that  brave  young 

fellow, 
While  streamed  o'er  his  neck  his  locks  so 

yellow, 
Like  the  call  of  the  cuckoo  in  May  month 

early 
Was    the   voice    to  me   of  bonnie   Prince 

Charlie ! 

v. 

"  Sweet  was  thy  kiss  like  French  wine  glow- 
ing, 
Thy  cheeks  like  bright  berry  on  mountain 

growing, 
Thy  full'  blue   eye  with  eye-brows   arched 

rarely, 
Who  could  behold  and  not  follow  Prince 

Charlie  ? 

VI. 

"  0  son  of  King  Jamie,  royal  Charlie, 
Up  hill  and  down  dale  they  are  hunting  thee 

rarely  ; 
With  shout  and  halloo,  but  my  eyes  late 

and  early 
Are  dimmed  with  the  tears  that  are  flowing 

for  Charlie  ! 


"  They    killed    my    father,    and    my    two 

brothers, 
They    harried    the     land     that    was    my 

mother's, 
They  crushed  my  kin,  and  they  ruined  us 

fairly, 
But  less  were  my  woe,  if  'twere  well  with 

my  Charlie !  "  x 

That  the  kisses  here  alluded  to  were 
genuine,  and  no  doubt  much  more 
warm  than  any  cold  French  claret  could 
be,  we  are  not  left  to  conclude  merely 
from  the  realism  which  belongs  to  all 
Gaelic  poetry ;  for  history  records  of 
one  lady  at  least  that  she.  had  the 
honour  of  receiving  a  sounding  salute 
from  Charlie  in  the  following  fashion. 
On  his  march  from  Perth  to  Edinburgh, 
the  Prince  halted  shortly  at  Doune, 

1  From  Sar  Obair  nan  Bard  Gaidheal.  By 
John  Mackenzie,  5th  Edition.  Edinburgh,  1882. 
This  admirable  collection  we  owe  to  the  pious 
devotion  of  an  honest  Highlander,  whose 
monument  the  tourist  looks  down  upon  from 
the  conveyance  that  carries  him  from  the  steam- 
boat to  the  New  Inn  at  Gairloch. 


near  Stirling,  where  he  was  hospitably 
entertained  by  Mr.  Edmonston  of  Cam- 
bus.     On  arrival  he  stopped  before  the 
house,  and  drank  a  glass  of  wine  to 
the  health  of  all  the  fair  ladies  present. 
The  Misses  Edmonston,  daughters  to 
the  host,   performed    the  function   of 
servitors  to   his  highness ;   and  after 
finishing  their  ministerial  duty  grace- 
fully, begged  in  respectful  terms  the 
honour  of  kissing  the  royal  hand.  This 
request  of  course  was  granted,  and  in 
the  most    gracious    manner    possible. 
But  it  was  not  to  end  here.     Along 
with   the   daughters  of   the  house,  a 
Miss     Clementina    Edmonston,    their 
cousin,   who    had    taken    part  in  the 
ministrations,  was  suddenly  seized  with 
the  inspiration  that  it  would  be  a  much 
more   satisfactory   thing   to    kiss   the 
prince's  lips ;    so   trusting  to  nature, 
and  altogether  regardless  of  propriety, 
she    requested    leave    to     "  pree    his 
Royal  Highness'  mou."  Charles,  whose 
education  in  France  had  been,  of  course, 
sadly  neglected,   did    not  understand 
Scotch;  but  the  moment  the  request 
was  made   intelligible  to  him   by  an 
interpreter,  he,   without  the  slightest 
hesitation,  took  the  loyal  damsel  kindly 
in  his  arms,  and  kissed  her  so  empha- 
tically that  she  blushed  from  ear  to 
ear,  and  from  neck  to   crown  like   a 
rose  on  fire.     What  the  other  ladies 
felt,  who  from  a  stupid  modesty  had 
contented    themselves    with  a  formal 
osculation  of  the  hand,  the  historian 
does  not  say,  but    it    may  be  easily 
conceived.2 

This  kissing  exploit  is  really  very 
romantic ;  perhaps  next  to  Flora 
Macdonald's  services  in  Skye  the  most 
romantic  incident  in  that  romantic 
rising.  But  romance  is  better  in  a 
novel  than  in  history ;  and  sentiment 
which  can  create  a  poem  may  help,  but 
can  never  maintain,  a  war,  and  is 
always  perilous  when  it  aspires  to 
dictate  a  policy.  The  brilliant  romance 
of  the  '45  was  not  long  of  achieving 
its  natural  consummation  in  bloody 
tragedy ;  and  the  momentary  shout  of 
triumph  was  turned  into  long  years  of 
lamentation  and  wail.  The  following 
2  Chambers's  Rebellion  of  the  '45,  chap.  viii. 


Popular  Songs  of  the  Scottish  Highlanders. 


309 


song,  which  comes  immediately  next  in 
Mackenzie's  collection,  may  serve  as  a 
terrible  lesson  to  all  time  how  much 
innocent  blood  a  gallant  young  prince 
may  cause  to  flow  when  he  hastily  stirs 
the  flame  of  a  crude  insurrection ;  not 
to  mention  the  unavoidable  sequence 
in  the  historical  chain — that  every 
rebellion  when  unsuccessful  can  end 
only  in  nailing  down  the  fetters  of  the 
suffering  party  with  greater  firmness 
and  sharper  pangs.  This  pathetic 
lament — in  Gaelic  Cumha,  a  depart- 
ment in  which  the  bagpipe  is  pre- 
eminent— arose  out  of  an  incident  in 
the  fatal  battle  of  Culloden,  which  we 
cannot  do  better  than  state  in  the 
patriotic  editor's  own  words  : 

"Christiana  Fergusson  was  a  native  of  the 
parish  of  Contin,  Ross-shire,  where  her  father 
was  a  blacksmith,  chiefly  employed  in  making 
dirks,  and  other  implements  of  war.  She  was 
married  to  a  brave  man  of  the  name  of  Chis- 
holm,  a  native  of  Strathglass  (a  near  kinsman 
of  the  chief  of  that  name).  On  the  memorable 
day  of  Culloden,  William  was  flag-bearer,  or 
banner-man  of  the  clan,  and  the  task  of  pre- 
serving the  bratach  choimheach  from  the  dis- 
grace of  being  struck  down,  could  not  have 
fallen  into  better  hands.  He  fought  long  and 
manfully  ;  and  even  after  the  rout  became 
general,  he  rallied  and  led  his  clansmen  again 
and  again  to  the  charge,  but  in  vain.  A  body 
of  the  Chisholms  ultimately  sought  shelter  in 
a  barn,  which  was  soon  surrounded  by  hund- 
reds of  the  red  coats,  who  panted  for  blood. 
At  this  awful  conjuncture,  William  literally 
cut  his  way  through  the  government  forces. 
He  then  stood  in  the  barn  door,  and  with  his 
trusty  blade  high  raised,  and  in  proud  defiance 
guarded  the  place.  In  vain  did  their  spears 
and  bayonets  aim  their  thrusts  at  his  fearless 
heart ;  he  hewed  down  all  who  came  within 
reach  of  his  sword,  and  kept  a  semi-circle  of 
eight  feet  clear  for  himself  in  the  teeth  of  his 
desperate  enemies.  At  length  he  was  shot  by 
some  Englishmen  who  climbed  up  to  the  top 
of  the  barn  from  behind,  where  he  fell  as  a 
hero  would  wish  to  fall,  with  seven  bullets 
lodged  in  his  body.  His  wife  forthwith  com- 
posed the  following  beautiful  and  heart-touch- 
ing lament,  which  is  altogether  worthy  of  a 
high-hearted  and  affectionate  woman  : — 


'  Who  will  draw  the  sword  for  Charlie  ? 
Who  will  fill  his  chair  to-morrow  ? 
Little  cares  me  now  to  ask, 
Pining  here  in  widowed  sorrow. 
And  yet,  and  yet,  I  may  not  blame  thee, 
Though  by  thee  I'm  ruined  fairly, 
Though  by  thee  my  lord  lies  bleeding, 
Thou  art  still  my  king,  my  Charlie  ! 


' '  '  Oh,  but  thou  wert  tall  and  comely, 
From  top  to  toe  equipped  completely, 
Never  swan  more  stately  fair, 
Never  honey  flowed  more  sweetly 
Than  thy  kisses  ;  with  thy  brown  locks 
Down  thy  neck  so  richly  flowing  ; 
Thou  didst  draw  all  eyes,  the  honour 
Of  thy  manly  beauty  showing. 


' '  '  Broad  thy  shoulders  ;  and  thy  waist 
Nicely  shaped  for  supple  beauty  ; 
Not  a  prentice  hand  was  his 
Who  did  for  thee  the  tailor's  duty. 
Who  for  thee  would  trim  the  trews, 
He  must  cut  the  cloth  not  scanty  ; 
No  light  work  to  fit  short  hose, 
To  thy  stout  legs  with  step  so  jaunty. 


"  '  Thou  didst  lay  the  finny  people 
Glancing  on  the  river's  border  ; 
Lightly,  lightly  on  the  heather 
Trod  thy  foot  with  gun  in  order. 
When  the  deer  were  on  the  hill, 
No  man  rated  thy  delaying  ; 
Sweetest  music  to  my  ears 
Were  thy  hounds  when  they  were  baying. 


'  When  the  social  cup  was  circling 
Thou  wert  ever  stout  and  able  ; 
Thou  didst  stand  and  pay  thy  scot 
When  all  weak  brains  were  'neath  the  table 
Never  o'er  the  foamin*  ale 
Didst  thou  teach  thy  wits  to  maunder, 
Never  gave  thy  foot  loose  rein 
From  thy  faithful  wife  to  wander. 

VII. 

'  0  waly  waly  woe,  my  sorrow, 
Would  the  truth  might  be  a  lie  now  ! 
Far  from  me  be  mirth  and  joy 
When  thou  in  death  dost  lowly  lie  now ! 
Who  will  show  another  like  thee, 
Brain  and  brawn  well  joined  together  ? 
No  red  blood  from  veins  more  loyal 
At  Culloden  stained  the  heather. 


'  0  Charlie,  brave  young  Stuart, 
From  thee  came  my  heart's  sore  bleeding  ! 
All  my  best,  my  all  I  gave  thee 
In  the  battle  for  thy  speeding. 
Not  for  sheep,  and  not  for  cattle, 
Now  I  give  my  tears  not  sparely  ; 
Who  was  all  the  world  to  me, 
Him  I  gave  to  die  for  Charlie. 


' '  '  Many  a  silken-vested  lady, 
Titled  dames,  and  dainty  misses, 
Envied  me  the  right  to  claim, 
As  a  wife  may  claim,  thy  kisses. 
All  the  wealth  of  Guinea  mines 
Might  not  make  me  to  disclaim  thee  ; 
I'd  sooner  break  all  God's  commands 
Than  say  amen  to  who  should  blame  thee ! 


310 


Popular  Songs  of  the  Scottish  Highlanders. 


"  '  Woe's  me,  woe  that  I  must  drag 

Days  and  nights  in  groans  and  moaning  ; 
Weary,  weary,  wakeful  nights, 
With  no  hope  for  thy  returning. 
Nevermore  shall  fife  or  fiddle 
Rouse  my  love  where  he  is  sleeping, 
Never  more  his  dear  voice  whisper 
Kindly  words  to  stay  my  weeping. 


"  'When  he  left  me  I  was  hoping — 
Hoping  nightly,  hoping  daily — 
He  would  come  back  from  the  battle 
With  his  banner  floating  gaily. 
But  the  time  is  past  for  hoping  ; 
I  shall  see  thee  never,  never  ; 
'Neath  the  turf  my  hopes  I  bury 
With  my  dear  heart's  love  for  ever. 


'  There's  many  a  widow  weeping  sore 
From  Trotternish  to  Sleat  in  Skye  now  ; 
But  never  widow  wept  a  lord 
So  worthy  of  hot  tears  as  I  now. 
When  he  was  here  how  bright  my  life, 
How  dim,  how  dark,  with  him  departed. 
No  sorriest  wight  would  envy  me 
In  Skye  this  day  so  dreary-hearted  ! '  " 

We  now  turn  to  love  songs  of  which, 
of  course,  as  in  all  popular  poetry, 
the  name  is  legion  ;  but  we  have  only 
room  for  two,  one  with  that  touch  of 
sadness  in  it,  which  love  in  the  absence 
of  the  beloved  one  can  never  be  with- 
out, and  the  other  where  love  lies 
bleeding  in  the  tragic  style  to  which 
only  the  breath  of  prayer  and  the 
voice  of  sweet  song  can  bring  allevia- 
tion. 

GED  THA  MI  GUN  CHRODH  GUN 
AIGHEAN. 

CHORUS. 

"  Though  I  have  nor  sheep  nor  oxen, 
Scant  my  goods,  and  few  my  chattels, 
Yet  with  me  to  fight  life's  battles 
I  may  get  a  'braw  young  man  ! 

"  Sailor  brave  that  ploughs  the  ocean, 
When  the  boisterous  blast  is  beating, 
Bear  my  blessing,  give  my  greeting 
To  my  curly-headed  boy  ! 

"  Weary-footed  wight  that  travels 
Through  the  pass,  and  o'er  the  mountain, 
Tell  the  boy  that  I  lie  counting 
Weary  hours,  alone,  alone  ! 

"  Not  the  proudest  laird  in  Suineart 
Showed  more  gallant  than  my  laddie  ; 
I  could  sleep  beneath  his  plaidie 
Warm  through  coldest  winter  night. 


"  Though  the  sheep  that  crop  sweet  clover 
In  my  meadows  are  not  many  ; 
I  can  boast  a  dower  like  any 
Richest  heiress  in  the  land. 

"  When  thou  comest  from  thy  roaming, 
I've  a  smile  to  greet  thee  brightly, 
I  can  a  weave  a  plaid  that  tightly 
Wraps  my  handsome  soldier  boy. 

"  '  Have  not  I  good  cause  for  weeping  ? 
Sitting  in  a  lonely  chamber  ; 
With  him  sitting  last  December, 
Now  with  my  lean  self  alone  ! 

"  '  Have  not  I  good  cause  for  smarting 
For  my  curly-headed  soldier  ? 
For  the  red  coat  on  his  shoulder 
Bore  the  thorn  that  made  me  bleed  ! 

"  '  They  have  marched  him  to  Jamaica, 
Me  they  leave  my  lone  watch  keeping 
O'er  my  spindle,  weeping,  weeping 
Vainly  for  my  soldier  boy.'  " 1 

The  tragic  nature  of  the  next 
ballad  demands  for  full  appreciation 
the  following  recital  of  the  facts,  out 
of  which,  as  a  blood-red  blossom,  it 
grew. 

' '  This  beautiful  song  was  composed  by  a 
Highland  officer,  who  had  served  under  King 
William  on  the  the  Continent  after  the 
revolution.  He  was  the  son  of  a  respectable 
tenant  in  the  highlands  of  Perthshire,  and 
while  a  youth  cherished  a  desperate  passion 
for  a  beautiful  young  lady,  the  daughter  of  a 
neighbouring  proprietor.  Their  love  was 
mutual,  but  such  was  the  disparity  in  their 
circumstances  that  the  obstacles  to  their  union 
were  regarded,  even  by  themselves/ as  insuper- 
able. To  mend  matters  the  gallant  young  High- 
lander enlisted,  and  being  a  brave  soldier,  and 
a  young  man  of  excellent  conduct,  was  promoted 
to  the  rank  of  an  officer.  After  several  years' 
absence  he  came  home  to  see  his  old  friends, 
and  to  try  whether  his  newly-acquired  status 
might  not  remove  the  former  objections  to  the 
union.  The  lady  was  still  single,  and  her 
beauty  was  the  theme  of  universal  admiration. 
Othello-like,  the  young  officer  told  her  of 
'hairbreadth  'scapes  by  land  and  flood,'  and 
so  enraptured  the  lady  that  she  readily  agreed 
to  elope  with  him. 

"  Having  matured  their  arrangements  they 
fled  on  a  Saturday  night,  probably  under  the 

1  From  The  Gaelic  Songster,  Glasgow, 
1879,  p.  167,  music  in  the  Celtic  Lyre,  parti. — , 
Messrs.  Lachlan  and  Stewart,  1883 — a 
publication  which  puts  the  most  popular 
Gaelic  songs,  English  and  Gaelic,  within  the 
reach  of  everybody,  and  deserves  to  be  en- 
couraged. By  the  same  publisher,  in  the 
same  style,  Songs  of  the  Gael ;  also  for  schools 
with  the  sol  fa  notation  —Grain  agus  Luinn 
Gaidhelach,  by  Roddie  and  Macbean. 


Popular  Songs  of  the  Scottish  Highlanders. 


311 


belief  that  the  non-appearance  of  the  young 
lady  at  her  father's  table  on  a  Sabbath  morning 
would  excite  no  surmises  in  the  hurry  of  going 
to  church.  She,  indeed,  had  complained  to 
her  father  of  slight  headache  when  she  retired 
to  rest,  and  instructed  her  maid  to  say  next 
morning  that  she  was  better,  but  not  dis- 
posed to  appear  at  the  breakfast  table.  Not 
satisfied  with  the  servant's  prevarication,  who 
was  cognisant  of  the  elopement,  the  father 
hurried  to  his  daughter's  room,  and  not  find- 
ing here  there,  he  forcibly  elicited  the  facts 
from  the  maid.  He  immediately  assembled  his 
men,  and  pursued  the  fugitive  lovers  with  all 
speed.  After  many  miles'  pursuit  he  overtook 
them  in  a  solitary  glen,  where  'they  had  sat 
down  to  rest.  The  lover,  although  he  had  no 
one  to  support  him,  was  determined  not  to 
yield  up  his  mistress,  and  being  well  armed, 
and  an  excellent  gladiator,  he  prepared  to 
resent  any  attack  made  on  him.  When  the 
pursuers  came  up,  and  while  he  was  defending 
himself  with  his  sword — which  was  a  very, 
heavy  one — and  loaded  with  what  is  called  a 
steelapple,  she  ran  for  protection  behind  him. 
In  preparing  to  give  a  deadly  stroke  the  point 
of  the  weapon  accidental!}  struck  the  lady  so 
violent  a  blow  that  she  fell  down  and  expired 
at  his  feet.  Upon  this  he  surrendered  himself, 
saying  that  he  did  not  wish  to  live,  his  earthly 
treasure  being  gone.  He  was  carried  to  prison, 
where  he  composed  the  song,  a  few  days  before 
his  execution. 

'"MALI  BHEAG  OG. 
' '  '  Oh,  look  with  eyes  of  weeping 

On  me,  my  bonnie  May, 
Whom  thy  harsh  friends  are  keeping 

In  bonds  for  thee,  this  day  ; 
Oh,  thou  smooth-eye-browed  maiden, 

Thy  mouth  with  kisses  laden, 
Ne'er  dropt  a  word  to  harm  me, 
My  bonnie  young  May. 

"  '  On  Sunday  in  the  glen  there, 

My  bonnie  young  May  ! 
I  talked  beneath  the  Ben  there 
-  To  thee,  my  bonnie  May. 
I  ^lifted  up  my  eyes  there, 

And  saw  with  dread  surprise  there 
A  troop  of  armed  horsemen 

In  clattering  array. 

"  '.I  started  up  confounded, 

My  bonnie  young  May  ! 
To  see  myself  surrounded 

By  foes  in  stern  array. 
Oh,  would  my  nerveless  arm  then, 

Had  dropt  with  palsied  harm  then, 
Before  that  blind-stroke  smote  thee, 

My  bonnie  young  May  ! 

"  '  Oh,  fairer  than  the  fairest 

Flower  in  garden  gay, 
Than  rose  or  lily  rarest 

Wert  thou,  my  bonnie  May  ! 
Like  sunlight  in  the  morning 

The  soft  green  slopas  adorning, 
Thy  light  of  love  streamed  o'erjine, 

My  bonnie  young  May  ! 


"  '  And  I  was  thine  for  ever, 

From  that  bright  hour,  my  May, 
From  thy  love  parted  never, 

My  bouuie  young  May. 
Thy  locks  in  gold  were  flowing, 

Thy  cheeks  like  rowans  glowing, 
Thy  bright  eyes'  queenly  survey, 

Thy  speech  with  gentle  sway. 

"  '  With  thy  sweet  love  I'd  wander, 

Myjworld's  joy,  my  May, 
To  far  sun-rise,  or  yonder 

Behind  the  westering  ray. 
No  deer  o'er  height  and  hollow 

My  flying  track  might  follow, 
If  thou  wert  ever  with  me, 

My  own  true  love,  my  May  ! 

"  '  Oh!  cruelly  they  used  thee, 

Thy  friends,  my  bonnie  May, 
My  true  love  who  refused  thee, 

My  heart  of  hearts,  my  May! 
Oh,  had  their  pride  been  wise  then, 

My  honest  worth  to  prize  then, 
Sore  doom  had  not  been  mine  now 

For  lovejof  thee,  my  May  ! 

"  '  And  if  to  draw  live  breath  here 

Stern  law  might  grant  to-day, 
Life  were  a  living  death  here, 

Without  thy  love,  my  May. 
Oh  !  batter  far  above  there, 

Upon  thy  face  of  love  there 
To  look,  and  clean  forget  there 

The  wound  that  harmed  my  May  !  '  "  J 

The  Highlanders  of  the  far  west, 
as  inhabiting  either  islands  or  long 
narrow  stretches  of  land,  with  a 
tongue  of  salt  water  on  both  sides, 
naturally  move  about  as  much  on  the 
sea  as  on  the  dry  land  ;  and  boat  songs 
accordingly  will  come  in  for  a  promi- 
nent place  in  their  amphibious  life. 
The  favourite  song,  Bhir  a  Bhata,  or 
"  The  Boatman  " — has  to  do  with  the 
sea  no  doubt,  but  is  rather  a  love 
song  than  a  sailor's  song.  It  will  be 
found  in  all  the  collections.  The 
iorram,  or  boat  song  proper,  is  a 
stirring  composition  in  a  light  dactylic 
or  proceleusmatic  metre,  where  the 
plash  of  the  oar  and  the  hiss  of  the 
waves  are  distinctly  heard,  respondent 
to  the  clear  call  of  the  lusty-throated 
rowers.  In  the  Killin  Collection  will 
be  found  a  spirited  lay  of  this  kind, 
composed  by  that  masculine  and  manly 
Celt,  the  late  Dr.  John  Macleod,  of 
Morven ;  for  in^those  remote  parts  of 

1  Mackenzie,  p.  367.  The  music,  with  a 
diti'erent  translation,  in  Miss  Pattison's  Col- 
lection. 


312 


Popular  Songs  of  the  Scottish  Highlanders. 


the  Highlands  the  minister  is  not 
seldom  as  good  at  boating  as  at  preach- 
ing ;  he  cannot  visit  his  parish 
without  crossing  some  two  or  three 
distinct  waters  in  a  day,  and  in  doing 
so,  not  seldom  having  to  encounter  a 
stiff  blast  from  the  south-west,  as 
hard  to  deal  with  as  the  gainsaying  of 
sturdy  sinners  when  Gospel  truth  is 
flung  broadly  in  their  face.  Such  a 
life  is  the  best  possible  school  of 
physical  and  moral  manhood.  Long  may 
it  survive  !  Here  follows  the  song,  in 
which  the  reader  will  observe  that  the 
patriotic  writer  has  chosen  to  use  the 
Celtic  assonance,  which  serves  the 
Highlander  for  rhyme — a  character- 
istic feature,  no  doubt,  which  has  its 
value  ;  but  for  popular  purposes  in  the 
Lowlands,  at  least,  the  habit  of  the 
popular  ear  ought  to  be  consulted  ;  and 
in  lyric  poetry,  where  blank  verse  is 
not  tolerated,  the  English  ear  does  not 
willingly  reconcile  itself  to  the  abro- 
gation of  rhyme. 

"HO  HO,  CLANSMEN!" 

'  Send  the  biorlinn  on  careering, 
Cheerily,  and  all  together, 

Ho  ro,  clansmen  ! 
A  long,  strong  pull  together, 
Ho  ro,  clansmen  ! 

"  Bend  your  oars  and  send  her  foaming 
O'er  the  dashing,   swelling  billows, 
Ho  ro,  &c. 

"  Give  her  way  and  show  her  wake, 

'Mid  showering  spray  and  curling  eddies, 
Ho  ro,  &c. 

"  Through  the  eddying  tide  we'll  guide  her, 
Round  each  isle  and  breezy  headland, 
Ho  ro,  &c. 

"  O'er  the  wave  we'll  send  her  bounding 
As  the  staghound  bounds  o'er  the  healher, 
Ho  ro,  &c. 

"  See  the  diver  as  he  eyes  her 
Dips  with  wonder  under  water, 
Ho  ro,  &c. 

"  The  gannet  high  in  midway  sky 
Triumphs  wildly  as  we're  passing, 
Ho  ro,  &c. 

' '  The  sportive  sunbeams  gleam  around  her 
As  she  bounds  through  shining  waters, 
Ho  ro,  &c. 

' '  Clansmen,  cheer  !  the  wind  is  veering 
Soon  she'll  tear  and  clear  the  billows, 
Ho  ro,  &c. 


"  Soon  the  flowing  breeze  will  blow, 
"We'll  show  the  snowy  canvas  on  her, 
Ho  ro,  &c. 

"  Wafted  by  the  breeze  of  morn 
"We'll  quaff  the  joyous  horn  together, 
Ho  ro,  &c. 

"  Another  cheer !  our  isle  appears, 
Our  biorlinn  bears  her  on  the  faster, 
Ho  ro,  &c. 

"  Ahead  she  goes  !  our  biorlinn  knows 

What  eyes  on  shore  are  gazing  on  her, 
Ho  ro,  clansmen  ! 

"  Ahead  she  goes  !  the  land  she  knows, 
She  holds  the  shore,  she  holds  it  bravely, 

Ho  ro,  clansmen  ! 
Stoutly  did  we  pull  together, 
My  brave  clansmen  ! " 

We  conclude  with  what  has  to  do 
with  a  boat  in  a  very  different  style 
from  this  spirited  boat-song  :  we  mean 
the  boat  which  accompanies  the  poor 
crofter  to  the  emigrant  ship,  that  dark- 
sailed  ship  of  which  such  a  pathetic 
tale  is  told  by  the  father  of  that  large- 
hearted  and  large-limbed  bishop  of  the 
Morven  glens  whom  we  have  just 
quoted.  *  All  emigration,  of  course, 
even  with  the  most  favourable  pro- 
spects and  kindly  accompaniments, 
cannot  be  without  sorrow — must  be 
with  a  sore  wrench  generally  to  every 
well-constituted  mind ;  but  to  the  High- 
landers it  is  doubly  sad,  dear  to  him  as 
his  native  hills  are,  by  their  picturesque 
shows,  and  breezy  virtues,  and  con- 
secrated by  the  loyal  memories  and 
kindly  feelings  of  the  clan  system,  not 
even  now  extinguished  by  the  march 
of  a  heartless  commercial  spirit  and  a 
cold  doctrinaire  economy  into  the 
inmost  refuges  of  the  pious  cotter.  It 
is  a  common  remark  that  the  beauties 
of  mountain  scenery  and  their  power 
over  the  imagination  do  not  affect 
the  mountaineers  who  are  born  and 
bred  in  their  midst,  whom  custom 
has  dulled  to  the  sight.  But  with 
the  Highlanders  assuredly  it  is  not 
so.  They  not  only  love  their  country 
with  all  the  affection  of  children  to 
a  good  mother,  but  they  admire  its 

1  Reminiscences  of  a  Highland  Parish,  by 
Dr.  Norman  Macleod.  Translated  from 
Caraidh  nan  Gaidhel.  Second  part,  Longmhor 
nan  Eilthircach. 


Popular  Songs  of  the  Scottish  Highlanders. 


313 


beauties  with  the  eye  of  a  lover,  and 
describe  its  characteristic  features 
with  the  touch  of  an  artist.  There 
is  no  finer  landscape  painting  in 
any  language  than  in  Duncan  Ban's 
famous  poem  of  "  Ben-Doran,"  quoted 
in  the  book  on  "  Deer-Stalking "  re- 
ferred to  below ; :  and,  though  the 
poetical  painting  of  Nature  simply  as 
Nature,  of  which  we  have  such  a  clas- 
sical specimen  in  Tennyson's  "  Brook," 
does  not  belong  to  the  genius  of  purely 
popular  poetry,  in  all  the  Highland 
songs,  as  in  the  best  of  Burns's,  it  is 
impossible  to  tear  away  the  incident 
and  the  emotion  from  its  natural  sur- 
roundings. In  the  following  song  we 
have  an  emigrant,  rising  with  the 
first  streak  of  day,  and  brushing  the 
freshness  of  the  early  dew  in  order  to 
climb  for  the  last  time  the  lofty  Ben 
which  flung  arms  of  majestic  shelter 
around  the  home  of  his  infancy  : — 

GUR  MOCH  RJNN  MI  DUSGADH. 

' '  'Twas  early  I  rose  on  a  fresh  morn  of  May, 
To  climb  all  alone  the  steep  face  of  the 

brae  ; 
The    sun    had    gone    forth   on  his  march 

through  the  blue, 
And  the  light  waving  birches  were  dripping 

with  dew. 

"  0  sweet  was  the  sound  as  I  paced  up  the 
hill, 

Of  the  bright-bubbling  well  and  the  clear- 
tinkling  rill ; 

Where  the  dew-laden  roses  were  glistening 
bright, 

And  the  white  vapours  rose  in  the  fresh 
morning  light. 

"  The   copse-wood   was    thrilled   with  sweet 

warbling,  and  high 
The  lark  on  proud  wing  poured  his  hymn  to 

the  sky  ; 

The  cattle  were  lowing  to  welcome  the  day, 
And   echo  replied  from  the   crag   on  the 

brae. 

' '  0  fair  is  the  rich  leafy  dress  of  the  Ben, 
And  sweet  is  the  breath  of  green  growth 

from  the  glen  ; 
But  the  glory  of  growth  shines  in  vain  from 

the  brae 

On  my  heart  that  is  clouded  with  sorrow  to- 
day ! 


1  A  Handbook  on  Deer- Stalking,  by  Alexander 
Macrae.     Edinburgh,  1880. 


"  But   why  am   I   sad,    when  all  Nature  is 

gay? 

I  will  say  the  true  thing,  though  it  grieves 
me  to  say — 

Nevermore,  nevermore  shall  I  climb  the 
grey  Ben, 

Nor  wander  in  joy  through  the  green-wind- 
ing glen. 

"  No  glen  in  the  world  so  lovely  you'll  find, 
So  snug  and  so  safe  from  the  biting  north 

wind  ; 
In  the  gloom  of  the  winter  no  tempests  may 

roar 
Through  the  green-sheltered  glen  I   shall 

see  never  more ! 

"  But  vainly  I  linger,  complaining  is  vain  ; 
No  charm  hath  my  rhyme  to  bring  balm  to 

my  pain  : 

I  see  the  sail  spread  of  the  boat  on  the  shore 
That  bears  me  far  hence  to  return  never 

more. 

"  This  last  look  I  give  to  the  Ben  and  the 

brae, 

The  dark-gaping  pass,  and  the  lone-winding 
way  ; 

1  go — take  my  blessing,  thou  bonnie  green 

glen— 

Never  more,  never  more  to  behold  thee 
again !  " 

We  have  no  space,  and  indeed  little 
inclination,  to  pursue  this  so  sadly 
characteristic  field  of  the  popular 
poetry  of  the  Celt's  into  its  harrowing 
details.  A  Farewell  to  My  Country, 
by  a  Highland  emigrant,  in  a  much 
more  extended  form  and  with  greater 
breadth  of  handling,  will  be  found, 
by  those  who  care  to  seek  it,  in 
the  work  quoted  below.  2  The  prin- 
ciple that  ought  to  guide  a  High- 
land landlord  in  regard  to  these  sor- 
rowful incidents  of  his  property  is 
pretty  plain — ever  to  esteem  the  care 
of  his  people  his  first  duty,  and  never 
to  part  with  them,  unless  when  he 
feels  assured  that  it  is  as  much  for 
their  good  as  for  his  own  that  the 
wrench  should  be  made;  never  to  sacri- 
fice them  for  his  mere  personal  in- 
dulgence, to  gratify  the  cupidity  of  a 
Lowland  adventurer,  the  ease  of  a 
perfunctory  factor,  the  fancy  of  a 
doctrinaire  economist,  or  the  anti- 
social mania  of  a  professional  deer- 
stalker. 

2  Language  and  Literature  of  the  Highlands, 
p.  300.     Edinburgh,  1876. 


314 


A   CHAPTER   OF   POLITICAL   HISTORY.1 


THE  Radical  party,  understanding  by 
that  name  the  successive  groups  of 
men  who  have  striven  for  more  than 
two  centuries  to  establish  the  principle 
of  popular  self-government  in  opposi- 
tion to  the  principle  of  royal  prero- 
gative and  aristocratic  authority,  has 
not  hitherto  received  special  atten- 
tion from  historians.  Scattered  re- 
ferences appear  here  and  there  in  our 
historical  narratives ;  these  are  fre- 
quently, perhaps  usually,  hostile,  for 
the  writers  of  English  history — those, 
at  least,  who  have  commanded  the 
larger  share  of  public  appreciation — 
have  been  strongly  tinged  with  parti- 
zanship,  or  have  permitted  themselves 
to  be  swayed  by  prepossessions  in 
favour  of  one  or  the  other  of  the 
great  political  parties.  Taking  them 
as  types  of  their  class,  Macaulay  and 
Alison,  as  political  historians,  are  so 
distinctly  Whig  and  Tory  as  to  pre- 
clude all  chance  of  the  Radicals  re- 
ceiving fair  treatment  at  their  hands. 
Nor  do  the  earlier  philosophical  his- 
torians redress  the  omission  ;  for  ex- 
ample, Sir  James  Mackintosh  is  Whig 
to  the  backbone.  In  later  days,  some 
attempt  has  been  made  to  do  justice  to 
the  Radicals  by  Miss  Martineau,  Mr. 
Buckle,  and  Mr.  Lecky,  while  our  best 
"  popular  "  history,  that  of  Mr.  Charles 
Knight,  brings  out  with  picturesque 
force  the  gradual  development  of 
Radical  aims  and  the  movements  of 
advanced  politicians,  though  without 
endeavouring  to  discriminate  either, 
with  clearness,  from  the  general  course 
of  the  narrative  of  events.  It  is  the 
same  with  the  diarists  and  the  memoir 
writers.  With  the  exception  of  Barn- 
ford's  Life  of  a  Radical  and  Mr.  Thomas 
Cooper's  Memoirs  of  a  Chartist,  which 
deal  with  the  stronger  and  humbler 

1  The  History  of  the  Radical  Party  in  Parlia- 
ment. By  William  Harris.  London  :  Kegan 
Paul,  Trench,  &  Co.  1885.  Pp.  510,  8vo. 


phases  of  political  strife,  external  to 
Parliament,  there  are  no  traces  of 
Radical  sympathies  in  the  range  of 
autobiography ;  and  we  can  hardly 
regard  Duncombe's  Memoirs  as  afford- 
ing a  broad  and  connected  view  of 
the  action  of  Radicals  in  Parliament. 
Mr.  Villiers's  Free  Trade  Speeches  (in 
the  chapter  prefixed  to  them),  and  Mr. 
Morley's  Life  of  Richard  Cobden,  deal 
incidentally  with  particular  phases  of 
Radical  efforts  at  reform  within  the 
limits  imposed  by  Parliamentary 
forms ;  but  neither  of  these  works 
professes  to  describe  the  history  of  the 
Radicals  as  a  party.  For  such  a  book 
as  that  now  under  notice  there  was 
therefore  a  distinct  place  ;  it  fills  a 
void  in  English  political  history,  and 
for  the  first  time  brings  into  one  view 
the  rise,  progress,  aims,  and  personality 
of  the  Radicals  as  a  party  in  Parlia- 
ment, traces  their  influence  upon 
statesmen,  and  records  their  successes 
in  legislation.  While  the  author  of 
the  book  has  thus  a  clearly-defined 
work  before  him,  he  is  by  sympathy 
and  by  political  training  well  fitted  to 
undertake  it.  That  much-abused  and 
greatly  misunderstood  organization, 
known  popularly  as  "  the  Caucus/' 
may  be  accepted  as  the  visible  mani- 
festation of  Radicalism.  It  rests  upon 
and  embodies  the  Radical  principle  of 
self-government  by  direct  popular  re- 
presentation. The  Caucus,  indeed, 
as  Liberals  know  it,  is  nothing  more 
nor  less  than  the  union  of  persons 
of  one  way  of  thinking,  in  each  con- 
stituency, in  a  representative  organi- 
sation, freely  and  openly  chosen,  ad- 
ministered by  elected  officers,  and 
charged  with  the  business  of  deciding 
who  shall  stand  as  candidates  for  the 
party,  and  with  the  consideration  of 
broad  principles,  towards  the  mainte- 
nance of  which  party  organisation 
shall  be  directed.  Now  Mr.  Harris 


A  Chapter  of  Political  History. 


315 


is  the  author  of  the  Caucus.  The 
system  had  its  origin  in  Birmingham, 
and  was  primarily  designed  for  the 
organisation  of  the  Liberal  party  in 
Birmingham.  Before  the  method  of 
choosing  candidates  by  a  representa- 
tive assembly  was  adopted,  the  choice 
was  either,  so  to  speak,  accidental,  or 
was  effected  by  a  small  number  of  in- 
fluential politicians.  Mr.  Harris's 
method  changed  this  system  into  one 
which  afforded  the  great  body  of  the 
electors,  middle  class  and  artisans  act- 
ing together,  the  means  of  transacting 
their  own  political  affairs,  by  common 
consultation,  finally  decided  by  a  ma- 
jority of  votes;  and  thus  Radicalism 
was  organised  and  regulated  in  action. 
Other  towns  followed  the  example  of 
Birmingham,  county  districts  adopted 
the  new  method,  and  finally — in  their 
own  way,  but  with  large  modifications 
favouring  central  guidance — the  Con- 
servatives imitated  the  Liberal  method ; 
so  that  now,  in  some  form  or  other,  we 
have  a  representative  system  esta- 
blished as  the  general  rule  of  political 
party  organisations.  Out  of  the  local 
representative  councils  arose  the  great 
union  of  Liberal  organisations  in  the 
National  Liberal  Federation,  and  this 
also,  in  its  origin,  was  the  work  of 
Mr.  Harris.  It  is  proper  to  mention 
these  facts,  because  the  statement  of 
them  does  justice  to  a  thoughtful  and 
far-seeing  politician,  who,  though  not 
in  Parliament,  has  exercised  a  wider 
and  deeper  influence  than  many  per- 
sons who  have  been  conspicuous  in  the 
Legislature ;  and  also  as  indicating  that 
the  author  of  the  History  oftJie  Radical 
Party  does  not  approach  his  task  with- 
out special  qualifications,  by  training, 
by  experience,  and  by  sympathy,  for 
the  discharge  of  it. 

It  must  not  be  supposed,  however, 
that  the  book  has  been  written  in  a 
merely  partisan  spirit.  Mr.  Harris  is 
a  Radical,  beyond  all  question ;  but 
he  has  now  aimed,  and  with  success, 
at  being  not  so  much  the  apologist  as 
the  historian  of  the  Radical  party; 
and  in  the  prosecution  of  this  design 
he  has,  in  a  true  philosophical  spirit, 


dealt  candidly  and  fairly  with  Whigs 
and  Tories  as  well  as  with  Radicals. 
There  is  no  misrepresentation  in  the 
pages  of  his  volume ;  no  distortion  or 
suppression  of  facts ;  no  painting  one 
side  as  wholly  black  and  the  other  as 
entirely  white.  The  motives,  the  aims 
and  the  policy  of  all  parties,  and  of 
the  chief  leaders  of  all  parties,  are 
taken  into  just  account ;  full  allow- 
ance is  made  for  the  changing  circum- 
stances of  the  times  described ;  and 
the  differences  of  principle  which  have 
guided  and  modified  the  action  of  poli- 
tical parties  are  stated,  both  generally 
and  in  regard  to  particular  occasions, 
in  such  a  manner  as  to  give  no  cause 
for  complaint  of  unfairness.  Perhaps 
no  better  illustration  could  be  cited 
of  the  temper  in  which  the  author 
deals  with  these  matters  than  the  fol- 
lowing quotation,  descriptive  of  the 
animating  principles  of  parties  at  the 
time  of  the  war  of  American  Inde- 
pendence, the  period  at  which  the 
Radicals  first  made  their  appearance 
as  a  distinct  party  : — 

"There  was  an  abstraction,  called  the 
nation,  which  was  separated  in  the  minds  of 
the  rulers  from  the  people  of  whom  it  con- 
sisted, and  tended  more  and  more  to  mean  the 
particular  classes  who,  by  birth  or  wealth,  by 
aristocratic  connections  or  court  influence, 
were  brought  into  immediate  contact  with  the 
Government.  The  men  in  office  then  could 
aim  at  advantages  to  the  nation,  in  the  way  of 
military  glory,  territorial  additions,  or  inter- 
national influence,  without  counting  the  cost 
in  loss,  and  want,  and  misery,  to  the  people 
who  paid  the  taxes  and  filled  the  armies.  To 
the  same  officials,  the  security  of  the  nation 
meant  the  stability  of  the  existing  form  of 
government,  and  any  extension  of  popular 
power  seemed  to  threaten  revolution  and  na- 
tional disaster.  Therefore,  in  order  to  pre- 
serve the  nation,  the  people  were  to  be  kept  in 
subjection,  and  even  in  ignorance  ;  and  men 
so  unlike  in  character  and  ability  as  Windham 
and  Eldon  combined  to  resist  and  defeat  the 
first  attempt  to  establish  by  law  a  system  of 
popular  education.  This,  it  may  be  said,  was 
the  Tory  idea  of  national  policy.  In  its  best 
aspect,  it  may  be  stated  as  the  government  of 
the  people  for  the  nation,  by  prerogative.  The 
Whig  view  was  different  in  theory,  but  not  so 
much  unlike  in  practice.  It  recognised,  in- 
deed, the  happiness  and  welfare  of  the  people 
as  the  direct  objects  at  which  governments 
should  aim,  but  it  refused  to  give  to  the  people 
any  active  share  in  the  work  of  their  own  im- 


316 


A  Chapter  of  Political  History. 


provement  and  progress.  Whilst,  therefore, 
it  often  appealed  siiccessfully  to  outbursts 
of  public  opinion  on  behalf  of  particular 
measures,  it  refused  to  place  any  permanent 
constitutional  power  in  the  hands  of  the  people. 
The  Whig  theory  was  the  government  of  the 
people,  for  the  people,  by  existing  privileged 
classes  ;  that  was,  practically,  by  the  aristo- 
cracy. We  have  now  evidence  of  the  more 
definite  formation,  within  the  bounds  of  what 
we  call  Liberalism,  of  a  party,  the  individual 
members  of  which  would  have  called  them- 
selves Whigs,  and  are,  some  of  them,  still  re- 
garded as  characteristic  leaders  of  that  body  ; 
but  who  aimed  at  objects,  and  would  have 
adopted  means,  which  were  distinctly  be- 
yond the  Whig  programme.  Even  now  there 
was  no  conscious  attempt  to  form  a  new  party. 
The  old  lines  were  followed.  The  Kadicals 
supported,  and  often  were  members  of,  Whig 
Cabinets,  only  they  desired  that  the  party 
should  travel  quicker  and  further  in  the  direc- 
tion of  democratic  reform.  Those  who  were 
most  impressed  with  the  evils  which  existed, 
the  waste  of  the  national  resources,  tlie  corrup- 
tion and  jobbery  in  all  departments  of  the 
public  service,  the  pressure  of  taxation,  the 
reckless  conduct  of  the  war,  the  repression  of 
all  attempts  to  improve  the  moral  and  intel- 
lectual condition  of  the  people,  were  the  most 
convinced  that  no  essential  change  could  be 
effected  whilst  the  whole  power  of  government 
remained  in  the  hands  of  a  limited  class,  to 
every  member  of  which  a  share  in  the  spoils 
of  corruption  seemed  within  reach. " 

This  passage  furnishes  the  key-note 
to  the  book.  The  writer  limits  him- 
self to  a  review  and  exposition  of  the 
movement  and  development  of  the 
Radical  party  in  Parliament  —  not 
wholly  omitting  to  take  into  account 
the  occurrence  of  popular  agitations, 
but  subordinating  these  to  the  record 
of  Parliamentary  procedure,  because, 
as  he  observes,  "it  is  only  in  the 
legislature  that  direct  and  immediate 
influence  can  be  exercised  over  the 
principles  and  policy  of  the  Govern- 
ment. Until  it  can  find  expression 
there,  no  cause  and  no  party  can  be 
said  to  be  within  the  range  of  prac- 
tical politics,  A_ny  change  forced 
upon  the  nation  by  powers  extraneous 
to  Parliament  would,  if  possible  at 
all,  be  revolution,  and  not  reform." 
Within  the  limit  thus  indicated,  Mr. 
Harris  has  fully  and  effectively  traced 
the  growth  and  action  of  Radicalism 
as  a  Parliamentary  force.  He  finds 
the  real  origin  of  the  Radical  prin- 


ciple and  that  of  government  of  the 
people  for  the  people  and  by  the  peo- 
ple in  the  conflicts  of  the  Civil  War 
and  in  the  Commonwealth ;  he  follows 
its  development,  often  obscured  yet 
never  indistinguishable,  through  the 
Revolution  of  1688,  and  the  century 
which  succeeded  that  event ;  he  recog- 
nises in  the  reign  of  George  III.  the 
period  at  which  the  opposite  and 
irreconcilable  principles  of  sovereign 
authority  and  popular  right  entered 
upon  their  final  conflict ;  and  then  by 
well-ordered  degrees  he  recounts  the 
varying  fortunes  of  Radicalism  in 
Ministries  and  Parliaments,  from  the 
death  of  Chatham  down  to  the  Reform 
Act  of  1867 — fortunes  now  distinctly 
advancing,  now  seemingly  receding, 
making  rapid  progress  at  one  period, 
and  at  another  falling  almost  into 
abeyance,  yet  when  closely  examined, 
and  regarded  by  the  light  of  popular 
opinion,  steadily  becoming  more  defi- 
nite, increasingly  powerful,  and  more 
strongly  self-assertive,  until  estab- 
lished, in  our  own  day,  upon  a  basis 
too  solid  to  be  shaken,  resting  upon 
national  conviction,  and  firm  enough 
to  sustain  a  still  wider  and  nobler 
fabric  of  social  advance,  material 
progress,  and  popular  freedom.  On 
such  a  review  of  the  past,  the  author 
founds  an  exposition  of  the  duty  of 
Radicals  in  the  future,  and  with  this 
a  prediction  of  their  success  in  so 
shaping  legislation  and  conducting 
administration  as  to  insure  the  sta- 
bility of  national  institutions,  by 
establishing  them  upon  the  basis  of 
ordered  liberty.  Speaking  of  the  duty 
of  the  Radical  party,  as  indicated  by 
recent  measures  of  reform,  he  says  : — 

"For  more  than  a  century  the  way  had 
been  pointed  out  to  all  practical  reforms  by 
the  advocacy  of  Radicals,  before  the  indiffer- 
ence of  AVhigs  and  the  opposition  of  Tories 
were  overcome.  Yet  even  after  accepting  the 
policy  of  the  Radicals,  it  had  been  the  custom 
of  the  governing  classes  to  assume  that  outside 
of  the  narrow  limits  of  their  circle,  the  coun- 
try could  not  look  for  men  to  direct  its  action 
and  carry  on  its  government.  Radicals  might 
originate,  but  Whigs  and  Tories  must  adminis- 
ter. That  assumption  is  to  a  great  extent  dis- 
pelled, and  a  practical  equality  is  now  admitted. 


A  Chapter  of  Political  History. 


317 


But  in  such  a  case  equality  can  only  exist  on 
the  condition  that  something  more  is  possible. 
No  party  can  permanently  maintain  such  a 
position  in  the  government  of  a  great  country 
unless  it  can,  on  the  necessity  arising,  under- 
take to  govern  alone. 

"  This  is  a  position  which,  especially  since 
the  passing  of  the  Franchise  Act  of  1884,  the 
Radical  party  will  be  justified  in  occupying. 
They  have  a  definite  policy,  both  in  home  and 
foreign  affairs,  they  possess  a  number  of  skilled 
politicians  and  administrators,  and  all  they 
want  is  that  very  steady  cohesion  which  can 
be  acquired  only  by  the  consciousness  of  power 
and  the  opportunity  of  effective  action.  It 
does  not  follow  that  this  power  of  separate 
action  need  be  exercised  ;  the  demonstration 
that  it  exists  may  be  sufficient  for  the  purpose. 
The  Liberal  party  always  has  been,  and  prob- 
ably always  will  be,  composed  of  men  differ- 
ing to  some  extent  as  to  the  rate  of  progress 
which  should  be  made  in  the  direction  in  which 
all  desire  to  go.  If  it  is  no  longer  desirable 
that  all  its  movements  should  be  directed  by 
the  section  which  is  least  advanced,  it  does  not 
follow  that  the  counsels  of  men  who  call  them- 
selves moderate  should  not  be  listened  to. 
What  is  essential  is  that  any  Government  which 
is  constituted  should  be  in  accord  with  the 
opinions  and  wishes  of  the  majority  of  the 
people.  As  this  ground-root  of  representative 
institutions  forms  the  very  essence  of  Radi- 
calism, it  is  certain  that  Radicals  ought  to  be 
prepared  to  give  it  effect  by  accepting  the  re- 
sponsibilities and  exercising  the  powers  of 
government." 

It  is  impossible,  within  the  space  of 
this  necessarily  brief  review,  to  do 
more  than  state  the  aims  of  the 
author,  and  to  explain  the  principle 
by  which  he  has  been  guided.  To  see 
see  how  the  work  is  done,  and  how 
full  of  interest  is  the  narrative,  the 
reader  must  be  referred  to  the  volume 
itself.  It  is  worth  reading  with  care, 
and  deserves  to  find  a  worthy  place 
amongst  our  political  histories,  both 
as  a  stirring  and  encouraging  record 
of  effort,  of  sacrifice,  of  progress,  and 
of  ultimate  success,  and  as  an  autho- 
rity on  the  events  and  incidents  of 
Parliamentary  labours  for  reform.  As 
a  literary  performance  it  has  con- 
spicuous merits — those  of  clearness, 
method,  ease  of  diction,  and  occasion- 
ally (though  the  writer  has  steadily 
resisted  the  temptation  to  fine  writing) 
picturesqueness  and  even  brilliancy  of 
description.  Some  of  the  sketches  of 
statesmen  and  politicians  of  note  are 


remarkably  effective,  and  we  meet 
with  analyses  of  character  which 
exhibit  a  marked  faculty  of  observa- 
tion and  insight.  A  study  of  Mr. 
Joseph  Hume,  a  politician  to  whom 
justice  has  rarely  been  done,  may  be 
cited  as  a  sample;  and  other  illus- 
trations are  afforded  by  similar 
sketches  'naturally  occurring  in  the 
course  of  the  narrative,  such  as  those 
of  Fox  and  Pitt  in  the  earlier  sections, 
and  of  Sir  William  Molesworth,  Mr. 
Grote,  Colonel  Perronet  Thompson, 
and  Mr.  Fawcett  in  the  later  por- 
tion. While  considerations  of  space 
forbid  an  attempt  to  recall  by  name 
the  chief  workers  in  the  cause  of 
reform,  they  forbid  also  a  record  of 
the  measures  aimed  at  by  Radical 
reformers  during  the  period  covered 
by  Mr.  Harris's  History  of  the 
Radical  Party — aims  which  included 
not  alone  the  reform  of  the  constitu- 
tion of  Parliament,  but  the  removal 
of  restrictions  and  the  enlargement  of 
national,  class,  and  individual  freedom 
in  everything  which  could  be  affected 
by  legislation — the  freedom  of  religion, 
of  trade,  of  association  for  political  or 
social  objects,  the  liberties  of  the  press, 
the  promotion  of  education.  The  out- 
come of  effort  at  amendment  in  these 
and  kindred  matters,  and  the  strenu- 
ous and  prolonged  labours  necessary 
to  effect  such  reforms,  are  summed  up 
with  striking  force  in  the  following 
passage : — 

"During  the  comparatively  short  time  in 
which  the  united  Liberals  have  been  in  office 
since  the  Reform  Act  [of  1867]  increased  the 
Radical  power,  every  department  of  national 
life — religious,  social,  commercial,  industrial, 
and  intellectual — has  been  invigorated  and 
improved.  The  Irish  Church  has  been  dis- 
established. The  churchyards  of  England 
have  been  made  national  instead  of  sectarian 
property.  A  system  of  national  education  has 
been  created,  and  the  national  universities 
have  been  widened  and  popularised.  The  land 
laws  of  Ireland  have  been  remodelled,  by 
which  the  injustice  of  ages  has  been  removed, 
and  the  foundation  for  national  peace  and 
unity  has  been  laid.  The  laws  affecting  the 
combination  of  workmen  have  been  changed, 
the  relations  between  employers  and  employed 
have  been  placed  upon  fair  and  equitable  terms, 
and  protection  has  been  given  to  the  lives  of 


318 


A  Chapter  of  Political  History. 


the  men.  The  army  has  been  made  national 
by  the  abolition  of  purchase.  The  game  laws 
have  been  amended  ;  and  the  law  of  landlord 
and  tenant  improved,  by  the  recognition  of 
the  tenants'  rights  in  [the  improvement  of 
their  holdings.  The  protection  of  the  ballot 
has  been  given  to  electors.  Trade  has  been 
purified  by  the  adoption  of  a  sound  bank- 
ruptcy law.  A  nearer  approach  to  absolute 
freedom  of  commerce  has  been  secured,  and 
the  last  remains  of  the  old  corn  laws  removed. 
There  are,  perhaps,  none  of  these  great  works 
in  which  some  defects  may  not  be  pointed  out, 
which  have  been  the  result  of  a  compromise, 
avowed  or  understood,  between  the  two  sec- 
tions of  the  Liberal  party  ;  but  in  all  of  them 
is  to  be  found  the  spirit  of  Radical  policy,  and 
the  ability  of  Radical  statesmanship." 

While  it  is  not  possible  for  us  to 
examine  here  the  details  of  the  reforms 
thus  broadly  sketched,  there  is  one 
episode,  little  known  in  our  political 
history,  which  deserves  particular 
record.  The  curious  and  interesting 
fact  is  brought  out  by  the  author  of 
the  volume,  that  the  latest  measure 
of  Parliamentary  reform  was  anti- 
cipated in  its  essential  features  by 
a  proposal  made  almost  exactly  a 
hundred  years  ago,  and  this  not  by  an 
individual  theorist,  or  by  an  organi- 
sation of  obscure  and  uninfluential 
persons,  but  by  an  association  which 
included  a  large  number  of  peers  and 
members  of  the  House  of  Commons, 
of  which  Burke,  Fox,  and  Sheridan 
were  leading  members,  and  with  which 
the  younger  Pitt  was  practically  in 
sympathy  if  not  actually  in  agreement. 
This  body  was  the  memorable  West- 
minster Committee  of  Correspondence, 
the  name  of  which  was  at  a  later  period 
changed  for  that  of  the  Westminster 
Committee  of  Association.  The  origin 
of  the  Committee  was  notable.  The 
sacrifices  imposed  by  the  war  with  the 
American  colonies,  the  rapid  addition 
to  the  national  debt,  the  lavish  outlay 
of  the  court,  and  the  notorious  cor- 
ruption of  placemen,  combined  to 
arouse  a  strong  feeling  on  behalf  of 
economical  reform,  and,  united  with 
this,  though  subsidiary  to  it,  there 
arose  also  a  demand  for  Parliamentary 
reform.  The  close  of  the  year  1779 
witnessed  a  remarkable  manifestation 
of  the  national  feeling.  A  great 


meeting  was  held  at  York — a  county 
meeting,  described  by  Sir  George 
Savile,  when  he  presented  its  petition 
to  the  House  of  Commons,  as  repre- 
sentative of  the  intelligence  and  the 
property  of  the  whole  county.  The 
Yorkshiremen  demanded  a  redress  of 
grievances  :  the  kind  of  redress  after- 
wards set  forth  in  Burke's  famous 
resolutions.  The  example  of  Yorkshire 
was  quickly  followed  by  other  coun- 
ties. In  all  twenty-five  county  meet- 
ings were  held.  They  covered  almost 
the  whole  of  England.  Middlesex  and 
Surrey  represented  the  home  counties, 
the  seat  of  the  Legislature,  and  the 
depository  of  regal  and  administrative 
authority.  Cumberland  and  Northum- 
berland spoke  for  the  extreme  north. 
Dorset,  Somerset,  and  Devon  gave 
expression  to  the  views  of  the  south. 
Gloucester  and  Hereford  stood  for  the 
west ;  Norfolk  and  Suffolk  for  the 
east ;  and  Nottingham  and  Derby 
for  the  midlands.  These  names — 
selections  from  the  list  of  protesting 
counties — show  how  the  demand  for 
reform  extended  over  the  kingdom. 
In  each  county  which  held  its  meeting 
a  Committee  was  formed,  to  con- 
duct a  general  correspondence  and  to 
enforce  a  common  opinion.  In  Feb- 
ruary 1780,  the  City  of  Westminster 
held  a  meeting  for  the  same  purpose. 
and  established  its  Committee  of  cor- 
respondence. Many  Whig  noblemen 
and  gentlemen,  members  of  both 
Houses,  joined  it ;  many  others,  more 
advanced  than  Whigs,  associated 
themselves  with  it.  In  February 
1783,  a  complete  list  of  the  members 
was  made  out,  and  recorded  in  the 
minutes  of  the  Committee.  The  list 
contained  the  names  of  sixteen  peers 
and  of  fifty- one  members  of  the  House 
of  Commons.  From  the  beginning  of 
the  Committee  in  1780  until  its  close 
in  1785  Fox  was  the  chairman,  and 
the  minutes  show  that  he  presided  at 
most  of  the  meetings,  and  signed  the 
record  of  the  proceedings.  These 
minutes,  not  until  now  known  to  be  in 
existence,  have  been  made  available 
for  Mr,  Harris's  History  of  the  Radical 


A  Chapter  of  Political  History. 


319 


Party.  They  are  in  the  possession  of 
Mr.  Timmins,  a  Birmingham  collector 
of  MSS.  and  other  matters  of  literary 
and  political  interest,  who  by  a  fortu- 
nate purchase,  rescued  them  from 
possible  destruction.  As  a  record  of 
a  most  important  chapter  of  political 
history,  and  as  a  direct  memorial  of 
Fox,  and  other  statesmen  associated 
with  him,  the  minutes  of  the  West- 
minster Committee  might  well  find  a 
secure  resting-place  in  the  national 
collection. 

We  have  to  do,  however,  only  with 
the  light  thrown  by  the  Westminster 
minutes  upon  early  efforts  to  promote 
Parliamentary  reform.  It  has  been 
mentioned  that  in  the  original  scheme 
of  the  Corresponding  Committees,  the 
reform  of  Parliament,  in  the  sense  of 
establishing  popular  representation, 
held  a  subordinate  position.  By 
degrees  the  Westminster  Committee 
seem  to  have  perceived  that  such  a 
reform  was  really  the  basis  of  all 
measures  of  progress ;  that  so  long  as 
the  House  of  Commons  failed  ade- 
quately to  represent  the  nation,  there 
could  be  no  hope  of  effectually  con- 
trolling administrative  abuses,  of 
checking  wasteful  and  profligate  ex- 
penditure, of  expelling  corruption  from 
high  places,  or  of  advancing  popular 
freedom.  Accordingly,  in  March  1783, 
the  Committee  passed  a  resolution 
which  is  thus  recorded  on  its  minutes  : 
"  That  by  the  resolution  of  the  general 
meeting,  directing  this  Committee  to 
prepare  a  plan  of  an  association  on 
legal  and  constitutional  grounds  to 
support  the  laudable  reform,  and  such 
other  measures,  as  may  conduce  to 
restore  the  freedom  of  Parliament, 
this  Committee  conceive  themselves 
bound  to  enter  into  the  consideration 
of  every  question  tending  to  establish 
the  independency  of  Parliament  on  a 
solid  and  durable  basis."  A  Sub- 
Committee  was  therefore  appointed  to 
inquire  into  the  state  of  the  repre- 
sentation of  the  country,  and  to  pre- 
pare a  report  upon  it.  Sheridan  was 
chairman  of  the  Sub-Committee,  and 
its  report,  presented  on  the  20th  of 


March,  1783,  bears  his  signature. 
Mr.  Harris  condenses  from  the  MS. 
minutes  the  substance  of  the  report : 
"  It  defends  annual  Parliaments  as 
constitutional,  and  as  having  been 
illegally  altered  ;  states  that  by  the 
statute  of  8  Henry  VI.  the  Parlia- 
ment, then  elected  by  the  commonalty 
at  large,  passed  an  Act  to  disfranchise 
the  greater  part  of  its  constituents  by 
establishing  the  forty  shillings  qualifi- 
cation ;  and  then  refers  at  length  to 
the  decay  of  old  boroughs,  the  repre- 
sentation of  which  is  controlled  cor- 
ruptly either  by  the  Crown  or  by 
hereditary  owners,  whereas  new  and 
large  communities  had  grown  up  which 
are  entirely  unrepresented ;  and  it 
ends  by  the  declaration  that,  whether 
as  regards  population  or  property,  the 
representation  is  essentially  unequal." 
On  receiving  the  report  the  West- 
minster Committee  resolved  that 
"  annual  Parliaments  are  the  right  of 
the  people,  and  that  the  present  state 
of  the  representation  is  inadequate  to 
the  object,  and  a  departure  from  the 
first  principles  of  the  Constitution." 
A  little  later,  at  a  meeting  presided 
over  by  Fox,  and  attended  amongst 
others  by  Burke,  Sheridan,  and  Alder- 
man Beckford,  a  resolution  was  passed 
affirming  the  principle  of  the  ballot. 

The  Committee  thus  began  vigor- 
ously. Nor  did  its  zeal  slacken,  or  its 
efforts  expire  in  the  passing  of  general 
resolutions.  In  April,  1783,  a  plan 
of  an  association  was  publicly  adopted, 
the  corresponding  committees  merged 
in  the  newly-constituted  body,  and 
one  of  the  first  acts  of  the  reformed 
organisation  was  to  elect  Fox  as  its 
chairman,  and  then  to  appoint  a  com- 
mittee to  prepare  a  scheme  of  parlia- 
mentary reform.  This  committee 
reported  at  the  end  of  June,  and  the 
report,  as  it  appears  on  the  minutes, 
is  described  as  "  long,  elaborate,  and 
rhetorical,  but  as  concluding  with  a 
definite  scheme,  as  comprehensive  and 
as  thorough-going  as  any  which  has 
been  put  forward  by  the  most  advanced 
Radicals  at  any  time."  The  statement 
above  quoted  is  justified  by  an  exami- 


32U 


A  Chapter  of  Political  History. 


nation  of  the  scheme  of  the  committee, 
which  is  so  interesting  in  itself,  and 
so  relevant  to  recent  debates  and  con- 
clusions on  electoral  and  parliamentary 
reform,  that  the  sixteen  recommenda- 
tions of  the  committee  merit  quota- 
tion. They  were  these  : — 

"  1.  Each  county  to  be  divided  into 
as  many  districts  as  it  is  entitled  to 
elect  representatives,  each  district 
choosing  one  representative.  [Here 
followed  a  statement  of  the  number  of 
members  allotted  to  each  county,  such 
number  to  be  subject  to  periodical 
revision  according  to  the  relative  in- 
crease of  population.] 

"2.  Each  district  as  far  as  possible 
to  contain  an  equal  number  of  males  ; 
the  name  of  the  district  being  taken 
from  the  parish  containing  the  great- 
est number  of  electors. 

"  3.  Annual  Parliaments  to  be 
elected  on  the  first  Tuesday  in  July 
each  year ;  the  election  to  commence 
between  eight  and  eleven,  and  close 
before  sunset  of  the  same  day. 

"4.  All  male  inhabitants  of  this 
country  (aliens,  minors,  criminals,  and 
insane  persons  excepted)  to  vote. 

"  5.  Makes  first  allotment  of  mem- 
bers to  counties  ;  in  all  513. 

"  6.  Provides  regulations  as  to 
registers. 

"  7.  Grand  inquest  in  each  county 
to  allot  members  to  districts. 

"  8.  Election  to  take  place  in  prin- 
cipal town  or  village  of  district. 

"  9.  Votes  to  be  taken  by  ballot. 

"  10.  Churchwardens  to  declare 
poll  to  sheriff  of  county,  who  returns 
writ. 

"11.  The  annual  session  of  Parlia- 
ment to  commence  on  the  first  Tuesday 
in  November. 

"12.  Session  to  end  in  April;  or, 
if  necessary,  may  be  continued  by 
Crown  to  first  Tuesday  in  July. 

"  13.  Declaration  [of  allegiance]  to 
be  taken  by  members. 

"  14.  All  members  to  be  paid. 

"15.  All  election  causes  to  be  de- 
cided by  jury  before  judges  of  assize. 

"  16.  Every  person  competent  to 
vote  to  be  eligible  for  electioo." 


The  scheme  above  described  was 
evidently  looked  upon  as  a  kind  of 
counsel  of  perfection  in  the  matter  of 
parliamentary  reform,  for  although  it 
was  approved  by  the  committee,  and 
ordered  to  be  printed  and  sent  out  to 
other  committees  in  correspondence 
with  that  at  Westminster,  no  serious 
effort  was  made  to  put  the  plan  before 
Parliament,  nor  did  it  lead  to  any  sus- 
tained agitation  in  the  country.  If  it 
had  only  been  acceptable  and  accepted, 
how  much  trouble  might  have  been 
saved  to  Parliament  and  to  the  nation, 
and  how  much  faster  and  more  cer- 
tainly might  the  progress  of  reforms 
of  all  kinds  have  been  secured  !  For 
this  project  of  a  hundred  years  ago — 
agreed  to  by  men  such  as  Fox,  Burke, 
Sheridan,  Townshend  and  Shelburne, 
and  in  principle  assented  to  by  Pitt— - 
not  only  covers,  but  exceeds,  all  that 
has  been  since  accomplished  in  the 
reform  of  Parliament.  The  Westmin- 
ster scheme  of  1783  alike  anticipated 
and  surpassed  the  Reform  Act  of  1832, 
the  Chartist  proposals  of  1839,  the 
second  Reform  Act  of  1867,  and  the 
measures  by  which  in  the  present  year 
the  Franchise  has  been  made  co-exten- 
sive with  householders,  and  electoral 
districts  have  been  re-arranged  sub- 
stantially though  not  exactly  on  the 
basis  of  population.  Take  the  broadest 
of  the  schemes  since  proposed  as  the 
standard  of  comparison — the  six  points 
of  the  People's  Charter.  These  are : 
universal  suffrage,  equal  electoral  dis- 
tricts, payment  of  members,  vote  by 
ballot,  no  property  qualification, 
annual  Parliaments.  The  whole  of 
these  are  embraced  in  this  forgotten 
scheme,  authorised  by  the  signature  of 
Fox  and  the  concurrence  of  Sheridan, 
which  has  been  buried  for  a  century 
in  the  minutes  of  the  Westminster 
Association,  and  is  now  made  public 
by  the  historian  of  the  Radical  party, 
as  indicating  the  prescience,  the 
patriotism,  and  the  courage  of  those 
who,  in  principle,  if  not  by  profession, 
are  entitled  to  be  classed  amongst  the 
earliest  leaders  of  Radicalism. 

J.  T.  B. 


MACMILLAN'S    MAGAZINE. 


SEPTEMBER,  1885. 


MRS.  DYMOND. 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 


SUSANNA   AND    HER   MOTHER. 

EARLY  next  day  Susy  was  standing 
at  the  gate  of  the  villa.  After  the 
events  of  the  night  before,  they  had 
all  come  to  the  conclusion  that  it 
would  be  best  to  go  home  at  once. 
And  Tempy,  agitated  and  surren- 
dering, had  written  to  her  lover  to 
meet  them.  Susy  knew  that  her 
mother  would  approve  of  the  engage- 
ment, but  she  was  doubting  how  she 
could  best  break  to  her  the  news  of 
their  approaching  departure.  She  her- 
self was  loth  enough  to  go.  Her  heart 
was  not  light,  she  could  not  feel  as 
Tempy  did,  whose  new  life  was  waiting 
for  her  on  the  English  shores.  Whereas 
it  seemed  to  Susy  as  if  she  was  leaving 
all  hers  behind — her  true  interest,  her 
truest  self ;  as  she  drove  along  she 
wondered  whether  she  should  see  Max 
presently,  and  be  able  to  tell  him  of 
all  that  had  happened,  and  of  the 
great  determination  they  had  come  to. 
She  wondered  what  he  would  say,  how 
he  would  look — approving  ?  disapprov- 
ing 1  Would  he  be  in  the  same  mood  as 
when  he  had  left  them  the  night 
before?  She  found  no  answer  to  her 
question.  The  villa  was  silent  and 
deserted,  and  as  she  crossed  the  garden 
she  saw  that  the  studio  windows  were 
closed,  as  well  as  Madame' s  kitchen 
doors.  She  went  in  at  the  passage, 
passed  through  the  Marneys'  dining- 
room,  where  the  breakfast  things  were 
still  upon  the  table,  and  so  came  into 
No.  311. — VOL.  LII. 


the  little  sitting-room  where  she  found 
her  mother.  Mrs.  Marney  was  lying 
on  the  old  yellow  sofa ;  for  once  she  was 
not  at  work.  Mikey  and  Denny's  piles 
of  underclothing  lay  ripped  unheeded, 
seams  opening  wide,  upon  a  chair. 
Their  mother  was  leaning  back  with 
her  hands  upon  her  lap,  a  pair  of  horn 
spectacles  and  a  newspaper  lay  upon 
the  table. 

"  I  think  I  am  better,  dear,"  said 
Mrs.  Marney  peacefully,  like  a  person 
going  on  with  a  sentence  already 
begun.  "  Madame  has  been  in  to  sit 
with  me.  She  has  been  reading  to 
me.  I  have  heard  all  about  St. 
Cloud.  Max  du  Pare  came  for  a 
minute  last  night,  and  brought  me 
news  of  you  all.  What  a  lovely  day  you 
have  had  for  your  walk  !  Marney  is  at 
the  Tuileries  to-day.  Yes,  indeed, 
M.  de  Morny  sent  for  him.  You  don't 
know  how  much  they  all  think  of  his 
opinion.  Nobody  knows  more  about 
politics  than  he  does  ;  I  wish  he  under- 
stood his  own  affairs  half  as  well  as 
those  of  Europe,"  said  Mrs.  Marney, 
with  a  sigh  and  something  of  her  old 
manner.  As  Susy  stood  in  the  summer 
light,  against  the  green  of  the  windows, 
with  all  her  black  rippling  round  her, 
the  mother  looked  fondly  and  proudly 
at  her  daughter.  "  What  a  beautiful 
cloak  that  is,  my  child,  how  well 
your  widow's  mourning  becomes  you." 
Susanna  blushed  up  crimson. 

"  Oh,  don't,  mamma,  don't  say  such 
things." 

"  Why,  the  colonel  always  liked  you 


322 


Mrs.  Dymond. 


to  look  well  and  becomingly  dressed," 
said  Mrs.  Marney.  "  I  used  to  tell  him 
it  was  he,  not  you  that  cared  for  the 
bonnets.  I  myself  like  pretty  things, 
I  can  sometimes  think  of  your  clothes, 
Susy,  when  I  can't  look  at  my  own  for 
worry.  I  was  upset  yesterday ;  the 
police  came  just  after  Max  was  gone. 
Madame  was  in  a  terrible  taking,  and 
talked  some  nonsense  about  Marney." 

"What  nonsense  mamma?"  Susy 
asked. 

"  Oh !  we  have  made  it  up,"  Mrs. 
Marney  said,  taking  Susy's  hand  and 
stroking  it.  "  Max,  like  a  good  fellow, 
brought  her  in  this  morning.  Well, 
what  have  you  got  to  tell  me  ?  I  see 
there  is  something  by  your  face." 

When  Susy  began,  with  no  little 
reluctance,  to  break  her  own  news  she 
found  that  her  mother  received  it  better 
than  she  had  dared  to  hope.  "  So  you 
have  made  it  all  right  for  the  poor  girl. 
I  am  glad  of  that,  my  Susy ;  it's  ill  work 
parting  those  whom  God  has  joined 
together.  I  shall  miss  you  sorely  ;  but 
promise  me  to  come  back  if  ever  I 
want  you.  Promise,  Susy,  and  I  shall 
not  fash  over  the  parting,"  and  Susy 
eagerly  promised.  "  Oh,  mamma,  any 
time,  any  time." 

"  I  can  keep  the  boys  a  few  days 
longer,"  Mrs.  Marney  continued. 
"  Caron  is  going  over  to  England  next 
week,  and  he  will  leave  them  at  school 
for  me."  Mrs.  Marney  was  very  tender, 
very  motherly,  but  absent  in  manner. 
"  Is  that  Madame's  voice?"  she  said  un- 
easily. "  Don't  wait,  Susy,  you  must 
have  so  much  to  see  to."  But  almost 
as  she  spoke,  Madame  appeared  upon 
the  threshold,  concentrated,  forbidding 
in  aspect.  When  she  saw  Susanna 
standing  near  her  mother's  sofa 
Madame  stopped  short,  stared  fixedly, 
and  immediately  turned  and  walked 
away  out  of  the  room.  Mrs.  Marney 
flushed  up,  then  laughed  at  Susy's  look 
of  bewilderment.  "  I  did  not  want 
her  to  see  you  here,  Susy."  And  when 
Susy  asked  what  it  meant.  "  She  has 
got  some  nonsense  in  her  head  — people 
trouble  themselves  too  much  about 
other  people's  affairs,"  was  all  Mrs. 


Marney  said,  and  then  she  kissed  her 
daughter's  face,  holding  it  between  both 
her  hands  and  looking  into  her  eyes  as 
tenderly  as  if  Susy  had  still  been  a 
child  depending  on  her  for  everything. 
Mrs.  Marney  promised  to  come  up  with 
the  boys,  and  to  say  good-bye  next 
day  in  the  afternoon,  when  Marney  was 
gone.  Susy  would  gladly  have  remained 
longer,  she  hoped  to  have  seen  Max 
before  she  left ;  she  wanted  an  explana- 
tion with  Madame ;  but  her  mother 
seemed  only  anxious  to  hurry  her 
away  ;  for  one  moment  at  the  door  did 
Mrs.  Marney  detain  her  wistfully,  and 
in  that  moment  Susy  found  courage 
to  say  in  a  low  voice,  "  Mamma,  you 
will  tell  Mr.  Max  we  are  going.  We 
expect  him  too,  to  say  good-bye." 
Then  Mrs.  Marney  flung  her  arms 
around  Susy's  neck  and  began  to  cry. 

"Ah,  poor  Max  !  he  will  miss  you, 
but  not  so  much  as  I  shall.  Oh !  re- 
member, I  must  always  count  on  you 
for  my  boys,  Susy ;  you  are  young,  but 
no  younger  than  I  was  when  I  was  left 
a  widow,  and  I  took  my  own  course, 
and  it  has  been  a  hard  life,  but  indeed 
I  would  not  change  it,"  said  the  faithful, 
inconsequent  woman.  ' '  Go,  darling,  go. " 

Poor  Susy  drove  home  disappointed 
and  perplexed  by  her  visit,  and  wonder- 
ing at  the  meaning  of  it  all.  She  was 
used  to  her  mother's  ways,  used  to  the 
mysteries  of  that  household  from  which 
she  had  so  thankfully  escaped,  she 
could  imagine,  alas  !  what  good  reason 
her  mother  might  have  to  try  to  avoid 
a  meeting  between  Mr.  Marney  and 
herself,  but  Madame  du  Parc's  be- 
haviour distressed  and  troubled  her. 
Some  crisis  had  occurred,  of  that  she 
was  assured.  They  were  all  against  her, 
her  mother  and  Madame  and  that 
hateful  Marney.  People  in  an  excited 
and  abnormal  condition  are  quickly 
suspicious,  and  Susy  crimsoned  at  the 
thought  that  it  must  all  have  to  do 
with  her  friendship  for  Max.  Ah ! 
what  business  was  it  of  theirs.  If 
only  she  could  have  seen  him  once  more. 
If  only  he  had  come  to  her.  Then  she 
felt  that  everything  would  have  been 
plain. 


Mrs.  Dymond. 


323 


Mrs.  Dymond  found  active  prepara- 
tions for  their  departure  going  on 
when  she  reached  the  hotel,  and  a 
general  confusion  of  Wilkins  among 
the  bandboxes,  of  parcels  without 
number,  and  milliners  -  in  -  waiting. 
Tempy  was  writing  in  the  drawing 
room,  and  looking  up  with  a  face 
so  changed,  so  radiant  with  transient 
beauty  and  happiness  that  Susy  could 
scarcely  believe  that  was  the  Tempy 
she  had  known  all  along.  "  I  have 
had  a  telegram,"  said  Tempy.  "Charlie 
will  meet  us  at  Folkestone  the  day 
after  to-morrow ;  "  and,  "  oh  !  Susy, 
Mr.  Bagginal  came  this  morning 
and  Monsieur  Du  Pare.  I  was  very 
civil  indeed,  and  nice  to  them  both. 
They  want  to  take  us  somewhere  to 
breakfast  to-morrow,  and  Mr.  du  Pare 
is  coming  on  to  the  Louvre  afterwards, 
so  he  will  have  all  day  long  to  say 
good-bye,  as  we  don't  leave  till  after 
dinner." 

Susy  didn't  answer.  She  sat  down 
rather  wearily,  he  had  been  there, 
she  was  glad  of  that,  even  though 
she  had  missed  him ;  but  at  the  same 
time  she  had  an  odd  feeling  of  some 
intangible,  unrecognised  trouble  at 
hand,  one  to  be  avoided,  not  faced,  to  be 
fled  from,  never  to  be  realised.  All  day 
long  the  thought  possessed  her  while 
she  packed  and  paid  and  parted,  and 
settled  the  various  details  of  their 
going. 

Du  Pare  saw  Susy  again  that  evening 
though  she  did  not  see  him.  Susy  and 
Tempy,  with  Phraisie  between  them, 
were  driving  at  foot  pace  along  the 
Champs  Elysees.  They  were  rolling 
home  from  the  Arc,  behind  which  the 
sun  was  setting,  a  huge  dropping  globe 
of  limpid  fire.  Max  had  been  staring 
at  the  glories  that  were  lighting  up  the 
Arc,  and  its  stony  chariots,  and  heroic 
memories,  while  the  triumphal  clouds 
above  were  heaped  in  a  present 
apotheosis  of  splendour  and  com- 
memoration. The  victors  and  vic- 
toresses  of  this  present  generation 
were  complacently  driving  out  in  the 
soft  evening  air,  after  the  heat  of  the 
day,  and  issuing  from  their  houses,  or 


strolling  leisurely  or  resting  on  the 
benches  along  the  way.  Many  of  the 
passers  by  looked  up  at  the  two 
English  ladies  in  their  equipage  with 
the  pretty  blue-eyed  child  between 
them.  Among  these  came  Max  du 
Pare,  trudging  home  from  M.  Caron's 
with  a  portfolio  under  his  arm  contain- 
ing his  completed  work.  Susy  did  not 
see  him,  but  he  saw  her,  and  the  pros- 
perous serenity  of  the  little  party 
struck  him  painfully,  and  the  carriage 
seemed  to  him  somehow  to  be  rolling 
and  rolling  away  right  away  out  of  his 
life. 

CHAPTER  XXV. 

SAYING    "  GOOD-BYE." 

ME.  BAGGINAL  was  also  of  the  fare- 
well party.  They  were  to  break- 
fast at  a  certain  old-fashioned  caf6 
near  the  Pantheon,  which  du  Pare 
had  recommended,  and  to  adjourn  to 
the  Louvre  for  one  last  morning  in 
the  galleries  which  already  seemed  so 
familiar.  That  last  day  in  Paris,  the 
lights,  the  streets,  the  cafe"  with  its 
shining  tables  and  deep  windows  and 
criss-cross  shadows,  the  blazing  gar- 
dens without,  long  haunted  Susy,  who 
was  destined  to  live  so  many  of  these 
hours  again  and  again,  in  other  scenes 
and  other  surroundings.  She  had  met 
Max  with  an  effort,  trying  to  be  calm. 
Alas !  her  effort  to  be  wise  and  calm 
only  revived  for  him  the  memory  of 
that  stiff,  doll-like  Susanna  who  used 
to  seem  so  meaningless  once.  Now  he 
knew  better,  he  did  not  think  her 
meaningless ;  on  the  contrary,  he 
attached  too  much  meaning  to  her 
coldness. 

As  they  all  sat  at  their  table  with 
the  snowy  cloth  by  the  grated  window, 
Mr.  Bagginal  and  Jo  kept  up  the  ball ; 
Tempy  was  too  happy,  Susanna  was 
too  sad  to  talk  very  much. 

"  I  shall  be  coming  over  to  see  my 
people  in  a  few  weeks,"  said  the 
attache.  "I  hope  I  shall  find  you  at 
Crowbeck,  Mrs.  Dymond." 

"  That  is  all  right,"  said  Jo.  "  You 
must  come  and  see  us,  and  you  too, 

Y  2 


324 


Mrs.  Dymond. 


Du  Pare.  When  shall  you  be  in 
England  again?" 

But  Du  Pare  did  not  respond  very 
warmly.  He  felt  some  jar,  some  con- 
straint in  this  semblance  of  a  meeting. 
"  I  don't  like  making  plans,"  he  said 
abruptly  ;  "  plans  are  for  landed  pro- 
prietors and  diplomats ;  we  working 
men  are  obliged  to  take  things  as 
they  come." 

"  Here  come  the  cutlets/'  cried 
Bagginal,  who  thought  Max's  sallies 
not  in  the  best  taste.  Susy,  too, 
was  vaguely  vexed  by  his  roughness. 
Things  mended  a  little  when  they 
reached  the  Louvre.  The  work  of 
great  men,  which  makes  a  home  for 
us  in  strange  places,  is  often  not  un- 
like a  living  presence,  influencing  us, 
just  as  some  people  do,  calling  some- 
thing that  is  our  best  selves  into  life. 

There  is  something  in  the  highest 
art  which  is  like  nature,  bringing 
people  into  a  different  state  of  being, 
sweeping  away  the  reticences,  the  hesi- 
tations, of  the  different  grades  of  life. 
The  different  manners  and  ways  of 
men  and  women  are  realities  in  their 
way,  but  they  scarcely  count  when  the 
greater  truths  prevail. 

Max  walked  ahead,  suddenly  more 
at  home  and  more  at  ease ;  he  led  the 
way  from  room  to  room,  from  one 
eventful  picture  to  another,  and  yet 
all  the  time  as  he  went  along  the 
voice  of  that  night  before  was 
haunting  him  still,  and  even  while 
he  was  speaking  he  sometimes  broke 
off  abruptly  to  listen  to  it.  "  She 
is  going  from  you,"  this  voice 
still  said ;  "  she  might  be  yours, 
she  might  remain."  Perhaps  some 
vein  of  English  blood  had  taught 
Max  to  feel  for  women  some  deeper, 
more  tender  sentiment  than  the  pas- 
sionate ferment  of  romantic  admira- 
tion and  excitement  which  seems  to 
play  an  all-important  part  in  France 
(if  we  are  to  judge  by  its  yellow  and 
bilious  literature) ;  some  gentler  and 
more  noble  instinct  was  in  his  heart 
than  that  strange  emotion  which, 
according  to  these  same  observers, 
belongs  to  any  one  but  to  a  wife — to 


a  passing  dream,  to  a  flaunting  veni- 
ality.  .  .  .  Whereas  (according  to  these 
same  records)  for  the  mothers  of  their 
homes,  for  the  companions  of  their  life, 
a  family  lawyer's  acquiescence,  their 
parents',  their  grandparents'  approba- 
tion is  to  be  considered  first  and 
foremost — human  nature,  instinctive 
feeling,  last  and  least. 

But  Max  was  but  half  a  Frenchman, 
after  all,  as  he  walked  along  by  Susy's 
side  through  the  long  galleries.  They 
came  down  from  the  glowing  pictures 
into  the  cool,  stony  halls  below,  and 
passed  from  one  century  to  another 
with  a  few  lingering  steps.  The  tombs 
of  Egyptian  kings  and  warriors  lined 
their  way ;  then  came  the  tokens  and 
emblems  of  the  great  Roman  empire, 
with  all  its  pomp  of  funereal  rite; 
followed  by  the  bland  and  lovely 
emblems  of  the  Greeks,  those  stately 
figures  still  treading  the  earth  in  some 
immortal  fashion,  while  the  present 
waves  of  life  flow  on,  washing  away 
the  relics  of  the  past  as  they  flow. 

Max  looked  at  the  woman  he  loved, 
as  she  was  standing  before  the  statue 
of  some  bygone  nymph.  The  young 
man,  who  was  an  artist  as  well  as  a 
lover,  made  a  mental  note  of  the  two 
— the  stony,  impassive  nymph,  the 
noble  human  being  so  wistfully 
radiant.  Susy  felt  his  eyes  upon  her, 
and  as  some  feel  the  sunshine  kindling 
their  chilled  veins,  so  to  her  unacknow- 
ledged perplexities  that  bright  odd 
glance,  part  sympathetic,  part  scru- 
tinising, seemed  to  bring  reassurance 
and  to  give  life  to  her  very  soul. 
That  one  moment  was  the  best  of  all 
those  moments;  almost  immediately 
a  look,  a  something,  a  nothing,  seemed 
to  come  between  them  again. 

Long  after,  an  eau  forte,  signed 
Maxwell,  had  a  great  success,  and  was 
for  a  time  to  be  seen  in  the  window 
of  every  art  shop  in  London.  It  was 
very  slight,  but  also  very  complete. 
The  stony  statue  was  faithfully  copied, 
its  grace  and  solemn  life  were  repeated 
as  it  stood  upon  its  pedestal  with  its 
finger  on  its  lips ;  and  a  woman, 
also  draped  in  flowing  folds,  also  bare- 


Mrs.  Dymond. 


325 


headed,  and  with  a  strange  likeness 
to  the  marble,  stood  with  innocent 
eyes  gazing  up  at  the  stone  that  re- 
called her  who  once  was  a  woman  too, 
who  was  now  only  a  goddess,  but  still 
somehow  whispering  of  the  beauty  and 
of  the  love  of  two  thousand  years  ago. 

Mr.  Bagginal,  loth  to  go,  had  to 
say  good-bye  presently,  and  return 
to  his  embassy.  His  departure  scat- 
tered them  all.  Susy  felt  a 
strange  impatience  of  this  long- 
drawn  leave-taking.  She  wanted 
to  get  it  over,  and  to  escape  from 
Tempy's  eyes  and  Jo's ;  she  was  not 
herself,  her  nerves  were  irritated,  and 
the  restraint  she  put  upon  herself  only 
added  to  this  nervous  impatience. 

"  Shall  we  walk  home  through  the 
gardens?"  said  Mrs.  Dymond  with  an 
effort,  in  her  stiff  and  formal  manner ; 
and  without  a  word  Du  Pare  turned 
and  led  the  way  to  the  entrance  gates. 
The  great  doors  let  a  blaze  of  light 
into  the  cold  marble  galleries ;  the 
cocked-hat  of  the  Swisse  was  resplen- 
dent and  reflected  the  fine  weather 
as  it  flashed  in  the  doorway;  the  great 
place  without  looked  like  a  triumph  of 
summer ;  the  rearing  stone  horses  and 
chariots  rose  high  against  the  deep 
blue  of  the  sky.  Short  black  shadows 
marked  the  arches  and  the  pedestals, 
and  Susy  breathed  deep  as  she  passed 
out,  followed  by  Jo  and  Tempy.  Oppo- 
site was  the  piazza  of  the  Louvre, 
where  the  lovely  lights  were  floating 
from  pier  to  pier,  while  high  overhead 
one  or  two  diaphanous  clouds  were 
mounting  in  the  air. 

As  they  came  out  of  the  shade  of 
the  portico  they  seemed  almost  blinded 
by  the  glaring  sun ;  the  place  was 
burning  with  scorching  heat ;  it 
flashed  from  every  arch  and  pinnacle 
and  window. 

"  It  is  a  furnace,"  said  Tempy ; 
"  hadn't  we  better  wait  another  hour 
in  the  gallery  1 "  "I  have  to  go  home," 
Susy  said,  hurriedly.  "Tempy,  I  can- 
not stay  longer;  I  have  to  pack,  to 
wind  up.  Don't  come  ;  you  will  find 
me  at  home.  Jo  will  come  with 
me." 


But  Tempy  clutched  Jo  fiercely  by 
the  wrist.  She  did  not  want  to  be  left 
alone  with  Du  Pare  in  the  gallery. 

The  heat  seemed  to  confuse  them 
all.  Susy  found  herself  crossing  the 
burning  place  alone,  as  she  thought, 
but  when  she  looked  round,  Du  Pare 
was  striding  by  her  side,  while  she 
hastened  to  the  more  shady  gardens 
of  the  Tuileries.  It  was  the  ordeal  by 
fire  through  which  they  were  passing. 

"  Everything  seems  on  fire,"  said 
Susy,  looking  about.  "  See,  we  shall 
escape  over  there,"  and  she  pointed 
with  her  hand. 

The  young  man  was  unconcerned  by 
the  heat,  and  chiefly  conscious  of  the 
cool  shadow  of  her  presence.  He  re- 
membered her  words  and  her  action 
one  day  long  after,  remembered  them 
for  an  instant  amidst  the  flash  of 
fiercer  conflict  than  that  which  stirred 
him  now ;  and  yet  at  the  time  he 
scarcely  seemed  listening  when  she 
spoke,  and  now  and  again  forgot  her 
presence  in  the  sudden  realisation  of 
what  her  absence  would  be  to  him. 
He  had  imagined  once  that  she  under- 
stood him — cared  something  for  him. 
It  must  have  been  a  mistake.  How 
quietly  she  spoke  of  her  departure. 
"  These  Englishwomen  are  made  of 
tougher  stuff  than  a  poor  French- 
man is  aware  of,"  Max  thought 
bitterly. 

The  sentry  in  his  shady  box  stared 
at  Mrs.  Dymond  and  her  companion 
quickly  passing  in  the  burning  silence. 
They  reached  the  gardens,  almost  de 
serted  in  the  midday  heat. 

If  it  had  not  been  for  Tempy's 
jealous  words  the  night-before,  Susanna 
might  have  parted  from  Max  naturally 
with  regret,  sadly,  but  without  this 
cruel  pang,  this  self-reproach.  As  it 
was,  she  could  not  trust  herself  to  be 
sorry ;  she  must  take  leave  coldly. 
She  must  not  allow  herself  to  feel. 

Then  she  looked  up  suddenly,  just 
once  to  remember  him  by  when  she 
was  gone,  when  this  cold  unmeaning 
good-bye  had  been  said ;  and  she  saw 
Du  Parc's  keen  brown  face  turned 
upon  her  with  a  look  which  seemed 


326 


Mrs.  Dymond. 


somehow  to  stab  her,  and  she  started 
as  if  she  had  been  hurt. 

"What  is  it?"  said  Du  Pare. 
"What  is  it,  madarue?" 

Susy's  heart  began  to  flutter  oddly. 
She  could  not  answer.  Her  face  had 
been  pale  before — was  now  burning 
with  her  self-betrayal.  Was  the  final 
decision  to  be  made  already  1  Was 
there  no  escape  from  it?  Tempy's 
words  had  shocked  her  the  night  be- 
fore. It  seemed  to  her  as  if  the  girl 
had  cruelly  taken  down  the  shutters, 
and  let  bright  daylight  into  a  darkened 
room.  Now  for  the  first  time  Susy 
seemed  to  know  that  the  daylight  was 
something  so  clear,  so  beautiful,  that 
all  other  lights  and  flickering  tapers 
were  but  as  shadows  before  it. 

Susanna's  changing  looks  touched 
Max  with  some  odd  mixture  of  pity 
and  alarm.  He  had  been  angry  with 
her  for  her  coldness  all  the  morning. 
But  this  was  no  cold  indifference. 
Had  she,  too,  felt  this  estrangement? 
If  it  was  so  he  forgave  her,  took  her 
into  his  confidence,  once  more  began  to 
speak  naturally. 

"  Yes,  madame,  this  vile  good-bye 
has  come  already,"  he  said,  "  and  yet 
too  late  for  me.  Good-byes  come 
most  easily  to  those  who,  like  you, 
take  everything  with  them — almost 
everything,"  he  repeated,  with  a  sigh. 
"  I  cannot  pretend  to  know  how  it  all 
may  seem  to  you ;  we  belong  to  dif- 
ferent worlds.  It  is  best  we  should 
part.  Ah !  you  could  not  face  poverty," 
he  went  on  suddenly.  "  You  are  not 
made  for  sufferings ;  you  belong  to 
the  wealthy,  happy,  placid  people,  not 
to  us  who  are  struggling  for  our  lives." 
Susy  felt  hurt  by  his  strange  tone. 
"  What  do  you  mean  ?  "  she  said.  "I 
have  been  poor  too." 

"You  have  been  poor,"  he  said, 
looking  hard  at  her,  and  smiling 
coldly ;  "  but  you  have  never  known 
what  it  is  to  suffer,  nor  to  be  bound 
and  helpless  watching  others  day  by 
day,  condemned  by  their  race,  and 
dying  from  sheer  incapacity  for  the 
struggle  of  life.  Pass  on — pass  on," 
he  said,  almost  fiercely. 


Susy's  eyes  filled  up  suddenly,  and 
again  her  tears  softened  his  mood. 
"You  have  courage  and  you  have  heart, 
but  you  cannot  help  these  things 
any  more  than  I  can,"  he  went  on 
more  gently.  "To  have  known  you  is 
a  possession  to  those  you  leave  behind. 
When  I  remember  you  after  you  are 
gone,  it  will  be  with  a  thought  of 
peace  in  the  midst  of  noise  and  con- 
fusion." 

Susy,  as  many  a  woman  before  and 
after  her,  stood  listening,  scarcely 
taking  in  the  words,  only  the  sense 
of  the  moment.  All  she  knew  for 
certain  was  that  they  were  parting, 
that  he  was  there  still,  that  he  was 
unhappy,  that  presently  she  would 
see  him  no  more.  They  had  reached 
one  of  the  stone  benches  of  the 
Tuileries,  which  stood  in  the  shade 
of  a  tree,  almost  opposite  a  little  gate 
that  led  to  the  Rue  du  Dauphin. 

"  1  must  go,"  said  Susanna,  speak- 
ing very  quietly  ;  and  he  nodded,  and 
yet  detained  her,  absently  holding  her 
hand,  which  she  had  given  him. 

"  Ah,  yes,"  he  said,  suddenly  drop- 
ping it,  "  it  is  indeed  time  we  parted." 

She  did  not  dare  to  answer  or  to 
comfort  him  ;  she  did  not  dare  tell 
him  that  for  her  too  the  parting  had 
come  too  late. 

"  Good-bye,"  she  said,  still  in  the 
same  quiet  everyday  manner.  As  she 
moved  away  slowly  he  sat  down  upon 
the  bench. 

The  time  had  come,  as  she  had 
known  it  would,  and  she  walked  on 
as  she  had  drilled  herself  to  do  ;  with 
what  sad  steps  she  climbed  the  street 
none  but  herself  could  tell.  She 
walked  till  she  reached  the  door  of 
the  hotel,  where  the  waiter  was  stand- 
ing. He  asked  her  some  trivial  ques- 
tions about  her  bill,  and  an  omnibus. 
She  looked  at  him  without  understand- 
ing what  he  said.  Then  she  mounted 
the  wooden  stairs,  up  and  down  which 
they  had  so  often  happily  clattered  on 
their  way  in  and  out.  She  might  have 
been  kinder,  this  was  what  she  kept 
thinking  over  and  over  again ;  she 
might  have  been  kinder  ;  how  sad  and 


Mrs.  Dymond. 


327 


stern  he  looked,  was  it  her  fault  she 
had  only  thought  of  herself,  not  of 
him,  in  all  she  left  unsaid  ?  Every 
sound,  every  touch  seemed  to  jar  upon 
her  nerves  and  to  reproach  her.  As 
she  opened  the  sitting-room  door,  she 
was  met  by  a  loud  discordant  crash. 
Little  Phraisie  was  passing  the  long, 
hot  morning  by  thumping  on  the  keys 
of  the  piano  in  tune  to  her  nurse's 
packing. 

"  I'se  playing,"  says  Phraisie, 
triumphant. 

"  0  Phraisie,  Phraisie,  don't  make 
such  a  noise,"  said  her  mother  irri- 
tably, stooping  over  the  child  and  try- 
ing to  lift  her  down  from  the  chair. 

"  I'se  not  done,"  protested  Phraisie 
struggling. 

"  Leave  off,  Phraisie,"  Susy  repeated; 
and  the  child  looked  up  surprised  by 
her  mother's  tone.  She  ceased  strug- 
gling instantly. 

"  Mamma,"  said  she,  "  are  I  so  very 
naughty  ?  is  that  why  you's  crying  ?  " 
and  then  Susy  found  that  her  own 
eyes  were  full  of  tears — she  had  been 
selfish  and  unjust  to  Phi'aisie  as  she 
had  been  to  Du  Pare. 

Wilkins  came  in  hearing  the  dis- 
cussion, also  heated  and  cross  with 
packing,  and  asking  one  question  after 
another  about  her  overflowing  boxes. 
Susy  could  scarcely  force  herself  to 
listen  ;  Du  Parc's  wild  sad  looks  were 
before  her  eyes,  his  bitter  words  in 
her  heart ;  she  might  have  had  the 
courage  to  speak  the  truth  to  him.  She 
might  have  been  kinder — was  it  even 
yet  too  late  1  "  Phraisie,  darling,"  she 
said  suddenly,  "  You  may  play  a  little 
bit  longer.  I  have  forgotten  some- 
thing, Wilkins;  I  shall  come  back. 
I — I  am  not  feeling  very  well,  I  must 
leave  the  packing  to  you."  And  before 
Wilkins  could  ask  another  question 
she  was  gone  again,  hurrying  as  she 
went. 

"Madame!  Madame!"  cried Auguste, 
flying  after  her  with  his  napkin ;  but 
Susy  did  not  turn,  and  only  hastened 
out  into  the  street,  tying  the  long 
ribbon  of  her  silk  cloak  as  she  went. 
She  thought  she  heard  her  name 


called,  she  would  not  look  back. 
She  must  see  him  once  more,  if  only 
to  leave  him  more  happy,  if  only  to 
tell  him  that  she  was  not  ungrateful 
for  his  friendship.  It  seemed  to  her  as 
if  he  was  wanting  her,  as  if  it  was  her 
least  duty  to  go  to  him,  to  say  to  him, 
"Ah,  you  do  me  injustice.  It  is  not 
that  I  am  rich,  and  prosperous  and 
heartless,  but  because  I  am  poor  and 
have  others  to  think  of,  others  depend- 
ing on  me  that  I  leave  you."  Yes, 
others  to  whom  she  was  bound  by  a 
thousand  ties ;  but  in  her  secret  heart 
she  knew,  that  never  again  would  she 
feel  for  any  one  what  she  felt  for  this 
stranger. 

Surely  two  less  propitiously  matched 
people  never  came  together  than 
this  man  and  this  woman,  who 
seemed  to  suit  each  other  so  well. 
She,  tender,  practical,  humble  and  yet 
exacting,  as  diffident  people  are  who 
are  not  sure  of  themselves  and  require 
constant  convictions  and  reassurance. 
He,  reserved,  over  confident,  with 
a  courageous  power  of  self-command, 
perhaps  somewhat  blunted  to  the 
wants  and  pains  of  others  by  circum- 
stance. For  him  the  real  material 
wants  of  life  existed  chiefly.  The 
hunger  for  affection,  the  thirst  after 
sympathy  was  a  fancy  not  worth  con- 
sidering. He  was  suffering  now ;  but 
he  also  knew — perhaps  better  than 
Susy  did — that  his  pain  would  pass  in 
time.  .  .  . 

He  was  still  sitting  on  the  bench,  he 
had  not  moved  since  she  left  him.  He 
was  not  conscious  of  the  minutes  which 
had  passed.  He  loved  her.  He  knew 
it.  Whether  or  not  she  loved 
him  seemed  to  be  but  a  secondary 
thing.  A  man  loves,  a  woman  longs  for 
response.  Max  had  not  stirred  except 
to  light  a  cigar.  For  a  few  minutes 
he  had  gloomily  puffed  at  the  smoke, 
then  he  took  it  out  of  his  mouth  and 
sat  holding  it  between  his  fingers. 
Then  he  heard  her  quick  step  advanc- 
ing, he  [did  not  look  up  or  turn  his 
head,  but  when  she  came  close  up  and 
sat  down  on  the  bench  beside  him  he 
turned  at  last.  He  was  all  changed, 


328 


Mrs.  Dymond. 


Susy  thought.  It  was  as  if  an  east 
wind  had  passed  over  some  landscape. 
She  was  not  shy  now.  She  was  not 
thinking  of  herself  any  more,  only  of 
him,  and  her  sweet  eager  face  was 
lighted  with  solicitude  and  kindness. 

"  Won't  you  speak  to  me  ? "  she  said, 
after  a  moment,  forgetting  all  her  dig- 
nity, all  her  gentle  pride  ;  "  I  want  to 
say  a  real  good-bye — since  we  must 
say  good-bye.  I  came  back,  for  I 
could  not  bear  to  part  as  we  did 
just  now.  I,  like  you,  am  not  free, 
to  think  only  of  my  own  happiness. 
I — I  wanted  to  tell  you  this.  I  have 
my  mother,  my  brothers,  my  children 
depending  on  me.  I  should  forfeit 
all  means  to  help  them  if  I  married 
again.  I  too  have  my  duty.  I  want 
to  hear  you  say  you  forgive  me,"  she 
went  on  more  and  more  agitated.  She 
spoke  in  her  pretty  English-French. 
He  was  silent,  and  she  turned  very 
pale  as  she  realised  how  little  her 
words  must  mean  to  him. 

He  looked  up  with  dull  eyes  and 
spoke  at  last. 

"  I  have  nothing  to  forgive,"  he 
said ;  "I  do  not  complain ;  you  have 
judged  wisely ;  you  are  perfectly  justi- 
fied. There  is  nothing  to  regret,  no- 
thing to  forgive." 

"  Oh,  Max  !  "  she  said  reproachfully, 
unconsciously  calling  him  by  his  name, 
"  when  you  speak  to  me  like  this  how 
can  I  answer  you ;  how  can  I  feel  you 
are  my  friend  1  "What  am  I  to  say  to 
make  you  understand  1 " 

She  wrung  her  hands  with  sudden 
pain,  for  indeed  his  pain  seemed  to  her 
harder  to  bear  than  her  own,  his  hap- 
piness seemed  to  her  to  matter  far 
more  than  hers  could  ever  matter. 
She  felt  herself  in  some  way  account- 
able for  this  man's  happiness.  The 
thought  was  almost  more  than  she 
could  bear,  but  he  would  not  help  her. 

"  Yes  ;  I  understand  well  enough," 
he  answered  ;  "  and  you  have  also  to 
understand  me,"  he  continued,  in  a 
hard,  commonplace  voice.  "  Don't  you 
know  that  graves  have  to  be  dug  ?  Do 
you  expect  me  to  grimace  and  make 
phrases  while  I  am  digging  a  grave  ?  " 


Then  he  looked  up  at  last,  and  his  eyes 
met  hers  for  one  moment.  Then,  still 
dully  and  wearily,  he  rose  from  the 
bench. 

"  Your  stepfather  is  coming,"  he 
said,  "  and  his  family.  I  cannot  stay 
here  any  longer." 

And  as  Susy  looked  up,  in  that  bitter 
moment,  she  too  saw  Marney  advanc- 
ing, and  the  little  boys  running  towards 
her,  and  her  mother  following  through 
the  iron  gate  by  which  she  herself  had 
come  into  the  gardens  but  a  moment 
before. 

Max  du  Pare  had  got  up  deliberate- 
ly, without  hurrying  ;  he  stood  for  an 
instant  still  looking  at  her ;  then 
he  took  off  his  hat  without  a  word, 
and  turned  and  walked  away.  The 
clocks  were  clanging  four  o'clock  ;  he 
crossed  the  stiff  shadow  of  the  orange 
tree,  and  with  long  swinging  steps 
reached  the  shade  of  the  avenues  be- 
yond, he  was  gone.  She  had  longed 
to  help  him ;  she  had  only  disgraced 
herself ,  she  had  done  nothing  for  him — 
nothing,  nothing.  Was  it  the  sun's 
heat  sickened  her  ?  Was  it  some  over- 
powering sense  of  shame,  of  hopeless 
regret,  that  seemed  to  burn  into  her 
very  heart  ? 

Some  children  who  had  been  watch- 
ing eagerly  from  behind  the  orange 
tree  came  running  up  and  established 
themselves  upon  the  vacant  bench  and 
began  to  play  an  eager  game  with 
stones  and  sticks,  while  the  Marney 
party  cheerfully  closed  round  Susy,  the 
little  boys  were  specially  loud  in  their 
demonstrations.  "  Sister  Auguste  told 
us  you  were  here.  Didn't  you  hear  us 
calling?  We  knew  we  should  find 
you." 

"  I  am  only  come  for  one  moment, 
just  to  take  leave,  Susanna,"  said 
Marney,  with  extra  heartiness,  ad- 
vancing with  both  hands  extended ; 
"  but  here  is  your  mother  for  the  rest 
of  the  day.  Is  not  that  Du  Pare 
going  off  ?  I  may  as  well  catch  him 
up.  Well,  take  care  of  yourself,  my 
dear  girl,  and  don't  forget  to  write." 

Susy  was  still  in  a  sort  of  dream  ; 
she  scarcely  returned  her  stepfather's 


Mrs.  Dymond. 


329 


easy  salutations.  She  met  her  mother, 
but  without  a  smile.  The  poor  woman 
had  lingered  behind.  Had  she  guessed 
something  of  what  had  happened  ? 

Mrs.  Marney  more  than  once  looked 
anxiously  at  her  daughter  as  they 
walked  back  together  to  the  hotel. 
As  the  day  went  by  the  elder  woman 
seemed  silently  to  be  asking  Susy's 
forgiveness.  She  took  up  her 
daughter's  hand  and  kissed  it. 

"  Don't,  mamma,"  said  Susanna, 
pulling  her  hand  away. 

All  the  same  she  was  glad  to 
have  her  mother  near  her  until  the 
moment  of  departure  came.  They  sat 
side  by  side  on  the  old  red  sofa,  saying 
little,  but  grateful  to  be  together.  Once 
they  heard  a  man's  step  in  the  passage 
outside,  and  Susy  wondered  whether 
Max  after  all  had  come  back  again  for 
a  few  last  minutes,  but  it  was  only 
Mr.  Bagginal  with  some  flowers  and 
bonbons  for  Phraisie.  Then  the  train 
carried  them  all  away,  and  Susy  looked 
from  her  sleeping  child  to  Jo  peacefully 
nodding  in  his  corner,  to  Tempy  sitting 
absorbed  and  radiant,  and  then,  some- 
thing within  her  suddenly  cried  out, 
in  despairing  protest,  in  tune  to  the 
wheels  of  fate  as  they  carried  her 
away.  To  have  so  much,  yet  to  be  so 
utterly  disheartened  and  alone ;  to 
have  felt  as  if  the  world  itself  could 
scarce  contain  her  happiness,  and  now 
it  seemed  to  her  that  the  worst  of 
all  was  yet  to  come.  What  would  he 
be  doing?  Who  would  he  be  talking 
to  ?  Of  what  would  he  be  thinking  ? 
It  was  well  for  her  that  she  did  not 
know  what  the  future  had  in  store. 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 
WAE    AND    RUMOURS    OF    WAR. 

To  all  of  us  who  were  safe  at  home 
in  1870,  the  distant  sound  of  the 
cannon,  the  cry  of  the  ousted,  sorrow- 
ful inhabitants  of  a  country  but  a 
couple  of  hours'  journey  from  our  own 
shores  came,  softened  by  distance,  and 
by  that  stultifying  sense  of  our  own 
safety.  It  was  not  indifference  ;  our 


neighbour's  trouble  was  present  to  us, 
and  keenly  realised ;  but  we  know  that 
the  good  Samaritan  himself  after  walk- 
ing by  the  ass  and  upholding  his  sick 
and  wounded  neighbour,  left  him    to 
recover  alone  at  the  inn.     With  the 
first  alarm   Michael   and   Dermy   ap- 
peared   in    Tarndale,    sent    by    their 
mother,    to    finish   their   holidays,   in 
safety.      Mr.    Marney,   whose     trade 
was  flourishing  for  the  moment,  for- 
warded  a  letter  by   the  boys,  in  his 
dashing   handwriting.      "  I   send   the 
boys,   my  dear   Susanna,  trusting  to 
your   sisterly  care.     I   cannot    bring 
them      myself.        This      war      gives 
absorbing     occupation     to     men      of 
my   trade.       I    am    trying    to    per- 
suade my  wife  to  pack  up  her  boxes 
and  also  rejoin  you  in  your  luxurious 
home.     Poor  Polly  has   some  impres- 
sion that  her  presence  at  the  Villa  du 
Pare  acts  as  a  pledge  for  her  unworthy 
husband's  safety.     '  Think  of  the  Prus- 
sians !'  says  I.     'Let  them  come  on,' 
says  she.     '  I  will  not  desert  my  post.' 
Though  what  good  she  can  do  me  here, 
and  I  at  the   other   end  of   France, 
is    past    my    comprehension.     '  Your 
home  will  be  always  ready,'  says  she. 
'  You  can  come  back  at  any  hour  of 
the  day  or  night,'  and  when  I  represent 
to  her  that  I  can  do  that  anyhow  with 
a  latchkey  and  a  couple  of  sovereigns, 
she  bursts  into  tears.  Madame  du  Pare 
being  of  a  less  valorous  constitution, 
has  chosen  the  better  part  under  pre- 
sent    circumstances,    and     discreetly 
retires  to  her  vineyard  near  Avignon. 
Seriously  speaking,  my  dear  Susan,  I 
do  intreat  you,  who  have  more  influence 
over  Polly  than  most  people,  to  per- 
suade her  that  there  is  no  advantage 
to  me  whatever  in  her  remaining  here, 
only  great  inconvenience.   Even  though 
the    Prussians    should    not     advance 
beyond   the    frontier,    there   are    all 
sorts   of    ill-looking   adventurers   and 
Franc  Tireurs  hanging  about  the  place 
just  now.  .   ,  ." 

Poor  Mrs.  Marney !  she  scarcely  knew 
how  to  withstand  the  united  commands 
of  her  husband  and  her  daughter.  Crow- 
beck  seemed  so  far  away,  so  utterly  out 


330 


Mrs.  Dymond. 


of  reach.  There  was  no  one  there,  not 
even  Susanna,  to  whom  she  could  speak 
of  Marney.  What  should  she  do  there  ! 
If  he  was  ill  or  wounded,  Susy  would 
never  let  her  go,  she  would  keep  her 
from  him.  The  poor  thing  wandered 
about  the  empty  villa,  pale,  anxious, 
huddled  in  an  old  cloak,  wistfully 
watching  Madame's  independent  ar- 
rangements as  she  prepared  for  her 
own  departure.  Torn  with  terrors  for 
Marney,  unable  to  decide  for  herself, 
Mary  Marney  was  utterly  miserable 
and  wearying  to  others.  Susy's  letters, 
full  of  entreaties  and  of  the  prepara- 
tions for  Tempy's  wedding,  only  elicited 
a  faint  return  from  her  mother. 
Phraisie's  printed  messages,  the  boys 
round-hand,  seemed  alone  to  bring 
some  gleam  of  interest  to  the  poor  soul. 
She  studied  the  papers  for  news  ;  she 
cross-questioned  everybody.  Marney 
had  been  ordered  to  the  front  to  join 
the  emperor's  head-quarters  at  Chalons, 
to  be  in  the  triumphant  train  of  the 
journey  to  Berlin.  Marney  used  to 
sbrug  his  shoulders  when  his  wife  ap- 
pealed to  him  as  to  his  probable  desti- 
nation. 

"I  don't  mind  taking  the  odds 
against  setting  up  my  quarters  in  the 
Royal  palace  at  Berlin,  if  that  is 
what  you  mean,  my  dear,"  he  said. 
"Heaven  knows  where  we  shall  all  be 
this  day  month.  You  will  be  more 
in  the  way  of  news  at  Crowbeck  than 
anywhere  else.  They  take  in  the 
Velocipede,  don't  they  ? — county  big- 
wigs, as  they  are,  crowing  on  their 
dung-heaps." 

Mrs.  Marney  only  turned  away  to 
hide  her  tears.  One  day,  Madame,  at 
once  touched  and  irritated  beyond 
measure  by  her  friend's  imploring 
looks,  suddenly  said,  emerging  from 
a  huge  caisse  of  cooking  utensils,  which 
she  was  carefully  packing, 

"  I  believe  you  would  be  happier, 
after  all,  if  you  came  with  me,  Madame 
Marney.  If  your  husband  joins  the 
camp  at  Chalons,  you  will  be  nearer 
at  Avignon  than  anywhere  else,  not 
that  you  need  fear  anything  for  him. 
He  is  not  one  of  those  who  get  drowned 


or  shot,"  mutters   Madame,  with  her 
head  in  the  saucepans  again. 

But  Mrs.  Marney  did  not  care  what 
Madame  muttered ;  she  clutched  at 
her  offer  as  a  child  might  seize  upon 
a  toy.  Marney,  who  was  absolutely 
indifferent  to  his  wife's  movements, 
did  not  oppose  the  scheme,  except  by 
the  usual  shrug. 

"You  know  your  own  mind  best," 
he  said. 

When  he  took  leave  of  her  soon 
after,  her  beautiful  sad  eyes,  her  mute, 
tender,  passionate  farewell  touched 
him.  "  Poor  Polly,"  he  thought,  as 
he  turned  away,  "  what  the  devil  pos- 
sesses her  to  be  so  fond  of  me  ?  " 

Marney  actually  took  the  trouble  to 
write  to  his  wife  once  or  twice  during 
the  first  few  days;  and  when  his 
letters  came,  Mrs.  Marney,  radiant 
and  delighted,  would  send  on  long 
quotations  to  Susy  at  Tarndale. 

For  once  Susy  was  thankful  to  re- 
ceive news  of  Mr.  Marney,  and  to 
know  his  whereabouts,  and  that  he 
was  prospering.  For  this  also  meant 
that  her  mother's  mind  was  at  ease 
and  able  to  rest.  When  Marney 
took  the  trouble  to  write  to  his  wife, 
he  would  send  brilliant  accounts  of 
his  own  doings,  and  graphic  descrip- 
tions of  the  events  as  they  occurred. 
Other  news  there  was  which  Susy  read 
quietly,  turning  a  little  pale  as  her 
eyes  followed  the  straggling  lines  of 
her  mother's  correspondence,  which  was 
not  all  confined  to  chronicles  of  her 
husband's  doings.  Madame  du  Pare 
was,  it  appeared,  actively  engaged  in 
a  lawsuit  with  a  neighbouring  pro- 
prietor. She  was  indignant  with  her 
son  for  leaving  her  to  bear  the  brunt 
of  it  all  alone.  "Why  did  he  stop 
away  among  all  those  cutthroats  and 
conspirators'? "  The  first  news  of  him 
came  from  Tours,  where  he  had  joined 
General  D'Aurelles.  Then  Mrs. 
Marney  wrote  that  he  had  been  sent 
back  to  Paris  with  a  regiment  of 
Mobiles  in  which  he  had  enlisted. 

How  many  things  happen  to  us  up  in 
the  air  !  Whole  seasons  of  life  seem  to 


Mrs.  Dymond. 


pass  not  on  the  ground,  not  ruled  by 
hard  tangible  things  and  details,  such 
as  events,  and  chairs  and  tables,  but 
overhead  in  some  semi-mysterious 
region,  where  we  turn  to  the  vague 
inscrutable  fancies  which  belong  no 
less  to  our  lives  than  its  facts  and 
statistics  ;  where  amid  the  chimes  and 
the  song  of  birds,  or  among  storms 
and  clouds,  so  much  of  our  secret 
life  is  passed.  Susanna  Dymond 
was  a  timid  woman  in  some  way  ;  half 
educated  in  the  art  of  feeling,  of  living 
beyond.  She  would  not  let  herself 
face  the  thoughts  which  she  could  not 
always  dispel,  nor  dared  she  try  to 
measure  the  load  of  anxiety  at  her 
heart,  with  which  she  lived  through 
all  the  long  months  of  that  glaring 
summer  time,  with  its  cruel,  arid  hours 
dividing  her  from  the  soft  dreams  of 
the  spring.  Those  past  days  had  been 
so  lovely,  so  natural,  and  easy,  and 
now  it  seemed  so  unnatural  to  be  un- 
happy. From  day  to  day,  from  hour 
to  hour,  she  never  knew  what  the  fate 
might  be  of  that  one  person  who  had 
changed  her  life's  secret  course.  What 
was  it  that  had  come  to  her,  a  sense  of 
the  nothing  in  life,  a  bitter  impatience 
of  that  terrible  decree  by  which  time 
after  time  we  are  swept  away  from  our 
nearest  and  truest.  .  .  .  And  then  there 
would  dawn  for  her  the  sense  of  possi- 
ble happiness,  of  companionship  which 
might  have  made  a  heaven  for  her  of 
all  those  anxious  days  and  heavy  hours, 
and  she  dared  not  even  think  of  it ; 
she  must  not  even  realise  the  tender 
blessing.  Every  material  comfort  was 
hers.  Tempy's  affection  touched  her 
deeply.  She  had  means  to  help  those 
she  loved;  she  had  been  faithful  to 
her  husband's  trusts.  All  round  about 
her  were  grateful  sights  and  sounds, 
his  legacy  of  comfort  and  happiness. 
The  beacons  of  golden  gorse  lighting 
along  the  high  moors;  as  the  sun 
sets,  the  sky  turns  to  gold  and  Crow- 
crag  to  purple.  Suddenly  a  great 
burst  of  evensong  comes  from  the 
birds  over  head.  All  is  peace  except 
for  the  melodious  din  of  whisperings 
and  chirrupings  and  sweet  repeated 


notes.  She  can  hear  the  church  bell 
across  the  lake  ringing  for  evening 
service ;  it  is  a  strange  confusion  of 
light  and  sound,  of  rest  and  life.  But 
nature  is  often  like  the  children  piping 
in  the  market-place.  There  are  times 
when  beauty  only  jars,  and  aches, 
and  stings.  No  one  seeing  Susy  all 
through  these  months  could  have 
guessed  at  the  hard  fight  she  made, 
struggling  to  put  aside  vain  regrets,  to 
live  in  that  wholesome  hour  the  pre- 
sent, which  is  so  much  better  for  all  of 
us  than  the  past  moods  and  future 
tenses  to  which  so  much  of  our  life 
is  strained.  No  one  seeing  her  calm 
and  smiling  on  Tempy's  wedding-day 
would  have  guessed  at  the  longing 
strange  pain  and  self-reproach  in  her 
heart.  Indeed,  some  of  the  neighbours 
could  not  help  contrasting  her  coldness 
with  Miss  Bolsover's  warmth  of  over- 
flowing tears  and  feelings. 

Tempy's  wedding  had  been  fixed  for 
the  4th  of  September,  a  day  peaceful 
and  of  good  omen  for  the  inhabitants 
of  Crowbeck  Place,  one  full  of  terror 
and  alarm  for  the  dwellers  in  a  city 
not  twenty-four  hours  distant  from 
Tarndale. 

While  Tempy  put  on  her  travelling 
dress  with  Susy's  help,  a  weeping  wo- 
man, standing  among  other  women, 
also  in  tears,  overwhelmed  by  dis- 
aster upon  disaster,  by  desperate  news 
of  armies  flying  and  broken,  terrified 
by  the  angry  cry  of  the  gathering 
populace  outside  the  windows,  was  also 
taking  leave  of  her  home  for  ever. 
Her  attendants  came  up  one  after 
another  to  kiss  her  hand ;  one  of 
them  hurriedly  tied  a  black  hood  over 
the  lady's  beautiful  hair,  helped  her 
off  with  her  gold  embroidered  mantle, 
and  flung  a  darker  wrap  upon  her 
shoulder  :  then,  followed  by  one  of  her 
faithful  women  only,  the  empress  came 
out  of  the  golden  gate  of  the  palace, 
trembling,  because  some  passing  urchin 
called  her  name.  Meanwhile  the 
Tarndale  bells  were  ringing  across  the 
lake  for  Tempy  Bolsover's  wedding- 
day,  and  the  young  couple  were  speed- 
ing northward  on  their  happy  wedding 


332 


Mrs.  Dymond. 


journey ;  Aunt  Fanny,  in  garments 
gorgeous  beyond  compare,  stood  taking 
leave  of  the  wedding  guests ;  good 
Mrs.  Bolsover  sat  subdued  and  emo- 
tioned in  a  corner.  Jo  had  gone  off 
for  a  solitary  walk  over  the  hills, 
and  when  the  last  of  the  company  was 
gone,  including  Uncle  Bolsover,  who 
had  lately  started  a  tricycle,  and  who 
departed  zig-zagging  along  the  road, 
Susy  went  up  stairs  to  her  own  room 
and  changed  her  wedding-dress  for 
a  grey  country  gown.  She  called 
the  children,  Phraisie  and  the  little 
brothers,  and  crossing  into  the  wood 
beyond  the  road,  she  took  the  wood- 
land path  leading  upwards  to  the 
moors.  Phraisie,  trotting  along  the 
lane,  looked  like  a  little  autumn  berry 
herself.  The  leaves  were  turning  brown 
upon  the  trees  and  sparkled,  repeating 
the  light ;  tiny  leaves  of  gold,  amber- 
brown,  crimson,  or  lingering  green 
overhung  the  winding  way.  Presently 
they  came  to  a  little  pool  of  all  colours 
— gold  with  the  reflection  of  the  ash- 
trees,  crimson  where  the  oak-trees 
shone — into  which  the  boys  flung  their 
stones  and  then  set  off  running  ahead 
once  more.  Susy  still  followed  in 
silence ;  Tempy's  happiness  had 
warmed  her  heart,  and  she  was  thank- 
ful to  be  quiet  in  the  unconscious  com- 
pany of  the  happy  children ;  glad  to  be 
recalled  from  her  sadder  world  by  their 
happy  voices. 

From  the  shade  of  the  wood,  with 


its  nuts  and  birds  and  squirrels,  they 
come  out  upon  the  moor,  whence  they 
can  see  the  silent  tumult  of  the  moun- 
tains beyond,  crest  and  crescent,  and 
sweeping  ridge  and  delicate  sunlit 
peaks  silent  and  very  still,  yet  shifting 
perpetually  and  changing  with  every 
minute's  light.  As  Susy  stood  there 
the  old  cruel  feeling  which  she  had 
hoped  to  subdue  suddenly  came  over 
her  again.  Everything  seemed  so  con- 
fused, so  short,  so  long ;  so  many 
things  to  do.  so  many  to  undo  ;  there 
were  so  many  words  to  say,  so  many  to 
unsay.  Ah  !  why  had  she  ever  tried  to 
explain  to  one  who  would  not  under- 
stand ?  Ah !  how  gladly  she  would 
have  waited  for  years  had  he  but 
agreed  to  it.  But  with  him  it  was  a 
man's  strong  passing  feeling,  with  her 
it  had  been  a  new  self  only  then  awak- 
ened. Now  she  knew  what  it  all  had 
meant  as  she  went  back  in  mind  to 
those  early  spring  days,  remembering 
the  new  light  in  the  sky,  the  beauty 
of  the  world,  the  look  in  people's 
faces,  the  wonder  of  common  place. 
She  understood  it  all. 

"Susy,"  cries Dermy,  "come  !  come  ! 
Phraisie  wants  you  !  " 

Little  Phraisie  had  tumbled  into  a 
furze-bush,  and  refused  to  be  comforted 
by  her  uncles ;  and  her  mother,  sud- 
denly awakening  from  her  dreams,  now 
hurridly  ran  to  pick  her  up,  to  kiss 
away  her  tears,  and  wipe  her  wet  cheek 
with  her  handkerchief. 


To  be  continued. 


333 


THE  WINDWARD   ISLANDS. 


ABOUT  the  middle  of  the  year  1882 
reports  and  despatches  crowded  into 
the  Colonial  Office  from  the  greater 
number  of  our  West  Indian  Colonies, 
telling  of  scandals  and  unpleasant- 
nesses, deficits  and  deadlocks,  which 
showed  pretty  clearly  that  things  were 
not  going  on  quite  as  they  should. 
Jamaica,  by  right  of  superiority,  alike 
in  area  and  extent  of  mischief,  took 
the  first  place,  the  Leeward  Islands 
were  not  far  behind,  and  the  Wind- 
ward Islands  shared  the  second  place 
with  the  Leewards.  As  the  year  wore 
on  things  grew  worse  instead  of  better, 
and  the  Windwards,  by  virtue  of  very 
scandalous  proceedings  in  Grenada, 
the  second  island  of  the  group  as  then 
constituted,  bade  fair  to  outstrip 
Jamaica.  Then  the  Colonial  Office  be- 
stirred itself  to  apply  the  universal 
panacea  for  all  administrative  evils, 
and  a  Royal  Commission  was  ap- 
pointed to  inquire  into  the  public 
revenues,  expenditure,  debts,  and  lia- 
bilities of  Jamaica,  the  Leeward 
Islands  and  the  Windward  Islands,  ex- 
clusive of  Barbados ;  which  last,  enjoy- 
ing representative  government  and 
being  at  that  time  highly  prosperous, 
stood,  unlike  her  crown-colony  go- 
verned sisters,  in  no  need  of  such  min- 
istrations. This  step  taken  all  pro- 
gress, as  is  usual  in  such  cases,  came  to 
a  standstill  in  the  places  concerned.  It 
was  of  no  use  to  ask  if  this  or  that 
might  be  done ;  the  answer  was  al- 
ways the  same,  viz.,  that  the  Secretary 
of  State  would  reply  when  the  Report 
of  the  Commissioners  had  been  received. 
Estimates,  repairs  to  buildings,  those 
present  stitches  which  save  nine  in  the 
future,  all  were  postponed  alike.  The 
colonial  authorities  on  the  spot  were 
at  first  inclined  to  be  indignant,  but 
they  were  quite  helpless  ;  and  so  there 
was  nothing  for  it  but  to  force  the 
report  of  the  Royal  Commission  down 


the  throats  of  all,  from  highest  to 
lowest.  At  the  beginning  of  the  year 
1883  the  Commissioners — two  gentle- 
men, to  the  great  good  fortune  of  those 
concerned,  of  tried  experience  and 
ability — arrived  and  commenced  their 
labours  in  Jamaica,  proceeded  thence 
to  the  Leewards,  and  on  the  1st  of 
April  began  their  inquiry  in  the 
Windward  group.  Their  coming 
caused  in  some  cases  considerable  ex- 
citement, and  raised  not  a  few  false 
hopes.  In  one  island,  where  expendi- 
ture, public  and  private  alike,  main- 
tains normally  an  excess  over  revenue, 
the  poorer  part  of  the  population 
imagined  that  the  millennium  was 
come.  But  no — it  was  only  the  Royal 
Commission.  By  the  23rd  of  April 
the  Commissioners  had  finished  their 
inquiries  and  inspections,  and  they 
sailed  on  the  31st  for  England,  bear- 
ing with  them  a  vast  quantity  of 
papers  and  a  goodly  show  of  island  pro- 
duce (including  a  live  snake  in  a  hat- 
box),  the  gifts  of  the  many  friends  and 
admirers  that  their  uniform  kindness 
and  courtesy  had  gained  for  them. 
Then  the  colonial  authorities,  some- 
what weary  of  furnishing  returns  and 
answering  questions,  sat  down  and 
waited  for  the  report  till  April,  1884. 
At  last,  however,  it  appeared,  and 
then  was  explained  the  reason  of 
the  delay.  In  the  Windward  Islands 
(with  which  alone  we  are  here  con- 
cerned) the  Commissioners,  while 
denying  the  general  condition  to  be 
retrogressive,  admitted  that  things 
were  backward  and  progress  slow,  and 
hit  unerringly  on  the  true  causes 
thereof,  viz.,  bad  government  and 
want  of  capital  and  labour.  They 
accordingly  recommended  that  the 
group  should  be  confederated  and  the 
centre  of  government  fixed  at  Grenada. 
And  they  prepared  a  most  exhaustive 
scheme  of  administrative  and  financial 


334 


The   Windward  Islands. 


reform,  which  they  had  just  reason  to 
hope  would  insure  greater  economy, 
greater  efficiency,  and  increased  pros- 
perity. All,  however,  depended  on 
the  confederation  of  the  group,  to 
which,  at  the  time  of  their  visit,  the 
island  governments  appeared  to  be 
favourably  inclined ;  but  now  the 
several  islands  refuse  to  be  united, 
and  the  result  is,  that  although  the 
head-quarters  of  the  group  have  been 
transferred,  as  recommended,  to  Gre- 
nada, the  old  system  continues  in 
force — a  system  so  foolish  and  futile 
that  no  advance  can  be  expected  until 
it  is  swept  away. 

But  before  going  further  it  will  be 
better  to  state  definitely  that  the 
Windward  Islands  (as  hinted  above) 
form  one  group  of  our  insular  posses- 
sions in  the  West  Indies;  their  several 
names  being  St.  Vincent,  Grenada, 
Tobago,  and  St.  Lucia.  Being  wind- 
ward, i.e.  trade-windward,  they  are 
the  nearest  to  England,  and  they  lie 
in  the  form  of  an  obtuse-angled  tri- 
angle, between  60°  and  62°  long,  and 
11°  and  14°  lat.,  Grenada  being  situate 
at  the  west  or  obtuse  angle,  St. 
Lucia  at  the  north,  and  Tobago  at  the 
south  angle ;  while  a  line  drawn  from 
the  centre  of  Grenada  would  pass 
through  St.  Vincent,  traversing  on  its 
way  the  chains  of  islets  which  run  be- 
tween the  latter  island  and  Grenada, 
and,  though  bearing  the  name  of  Gre- 
nadines, are  shared  as  dependencies  of 
both.  In  a  line  due  west  from  St. 
Vincent,  and  110  miles  distant,  lies 
Barbados,  once  the  chief  of  the  group, 
but  this  year  separated  and  made  a 
distinct  government  to  herself. 

The  history  of  these  four  islands  is 
full  of  interest,  but  it  must  suffice  here 
to  say  that  they  have  been  more  or 
less  in  our  possession  for  the  last  100 
or  120  years.  I  say  "more  or  less," 
because  in  the  closing  twenty  years  of 
the  last  century  and  the  opening  ten 
of  the  present  they  were  in  a  chronic 
state  of  capture  and  recapture,  now 
French  and  now  English.  Grenada 
and  St.  Lucia  were,  however,  originally 
settled  by  France  and  St.  Vincent  by 


England;  while  the  first  settlers  in 
Tobago — though  this  island  was,  like 
St.  Vincent,  granted  by  an  English 
king  to  a  favourite — were  Zealanders 
sent  out  by  a  Dutch  merchant  com- 
pany. Once  the  richest  of  our  colonies 
they  were  reduced  to  insignificance  by 
the  emancipation  of  the  slaves  and  the 
equalisation  of  the  sugar  duties,  and 
have  never  recovered  their  former 
prosperity.  As  a  consequence  they 
have  been  neglected  by  England;  and 
though  the  scene  of  much  hard  fight- 
ing, both  by  sea  and  land,  during  the 
great  war  with  France,  and  of  not  a 
few  glorious  victories,  few  now  know 
or  seek  to  know  anything  of  them. 

Up  to  the  year  1876  each  of  these 
islands,  except  St.  Lucia,  enjoyed  the 
blessing  of  representative  government. 
Each  had  its  governor  or  lieutenant- 
governor,  its  little  house  of  commons 
(sixteen  to  twenty-six  members),  and  its 
little  house  of  peers  (not  hereditary), 
with  the  title  of  "  honourable."  In 
places  so  small  and  unimportant  such 
a  form  of  government  could  not  but  be 
inefficient  and  ridiculous.  Elections 
were  a  farce,  and  the  transactions  of 
the  house  puerile  and  absurd.  It  was 
found  impossible  to  persuade  honour- 
able members  to  take  a  proper  interest 
in  the  business  of  the  colony,  and  the 
result  was  that  none  attended  save  a 
few  verbose  and  not  over  respectable 
individuals,  who,  having  a  distaste  for 
work,  and  being  withal  aspirants  to 
importance,  sought  to  gratify  these 
aspirations  by  bringing  forward  absurd 
notions  in  ungrammatical  speeches, 
passing  unconstitutional  acts,  and 
generally  converting  the  floor  of  the 
house  into  a  fishless  Billingsgate. 
One  such  individual  divided  the  house 
(seven  members  present  if  I  recollect 
aright)  no  fewer  than  forty-four  times 
in  one  afternoon  ;  and  I  have  seen  a 
despatch  from  the  Colonial  Office  where- 
in out  of  five  acts  sent  up  for  confirma- 
tion two  were  disallowed  as  unconsti- 
tutional. Thus  constitutional  govern- 
ment in  these  islands,  however  valu- 
able for  purposes  of  public  diversion, 
became  useless  for  its  true  object,  and 


The   Windward  Islands. 


335 


hence,  in  1876,  it  was  swept  away  by 
the  voluntary  act  of  each,  regretted 
only  by  those  who,  having  lived  on  its 
abuses,  now  found  their  occupation 
gone. 

The  new  form  of  government,  that 
now  existent,  is  of  course  the  opposite 
pole  to  the  old  :  being  that  known  as 
Crown  Colony  Government  by  which 
all  power  is  vested  in  a  governor  or 
administrator,   assisted  by  an  execu- 
tive council,  comprising  the  two  chief 
officials,     treasurer     and      attorney- 
general,  with  occasionally  an  unofficial 
member  or  two ;  and  by  a  legislative 
council,  including  all  the  above,  with 
the  addition  of  an  official  or  two  more 
and  an  equal  or  less  number  of  un- 
official  members    nominated    by   the 
Crown.     Thus  provision  is  made  for 
rapid  if   not  for  sensible  legislation, 
and,  as  may  be  seen,  the  Colonial  Office 
can  procure  at  any  time  the  passage 
of    any   measures   that  it  wishes  :    a 
power  not  always  appreciated  in  the 
colony.     But  in   respect   of  the  civil 
service,  which  needs  reform  at  least 
as  urgently,  each  kept   and  keeps,  as 
under  the  old  regime,  what  is  described 
by  a  "West  Indian  as  "  the  parapher- 
nalia of  a   kingdom  with  the  popula- 
tion of  a  fourth-rate  English  town." 
Each  of  the  four  has  its  own  adminis- 
trator, chief  justice  (except  St.  Lucia 
and    Tobago,  which    share   one  judge 
between      them),      attorney  -  general, 
treasurer  and  staff,  auditor  and  staff, 
colonial  engineer,   chief  of  police  and 
police  force,  with  medical  officers  and 
minor    officials    innumerable,    to    say 
nothing  of  separate  prisons,  and  other 
institutions,   widely    different   tariffs, 
and  its  own  distinct  and  very  diffuse 
statute    book.     The    islands   average 
the  Isle  of    Wight   in  size,   and  the 
total    population    is    about    110,000 
souls  ;  the  number  of  salaried  officials 
in   1881    (and  no  great  reduction,    if 
any,  has  since  been  made)  was  403,  of 
whom    perhaps    forty  were    efficient, 
costing    50,889^.      Nor  does  the  ma- 
chinery of    administration   end  here. 
The  administrators    can    do    little    or 
nothing   without  the  sanction  of  the 


governor-in-chief,  and  the  governor- 
in-chief  in  his  turn  little  or  nothing 
without  the  sanction  of  the  Colonial 
Office,  always  particularly  jealous  in 
the"  matter  of  Crown  Colonies ;  while 
the  Colonial  Office  in  its  turn  is 
subject  to  the  influence  of  two  more 
independent  bodies — the  West  India 
Committee,  and,  most  potent  of  all, 
Exeter  Hall.  "The  West  India 
Committee  in  London  (to  use  the 
words  of  the  Royal  Commissioners), 
a  body  interested  in  but  certainly 
not  resident  in  the  islands,  has  on 
occasions  claimed  (and,  it  might 
have  been  added,  successfully  claimed) 
sufficient  influence  to  advise  the 
Imperial  authorities  that  ordinances 
passed  by  the  local  legislatures  be 
disallowed  as  being  opposed  to  what 
the  Committee  consider  to  be  to  the 
best  ? interests  of  the  islands."  This 
body  is  made  up  of  gentlemen  or  re- 
presentatives of  firms  with  estates 
situated  and  money  invested  in  the 
West  Indies,  and  it  would  hardly  be 
too  much  to  say  that  the  great 
majority  of  the  planters  are  in  debt 
to  one  or  other  of  the  gentlemen  or 
firms  therein  represented.  What  it 
considers  to  be  to  the  best  interests 
of  the  islands  coincides  with  that 
which  it  considers  best  for  its  own 
interests :  where  the  two  interests 
are  identical  it  does  good  work,  but 
experience  shows  that  this  is  not 
invariably  the  case. 

On  the  spot,  however,  the  only 
bond  of  union  for  the  group  is  the 
governor-in-chief.  It  is  true  that 
after  the  reforms  of  1876  an  attempt 
was  made  at  confederation,  but  it  was 
then  proposed  to  incorporate  Bar- 
bados also,  and  Barbados  firmly 
declined.  Then  came  mismanagement 
and  rioting,  so  the  scheme  was  given 
up.  The  union,  sxich  as  it  is,  should 
be  closer  now  that  the  governor-in- 
chief  has  only  four  islands  instead  of 
five  to  manage  and  those  all  under 
the  same  form  of  government.  When 
the  head-quarters  were  at  Barbados 
the  union  was  purely  nominal,  for  the 
simple  reason  that  he  was  utterly 


336 


The   Windward  Islands. 


unprovided  with  a  proper  staff.  In 
every  island,  of  course,  there  were 
officials  without  end,  but  for  the  man- 
agement of  the  group  as  a  whole  (and 
it  must  be  remembered  that  the 
governor-in-chief  is  the  medium  of 
communication  between  the  various 
administrators  and  the  Colonial  Office) 
he  had  nothing  but  his  own  private 
office,  consisting  of  a  private  secretary 
and  two  clerks.  No  provision  has 
been  made  for  any  alteration  of  this 
system ;  the  necessity  for  it  having 
apparently  been  overlooked,  though, 
as  will,  I  think,  be  seen  from  the 
refusal  of  the  islands  to  be  united, 
now  more  urgent  than  ever. 

While  the  head-quarters  were  at 
Barbados  (and  things  cannot  have 
changed  much  in  three  months)  the 
work  in  the  Crown  Colony  Islands 
was  most  inefficiently  done,  and  had 
to  be  done  anew  in  the  governor-in- 
chief's  office.  This,  of  course,  caused 
an  immense  amount  of  correspondence 
which  might  otherwise  have  been 
avoided,  besides  a  vast  deal  of  trouble 
and  unpleasantness.  The  variety  of 
questions  that  came  for  solution  to  an 
office  entirely  destitute  of  technical 
assistance  was  extraordinary ;  finan- 
cial, legal,  medical,  and,  of  course, 
legislative ;  estimates  to  be  recast, 
plans  for  public  works  to  be  examined, 
ordinances  to  be  amended,  sometimes 
almost  redrafted,  all  by  this  hard- 
worked  little  body.  Happily,  for  the 
last  ten  years,  the  governors-in-chief 
have  been  singularly  able  men  and 
aided  by  exceptionally  able  assistants 
on  the  permanent  staff  of  the  office  : 
and  it  is  due  to  the  chiefs  of  depart- 
ments in  Barbados  to  say  that  when 
technical  help  was  absolutely  indis- 
pensable, none  could  have  given  it 
more  loyally  and  willingly  than  they 
did,  though  such  aid  formed  no  part 
of  their  regular  duties.  Hence  it  was 
that  this  makeshift  lasted  so  long ; 
and  it  is  no  slight  compliment  to  the 
members  of  the  governor-in-chief's 
office  that  its  reform  should  have 
seemed  unnecessary.  None  could  have 
done  the  work  more  efficiently  than 


the  two  gentlemen  who,  though  young 
and  underpaid,  held  the  post  of  chief 
clerk  between  1877  and  the  present 
year;  but  the  labour  was  far  too  severe 
for  so  small  a  staff,  and  it  was  not 
right  (though  I  do  not  think  it  did 
any  harm)  that  such  important  work 
should  have  been  intrusted,  as  it  was 
at  one  time,  to  a  chief  clerk  of  twenty- 
three,  a  private  secretary  of  twenty- 
two,  and  a  second  clerk  of  nineteen. 

Meanwhile  it  may  be  asked  how  it 
was  that  the  men  who  swallowed  up 
50,889?.  of  salaries  showed  so  little 
value  for  the  money.  The  answer  is 
simple  enough,  and  is  equally  true 
now  :  a  great  many  are  incompetent 
and  some  dishonest.  Then  it  may  be 
asked  why  not  rid  the  service  of  them 
and  obtain  competent  men  1  The 
answer  is  again  perfectly  simple : 
they  are  not  to  be  obtained  at  the 
salaries  offered.  The  fact  has  long 
been  recognised,  and  it  was  brought 
forward  by  the  commissioners  in  three 
pithy  and  telling  sentences.  "  The 
low  salaries  are  presumably  in  pro- 
portion to  the  quantity  of  the  work, 
but  altogether  inadequate  if  the 
quality  be  taken  into  consideration. 
We  are  of  opinion  that  the  recent 
scandals  in  Grenada  and  elsewhere 
are  due  to  causes  always  possible  and 
indeed  probable  where  officials  gene- 
rally have  to  accept  such  low  salaries, 
while  the  duties  they  are  called  upon 
to  perform  are  of  the  highest  order. 
Even  if  bona  fides  be  secured,  as  it 
often  is,  such  salaries  are  certainly 
insufficient  to  attract  the  necessary 
training,  ability,  or  independence." 
The  insertion  of  the  words  "as  it 
often  is,"  perhaps  intended  to  modify 
the  severity  of  the  preceding  sen- 
tences, indicates  most  happily  the 
character  of  the  civil  service  of  the 
Windward  Islands,  and  the  sarcasm, 
even  if  unconscious,  is  certainly  not 
unmerited. 

Let  us  examine  first  the  highest 
paid  officials — the  administrators.  The 
salaries  were,  when  the  commissioners 
made  this  report,  as  follows : — Grenada, 
1,300?.  ;  St.  Yincent  and  St.  Lucia, 


The  Windward  Islands. 


337 


1,0001.  ;  Tobago,  800/.  Well,  it  may 
be  said,  that  is  not  bad  pay ;  there 
must  be  plenty  of  men  ready  to 
accept  such  salaries.  Quite  so ;  there 
is  no  lack  of  men  ready'  to  accept 
1000Z.  a  year,  but  the  question  is 
whether  they  are  fit  to  govern  a 
colony.  As  to  the  work,  that  depends 
in  great  measure  on  the  administrator 
himself ;  the  busiest  are  not  always 
the  best,  and  the  best  are  apt  to  com- 
plain, in  these  little  islands,  that  time 
hangs  heavy  on  their  hands.  The  first 
duty  of  an  administrator  in  a  small 
Crown  Colony  is,  I  take  it,  to  keep  a 
balance  in  the  treasury  ;  the  next  to 
make  his  officers  work,  and  keep  them 
from  quarrelling — neither  the  easiest 
of  tasks  in  the  West  Indies.  If  he 
succeed  so  far  he  does  pretty  well, 
but  to  be  of  real  value  he  must  have 
a  good  constitution,  energy,  tact  and 
common  sense  ;  he  must  be  as  ubiqui- 
tous as  an  estate-agent,  and  watch 
every  department  with  vigilance.  Now, 
considering  the  difficulty  there  is  in 
finding  men  so  gifted  for  pleasanter 
and  better  paid  places,  no  one  need 
be  surprised  that  few  are  ready  to 
exchange  such  qualifications  for  1UOO£. 
a  year  and  exile  in  a  wretched  little 
island.  But  the  fault  in  the  matter 
of  the  administrators  was  not  attri- 
butable to  salaries  only.  There  was 
a  strong  tendency,  not  yet  wholly 
extinct,  on  the  part  of  the  Colonial 
Office  to  utilise  these  small  adminis- 
tratorships  as  quasi-pensions  for  men 
of  a  certain  standing  in  the  colonial 
service,  or  with  certain  claims  on  it, 
who  were,  either  through  age  or 
natural  defects,  totally  unfit  for  the 
work.  Any  one  is  supposed  to  be 
good  enough  for  the  poor  West  Indian 
Islands,  and  so  they  were  (I  hope  it  is 
a  thing  of  the  past)  made  a  refuge 
for  placemen  and  others,  who,  having 
failed  in  other  positions,  not  so  much 
for  want  of  uprightness  as  want  of 
sense,  had  to  be  provided  for  some- 
where. It  has  long  been  a  standing 
complaint  in  the  West  Indian  Civil 
Service  that  men  seem  to  think  failure 
in  all  other  callings  adequate  qualifi- 
cation for  employment  therein.  The 
No.  311. — VOL.  LII. 


complaint  is  well  grounded,  but  when 
the  Imperial  Government  sets  the 
example  in  the  highest  colonial  places, 
the  colonists  can  hardly  be  blamed  for 
following  suit.  The  consequences  to 
these  islands  have  been  most  disas- 
trous, and  their  present  backward 
condition  is  doubtless  due  quite  as 
much  to  bad  government  as  want  of 
labour  and  capital.  Nor  does  it  seem 
probable  that  any  improvement  is 
to  be  expected  at  present,  since,  owing 
perhaps  to  the  necessity  for  retrench- 
ment, the  administrators'  salaries  in 
these  islands  are  to  be  reduced  instead 
of  increased  as  the  commission  recom- 
mended. This,  however,  may  possibly 
attract  young  men  who  are  far  the 
most  desirable  .for  these  posts  :  from 
them  some  energy  and  active  co-opera- 
tion with  an  able  governor-in-chief, 
may  be  expected,  which  cannot  be 
from  men  who  have  got  through  the 
best  part  of  their  lives  and  have  no 
hope  of  promotion.  It  must,  however, 
be  admitted  that  some  of  the  older 
among  the  recent  administrators  in 
the  Windward  Islands  displayed  an 
activity  in  certain  directions  which 
was  the  amazement  even  of  those  who 
knew  them  best.  There  were  men, 
wonderful  men,  with  Saxon  blue 
ribbons  and  scarlet  stripes,  who  could 
always  be  relied  on  to  show  an  annual 
deficit  in  the  treasury,  half  yearly 
scandals  in  the  public  service,  and 
quarterly  quarrels  among  the  prin- 
cipal officials,  in  which  they  themselves 
frequently  took  a  prominent  share. 
Thus  time  which  should  have  been 
devoted  to  active  supervision  of  all 
public  work  was  given  up  to  writing 
long  despatches  with  bulky  inclosures, 
full  of  false  arguments,  pointless  re- 
crimination and  bad  grammar.  Sub- 
ordinate officials  of  superior  capacity, 
delighting  to  see  their  chiefs  go  wrong, 
made  no  effort  to  set  them  right  in 
palpable  mistakes  :  and  so  the  public 
business  floundered  on.  Then  the 
governor-in-chief  had  to  set  matters 
right,  meting  out  knuckle-rappings 
all  round ;  whereupon  the  parties  would 
sometimes  unite  in  a  common  griev- 
ance against  him,  and  the  adminis- 


338 


The  Windward  Islands. 


trator,  elated  at  finding  his  advisers 
for  once  at  his  back,  would  write  an 
impertinent  despatch  maintaining  his 
own  position  by  illogical  conclusions, 
drawn,  in  obscure  language,  from 
doubtful  premisses,  and  concluding 
sometimes  with  such  a  sentence  as 
this,  "  In  this  opinion  the  Executive 
Council  concur,  copy  herewith."  Then, 
of  course,  the  knuckle-rappings  were 
dealt  out  afresh  with  increased  severity 
and  the  council,  somewhat  scared, 
would  rescind  its  obnoxious  resolu- 
tion ("copy  herewith  ");  and  there- 
upon internal  dissension,  recruited  by 
a  short  rest,  arose  anew  with  still 
greater  activity. 

The  next  in  rank  among  the  active 
officials  are  the  crown  law  officers,  or, 
as  they  are  called,  attorneys-general. 
The  work  assigned  to  them,  including 
as  it  does  the  draftirg  of  all  ordi- 
nances, is  most  important,  and  calls 
especially  for  able  and  trustworthy 
men ;  for,  owing  to  the  governor- in- 
chief's  lack  of  a  legal  assistant,  little 
or  no  supervision  can  be  given  to  it 
short  of  the  Colonial  Office.  The  salary 
in  each  of  the  four  islands  is  400?., 
and  as  it  would  obviously  be  impos- 
sible to  obtain  men  of  any  legal  stand- 
ing whatever  for  this  sum,  it  is  neces- 
sary to  allow  them  private  practice  ;  a 
system  obviously  pernicious,  and  in 
such  small  places  perilous  in  the  ex- 
treme. Nevertheless,  the  positively 
evil  effects  have  been  fewer  than  might 
have  been  expected. 

Next  after  these  rank  the  treasurers, 
with  salaries  varying  from  400?.  to 
500?.  per  annum.  Although  the 
treasurer  has  always  charge  of  the 
revenue  department,  the  work  is  not 
heavy,  and  the  salaries  are  in  so  far 
adequate,  but  to  insure  the  employ- 
ment of  properly-trained  and  inde- 
pendent men,  far  too  small.  Hence 
gentlemen  are  frequently  selected, 
from  occupations  utterly  unconnected 
with  finance,  to  fulfil  these  duties, 
simply  because  they  can  be  depended 
on  not  to  rob  the  till.  This  of  course 
is  a  great  desideratum,  and  it  is  a  great 
relief  to  be  sure  that  it  is  attained ; 
but  the  colonies  suffer  none  the  less 


from  such  appointments,  for  financial 
ability  is  of  the  last  importance  to 
them,  and  no  crude  zeal,  however 
honest,  can  supply  the  omission.  For 
the  audit  of  accounts  there  are  four 
auditors,  with  salaries  from  200?.  to 
300?.,  but,  unlike  the  treasurers,  with- 
out a  seat  ex-officio  in  the  council.  As 
the  auditors  are  charged  with  the  pre- 
paration of  the  estimates,  and  their 
functions  are  really  of  at  least  equal 
importance  to  those  of  the  treasurers, 
this  undervaluation  of  their  office  is  a 
mistaken  and  mischievous  policy. 
Among  the  minor  officials  of  the  re- 
venue department  embezzlement  is  of 
frequent  occurrence,  and  may  be  ex- 
pected to  continue  so ;  cases  are  not 
unknown  in  the  post-office  also,  and 
sometimes,  though  more  rarely,  even 
among  the  higher  officials.  Minor 
salaried  officials  are,  in  all  cases,  of 
a  piece  with  their  superiors ;  gaol 
scandals,  hospital  scandals,  coolie  im- 
migrant scandals  are  common,  and 
cause  no  great  surprise. 

As  to  the  legislative  machinery,  the 
legislative  council  includes,  of  course, 
members  of  all  kinds.  Of  the  officials 
mention  has  already  been  made ; 
among  the  unofficial,  then,  are  gentle- 
men who  work  for  the  good  of  the 
colony  (rare  in  most  islands),  indi- 
viduals who  combine  with  officials  to 
rob  it,  men  who  always  support  the 
administrator,  men  (sometimes  vete- 
rans of  the  old  assembly)  who,  on 
principle,  oppose  him ;  men  who  sup- 
port him  when  sober  and  oppose  him 
when  drunk,  and  vice  versd  ;  all  some- 
what fond  of  airing  their  opinions  and 
embodying  them  in  the  form  of  long- 
written  protests  to  the  Secretary  of 
State.  The  proceedings  at  the  sittings, 
held  weekly  or  fortnightly,  are  not 
always  of  a  very  dignified  character, 
and  the  rapidity,  not  to  say  apathy, 
with  which  ordinances  are  passed  is 
startling.  The  attorney-general  intro- 
duces bills,  as  a  rule,  though  sometimes 
preceded  by  the  administrator,  and 
beyond  a  few  not  always  pertinent 
questions,  the  measure,  unless  the 
spirit  of  opposition  is  unusually 
strong,  passes  without  debate.  Sup- 


The  Windward  Islands. 


339 


pose,  for  example,  that  for  public  con- 
venience, and  in  the  ulterior  hope  of 
obtaining  a  small  revenue,  an  ordi- 
nance is  proposed,  say  for  the  regis- 
tration of  cats,  the  minutes  of  the 
council,  if  given  with  rather  more  ful- 
ness and  faithfulness  than  usual,  would 
often  run  somewhat  as  follows  : — 

The  minutes  of  the  previous  meet- 
ing having  been  read  and  confirmed, 
the   administrator  rose   to   move  the 
second  reading  of  the  Cat's  Registra- 
tion  Ordinance.      The    council  would 
remember   (he   said)  that  at  the  last 
meeting  the  attorney-general,  on  intro- 
ducing this  measure,  had  explained  its 
object  and   entered   into   some  of  its 
provisions.      These   he   (the  adminis- 
trator)   would   now   briefly    recapitu- 
late.    He  had  taken,  throughout  a  not 
uneventful  life,  a  peculiar  interest  in 
cats,    and   might,   he   thought,    fairly 
say,  without  undue  arrogance,  that  he 
understood  those  animals  better  than 
most   men.      Thus  he  was  happy   to 
say  that,  with  the  assistance  of  the 
attorney-general   on   a   few  technical 
points,  he  had  been  able    to   draft  a 
bill,  which,  in  his  opinion,  amply  pro- 
vided for  a  simple,  thorough,  and  effi- 
cient census  of  the  cats  in  the  island, 
with  a  view  to  their  careful  preserva- 
tion  for   the  extinction    of   rats  and 
other  vermin,   whose  abundance  exer- 
cised a  highly  deleterious  influence  on 
the  staple  crop  of  the  colony,  the  sugar 
cane.      (The   council   here  exchanged 
meaning  smiles.)     This  would  be  done 
at  a  nominal  cost,  which  it  was  reason- 
able to  expect  would  be  made  good, 
and   more,   by  the  small  registration 
fee  exacted   under   the   provisions  of 
clause  — .     He    was    confident    that 
such  an  enactment  would    go    far  to 
enhance  the  prosperity  of  the  island, 
and  would  be  another  step  in  the  ad- 
vance of   commerce,   civilisation,  and 
liberty,  which  they  all  held  dear.     He 
would    not   detain   them   longer,    but 
heartily  commended  the    bill    to    the 
favourable  treatment  of  the  council. 

The   attorney-general  seconded  the 
motion. 

The   clerk   rose   to    commence   the 


second  reading,  when  an  unofficial 
member  rose,  and,  in  husky  and 
broken  tones,  protested  against  this 
hasty  legislation.  He  had  never  seen 
the  bill  before,  and  entertained  the 
strongest  objections  to  it.  He  took 
this  opportunity  of  complaining  of  the 
laxity  of  the  clerk  in  sending  copies 
of  draft  ordinances  to  members  of 
council. 

The  clerk  (with  permission)  ex- 
plained that  he  was  quite  sure  he  had 
sent  the  honourable  member  a  copy  of 
the  ordinance  in  question  a  fortnight 
ago,  this  with  all  respect  to  the  honour- 
able member. 

The  honourable  member  said  he 
had  never  seen  it — no,  nor  any  other 
draft  ordinance  for  a  year  before 
that  date. 

The  administrator  begged  the  hon- 
ourable member's  pardon,  but  he  could 
bear  out  his  clerk's  statement.  The 
honourable  member  appeared  to  have 
forgotten  that  at  the  last  meeting  he 
supported  this  bill,  and  spoke  in  high 
approval  of  it. 

The  honourable  member  had  no 
recollection  whatever  of  the  fact. 

The  administrator  said  he  was  in  the 
recollection  of  the  council ;  he  feared 
the  honourable  member's  memory  was 
a  short  one. 

The  honourable  member,  after  smil- 
ing blandly  on  the  council  for  some 
seconds,  said  that  this  circumstance 
reminded  him  of  an  anecdote  which  he 
had  forgotten.  (After  struggling  for 
some  minutes  with  recollections  that 
seemed  to  overpower  him,  the  honour- 
able member  sat  down  abruptly  with 
some  violence,  and  was  silent.) 
The  bill  was  read  a  second  time. 
The  attorney-general  moved  that  it 
be  read  a  third  time  and  passed. 

The  honourable  member  aforesaid 
rose  suddenly,  and  said  that  His 
Honour  '  had  insulted  him. — (Cries  of 
"  Order,"  interspersed  with  soothing 
ejaculations,  amid  which  the  bill  was 
read  a  third  time,  and  passed.) 

1  An  Administrator  is  by  regulation  "His 
Honour;"  by  adulation  only,  "His  Excel- 
lency." 

z  2 


340 


The  Windward  Islands. 


Thereupon,  it  would  be  sent  up 
to  the  governor-in-chief,  and  by  him 
transmitted  to  the  Colonial  Office,  from 
which,  after  a  month  or  two,  a  de- 
spatch would  arrive,  saying  that  the 
meaning  of  the  word  "  cat,"  for  pur- 
poses of  the  ordinance  was  insuffi- 
ciently explained  in  the  definition 
clause,  and  ordering  an  amending  ordi- 
nance to  be  passed,  inserting  the  word 
"  puss  "  between  the  words  "  torn  " 
and  "tabby,"  or  some  such  thing. 
Then  the  scene  would  be  repeated  over, 
"An  Ordinance  intituled,  an  Ordinance 
to  amend  an  Ordinance  to  provide  for 
the  Registration  of  Cats,"  containing  a 
preamble  and  one  clause.  This  may 
be  thought  an  exaggeration,  but  it  is 
not  so ;  the  imaginary  ordinance  is  not 
more  ridiculous,  and  might  be  found  of 
greater  value  than  some  of  those 
passed  by  these  island  legislatures. 

Such  was  the  administration  of  the 
Windward  Islands  generally,  in  spite 
of  all  the  efforts  of  able  and  ener- 
getic governors-in-chief.  Nevertheless, 
under  a  good  administrator,  much  use- 
ful work  could  be  done,  but  this  was 
unfortunately  the  exception.  In  some 
cases  it  was  impossible  to  obtain  the 
execution  of  the  simplest  orders  aright, 
and  little  confidence  could  be  placed  in 
men  who,  often  with  the  best  inten- 
tions, invariably  chose  the  worst  of  two 
alternatives,  and  never  failed  in  a  dis- 
pute, even  if  originally  in  the  right,  to 
place  themselves  in  the  wrong.  And 
if  any  one  would  know  what  distrust 
of  the  government  can  do  in  these  little 
places,  let  them  learn  that  two  years 
ago  government  by  French  Radicals  of 
the  worst  type,  drove  56,000£.  of 
capital  (a  large  sum  in  those  little 
places)  from  Martinique  .  into  St. 
Lucia,  and  obliged  the  bank  to  raise 
the  rate  of  discount. 

The  reforms  suggested  by  the  Com- 
mission were  on  so  uniform  a  system, 
that  a  short  explanation  will  suffice. 
First,  the  four  islands  were  to  have 
been  confederated,  the  central  govern- 
ment being  fixed  at  Grenada,  with  a 
council,  including  representatives  from 
each.  In  regard  to  the  departments,  the 


same  plans  were  to  have  been  followed 
throughout ;  one  well-paid  chief  at 
head-quarters,  with  subordinates,  whom 
he  would  be  bound  to  visit  constantly, 
in  each  island.  Thus  for  four  adminis- 
trators under  the  old  regime  were  to  be 
substituted  one  governor,  with  suffi- 
cient salary  to  attract  good  men,  and 
three  resident  magistrates,  with  half 
the  salary  of  the  old  administrators; 
similarly  there  was  to  be  one  treasurer- 
in-chief,  and  one  attorney-general  for 
the  group,  with  double  the  present 
salaries.  Further,  gaols,  hospitals, 
and  other  public  institutions  were  to 
be  centralised,  the  laws  consolidated, 
the  tariffs  and  shipping  dues  made 
uniform  for  the  group.  These  mea- 
sures were  justly  expected  to  produce 
increased  revenue,  greater  prosperity, 
and  more  efficient  service ;  decreased 
expenditure  was  also  counted  upon, 
though  not  with  such  good  reason.  But 
one  thing  is  certain,  that  the  proposed 
scheme  would  have  been  a  great  im- 
provement on  the  present  system,  and 
it  is  much  to  be  regretted  that  the 
colonists  should  have  rejected  it.  That 
they  should  have  done  so  is,  however, 
matter  of  no  surprise,  so  deep-rooted  is 
the  distrust  of  the  executive  and  the 
Colonial  Office,  owing  to  years  of  mis- 
government. 

Before  examining  each  island  sepa- 
rately, it  is  necessary  to  look  at  the 
other  causes  to  which  the  backward- 
ness and  slow  progress  of  these  islands 
is  due,  viz.  the  want  of  labour  and 
capital.  As  regards  capital,  the  diffi- 
culty of  obtaining  labour  is  one  great 
deterrent,  and  the  other  (which  does 
not  apply  to  St.  Lucia)  is  the  restric- 
tion of  its  influx  by  the  priority  given 
to  consignees'  liens  by  the  rule  of  the 
West  India  Encumbered  Estates  Court, 
"  which  prevents  capitalists  advancing 
money  on  the  security  of  real  property 
mortgages."  St.  Vincent,  Grenada, 
and  Tobago  in  the  Windward  group 
placed  themselves  under  the  court, 
and  this  rule  of  priority  has  been 
the  ruin  of  many  planters.  Its  effects 
as  generally  understood  in  the  islands 
themselves,  are  exactly  those  summed 


The  Windward  Islands. 


341 


up  by  the  commissioners  in  their  report 
as  to  the  working  of  the  court. 

"  Leading  lawyers,  warn  their  clients 
that  mortgages  on  estates  are  worth- 
less as  securities.  Planters  can  only 
obtain  money  from  the  one,  two  or 
three  firms  who  happen  to  be  con- 
signees, as  well  as  to  have  command 
of  capital.  These  firms  thus  obtain 
the  monopoly  of  the  supply  of  money. 
And  in  some  of  the  islands  the  greater 
part  of  the  cultivatable  land  has  fallen 
into  the  hands  of  one  mercantile  firm 
in  London,  which  has  made  such  ad- 
vances. We  may  instance  the  island 
of  St.  Vincent,  where  by  far  the 
greatest  part  of  the  available  land 
is  now  in  the  hands  of  one  London 
firm." 

"The  ultimate  price  of  these  advances 
varies  in  different  cases.  Usually 
the  consignee  undertakes  the  sale  of 
the  sugar,  demanding  a  certain  kind  of 
sugar,  and  deciding  on  the  time  and 
place  of  sale.  He  also  supplies  the 
estate  with  all  stores  and  machinery, 
and  obliges  the  planter  to  use  his 
ships.  The  planter  thus  loses  all 
advantages  of  choice  of  time,  and 
place  of  sale,  all  advantages  of  change 
in  the  kind  of  sugar  made.  He  has  to 
pay  a  varying  '  extra  '  as  commission 
on  sale,  extra  freight,  extra  profit  on 
stores  and  machinery,  which  the  con- 
signee charges,  or  may  charge,  in 
virtue  of  his  monopoly.  It  has  been 
calculated  that  in  some  cases  the 
planter  is  forced  ultimately  to  pay 
twelve  to  fifteen  per  cent,  for  the  money 
he  borrows.  As  we  shall  see  in  detail 
those  colonies  in  which  the  consignee 
enjoys  the  priority  of  lien  are  the  very 
colonies  which  suffer  from  a  want  of 
capital.  In  these  colonies  there  is  less 
progress,  less  prosperity,  less  profit." 

To  show  how  it  is  that  estates  accu- 
mulate in  the  hands  of  a  London  firm, 
the  following  remarks  of  an  ex-attorney 
general  in  the  West  Indies  will  suffice : 
— "The  consignee  having  advanced 
money  has  only  to  insist  on  new  ma- 
chinery being  put  up,  or  some  other 
large  outlay,  and  then  suddenly  to 
demand  repayment.  The  estate  is  put 


through  the  court  and  bought  by  him 
at  a  low  price." 

The  report  of  the  commissioners  has 
given  this  court  its  death  blow,  and  it 
is  shortly  to  be  abolished.  In  its  time 
it  has  done  some  good,  but  for  many 
years  it  has  been  simply  a  burden,  and 
the  planter  will  rejoice  to  be  freed 
from  it. 

As  to   the  question  of  labour   the 
answer  is  simple  enough.     The  negro 
will  not  work  on  estates.     This  may 
be  questioned  by  those  who,  from  igno- 
rance of  the  facts,  or  confusion  of  East 
Indian   with   African   coloured    men, 
hold  that  the  negro  is  irreproachably 
industrious ;  but  none  the  less  it  is  the 
truth,  and  serious  enough.  The  reasons 
advanced  to  account  for  it  are  various, 
— low   rate   of    wages,    oppression   of 
planters— but,  in  reality,  it  is  simply 
the  negro's  distaste   for  work  in  the 
abstract.     I  do  not  mean  to  imply  that 
he  is  in  this  respect  singular,  but  cer- 
tainly his  enjoyment  of  absolute  idle- 
ness   is     marvellously    keen,    indeed 
really  enviable.     His  strength    is    to 
sit  still,  in  the  shade,  if  it  be  hot — 
in   the  sun  if  it  be  cool.     It  is  per- 
fectly true   that  some    labourers   are 
always  preferring  complaints  against 
the  planters,   more  especially  against 
the    employers    of    coolie    immigrant 
labour ;  but  a  negro's  accusations  are 
always  to  be  received  with  caution,  the 
more  so  as  planters  prefer  negro-labour 
to  that  of  coolies,  and  are  ready  to  pay 
higher -for  it.    Nor  is  the  remuneration 
inadequate,  though,  perhaps,  to  English 
notions  small,   Wd.    to   Is.  3d.    being 
the  usual  daily  wages,  (though  more 
can  be  earned),  generally  supplemented 
by  as  much  sugar-cane  as  the  labourer 
can   eat,    rations   of    rum  and    sugar 
juice,  and  very  often  a  plot  of  ground, 
sometimes  granted  for  rent  and  some- 
times free.    Considering  that  a  shilling 
will  in  most  places  feed  a  man  for  a 
week,  this  cannot  be  deemed  illiberal 
or  insufficient,  but  even  where  the  cost 
of  living  is   so  small,  there  is  a  great 
deal  of    poverty,   due    simply  to    the 
preference  given  by  the  negro  to  a  pig's 
life.     Again,  even  those  that  do  work 


342 


The  Windward  Islands. 


for  wages  will  not  work  regularly  ;  a 
St.  Lucia  planter  stated  to  the  commis- 
sion that  he  doubted  if  regular  negro 
labour  could  be  obtained  at  18s.  a 
week. 

Squatting  is  a  very  serious  mischief, 
so     serious    that   nothing   but    effete 
administration  would  have  suffered  it 
to   exist    so    long.     In    every  island 
there  are  large  tracts  of  Crown  land, 
or  land  owned  by  nobody  in  particu- 
lar ;  for  boundaries  of  estates  are  ill- 
defined   and  titles  not    always    clear. 
In  these  tracts  flourish  the  squatters 
and  riff-raff  of  the  island.     The  first 
step  is  to  cut  down  the  trees  which 
cover     the     ground,    often     valuable 
woods,  and   burn  them  for  charcoal ; 
then  the  newly  cleared  plot  is  planted 
with  plantains  and  other  food  crops, 
which,   owing  to  the  fertility  of   the 
soil    require    little  or  no  cultivation, 
and  there  sits  our  friend  idle  till  the 
little  plot  is  cropped  to  death,  when  he 
moves    on   and   clears   another   such, 
leaving    the    exhausted    soil    to    be 
covered    with    rank    useless    jungle. 
Thus  the  land  is  wasted  (for  as  soon 
as  it  ceases  to  produce  food   sponta- 
neously it  is  abandoned),  and  the  rain- 
fall seriously  impaired — the  removal  of 
a  dozen  tall  trees  on  a  hill-top  being 
quite  enough  to  make  the  difference  of 
abundance    or  drought  in  the  valley 
adjoining.     In  St.  Lucia  the  mischief 
was  checked  by  a  thorough  survey  of 
the    island,   by  which   all  boundaries 
were  defined  and  titles  properly  ascer- 
tained, so  that  no  squatter  was  safe  ; 
but  in   St.   Lucia  only  of  the  Wind- 
ward group.     The  whole  question,  in- 
volving as  it  does  that  of  forest  con- 
servation,   is    of   vital   importance  to 
these  islands,  and  should  be  taken  in 
hand  as  early  as  possible  before  it  is 
too   late.     I   believe    there    is    more 
wealth   in    some   of   these   untouched 
forests  than  many  dream  of. 

Smuggling  is  very  profitable  and 
very  popular.  The  facilities  for  it  are 
great,  owing  to  the  number  of  little 
inlets  all  round  the  islands,  the  thin- 
ness of  the  population  and  the  practi- 
cal absence  of  prevention.  It  is  im- 


possible to  provide  a  proper  remedy 
against  it  without  co-operation  on  the 
part  of  all  the  islands,  Windward  and 
Leeward,  French  and  English,  and 
even  so  the  cost  of  an  efficient  preven- 
tive service  would  probably  be  too 
heavy.  Something  may  be  done,  and 
latterly  has  been  done,  by  stationing 
police  at  favourite  spots,  and  assimi- 
lation of  tariffs  might  also  help  some- 
what by  making  smuggling  less  profit- 
able. But  there  is  too  much  reason  to 
fear  that  planters  profit  by  it  as  well 
as  the  lower  classes,  and  if  this  be  the 
case,  the  difficulties  of  putting  a  stop 
to  illicit  traffic  will  necessarily  be 
greatly  increased. 

Thus  the  mischief  due  to  these  three 
causes,  which  might  with  proper 
government  have  been  considerably 
reduced,  is  done  ;  and  now  much  of  it 
is  past  healing.  It  must,  however,  be 
said  in  justice  to  the  negroes,  that  as 
peasant  proprietors  they  are  industri- 
ous and  add  materially  to  the  pros- 
perity of  the  islands  where  such  a 
class  exists ;  but  at  present  it  is 
found  in  Grenada  alone  of  the  Wind- 
ward group.  Meanwhile,  it  has  been 
necessary  to  import  coolie  labour  from 
the  East  Indies  at  heavy  expense, 
which  isolation  and  bad  administra- 
tion have  not  served  to  make  lighter. 
In  the  first  place,  the  islands,  being 
disunited,  cannot  afford  to  keep  their 
own  immigration  agent  in  India,  and 
so  have  to  depend  on  those  of  other 
colonies ;  and  secondly,  owing  to  mis- 
management and  helplessness  on  the 
part  of  the  local  executive,  planters 
have  frequently  been  put  to  great  ex- 
pense and  received  not  a  coolie  in 
return.  Then  again,  coolies  do  not  as 
a  rule  stay  in  these  small  islands,  but 
either  claim  their  return  passage  to 
India  or  go  across  to  Trinidad  and 
British  Guiana,  where  their  brethren 
exist  by  tens  of  thousands  and  rise, 
in  many  cases,  to  affluence.  Further, 
there  is  at  present  another  distinct 
attraction  which  draws  the  labour- 
ing population  away  from  the  West. 
Indies  generally,  viz.,  the  Panama 
Canal  Works.  The  company  offers 


The  Windward  Islands. 


343 


a  dollar  a  day  to  negroes,  and  its 
agents  are  busy  in  every  island.  This 
is  practically  remediless,  though  some 
thing  may  be  done,  by  warning  all  who 
go,  that  if  they  return  as  paupers  the 
colony  will  not  be  burdened  with 
their  support.  A  notice  to  this  effect 
was  issued  in  Barbados  in  1882,  and 
was  found  a  most  successful  deterrent. 
But  now  it  is  time  to  pay  a  short 
visit  to  the  several  islands  of  the 
group,  and  Grenada  being  the  head- 
quarters let  us  begin  with  that.  There 
she  is,  like  all  her  sisters  from  Trini- 
dad to  Guadaloupe  (and  further  for 
aught  I  know),  a  rugged  mass  of  red 
rock  and  soil  hurled  up  from  the 
beautiful  blue  water,  tumbled  into 
lofty  mountains  and  deep  precipitous 
valleys,  and  clothed  with  a  mantle  of 
green ;  wondrously  beautiful,  won- 
drously  fertile,  and  reminded  even 
now  by  occasional  gentle  earthshak- 
ings  of  her  origin.  The  capital  town 
of  St.  George's  is,  of  course,  on  the  lee- 
ward or  western  side,  and  the  harbour 
is  of  the  loveliest.  The  entrance  is 
narrow  and  commanded  by  an  old 
fort,  a  hundred  feet  above  the  sea,  on 
the  left  thereof  (for  Grenada  has 
changed  hands  more  than  once,  and 
has  seen  some  fighting  in  her  time), 
and  the  quaint  little  town  with  its 
red  French  roofs  curves  round  a  steep 
hill-side  at  the  head  of  the  inlet. 
The  streets  are  narrow  and  paved 
with  cobble-stones,  but  there  is  no- 
thing that  is  interesting  and  a  good 
deal  that  is  unsavoury,  so  it  is  better 
to  go  at  once  to  Government  House, 
a  hundred  feet  or  so  above  it,  and 
look  inland.  What  is  then  to  be 
seen  ?  Mountains  and  forest,  and 
apparently  only  one  house ;  a  wooded 
Dartmoor :  but  there  are  houses  for 
all  that,  and  what  you  take  for 
forest  is  not  all  forest,  but  partly 
cacao  plantations.  And  if  you  take  a 
ride  along  the  roads  southward  or 
westward  (always  assuming  them  to 
be  passable)  you  shall  find  plenty  of 
sugar-cane  fields,  though  not  so  many 
as  you  would  have  years  ago,  and  a 
great  many  hill-sides  planted  ap- 


parently with  bananas,  but  in  reality 
with  cacao,  for  young  cacao-trees  are 
delicate  and  each  must  have  its  banana 
to  shelter  it  from  the  sun.  In  a  word 
Grenada  is  become  a  cacao  instead  of 
a  sugar-growing  island,  and  should  do 
well.  You  shall  find  also  nutmegs, 
a  crop  which  pays  well  when  the  trees 
begin  to  bear,  but,  as  with  cacao,  you 
must  wait  a  few  years  and  keep  the 
ground  clean.  Nor  is  it  every  nut- 
meg-tree that  will  bear  fruit,  but  only 
the  female  tree,  and  the  percentage 
of  males  to  females  is  remarkably 
small.  Still,  nutmegs  pay  well,  and 
there  is  talk  of  trees  being  worth  40£. 
or  501.  annually.  Pretty  fruit  it  is 
too  when  ripe  :  the  colour  of  an  apri- 
cot, but  smaller,  with  a  deep  split  in 
one  side,  showing  a  clot  of  blood  red. 
That  clot  is  mace,  or  allspice,  which 
thinly  overlays  one  side  of  the  kernel 
or  true  nutmeg.  Both  are  valuable 
commercially,  and  the  outer  rind 
makes  excellent  preserve.  What 
would  you  more  ?  Here  is  an  isolated 
cocoa-tree,  low  but  wide-spreading, 
with  black  trunk  and  long  leaves  like 
those  of  the  Spanish  chestnut,  but 
darker  and  glossier,  amid  which  you 
can  see  the  great  yellow  pods  shining 
like  lamps.  This  also  is  a  crop  that 
pays  well  (if  anything  pays  in  these 
hard  times) ;  no  continual  need  of 
skilled  cultivation  as  with  sugar,  and 
no  expense  in  working  up  the  raw 
material.  Here  is  a  whole  plantation 
of  bearing  trees  :  push  on  a  little  and 
you  will  find  the  estate  buildings. 
Watch  that  negro  as  he  cuts  open  the 
pods ;  there  you  see  a  number  of 
purple  brown  beans,  between  thirty 
and  forty  if  you  count,  each  about  the 
size  of  a  filbert,  floating  in  what  ap- 
pears to  be  liquid  tallow.  Now  all 
those  beans  will  be  buried  in  leaves  to 
ferment  and  "  sweat  out"  that  starchy, 
tallow-like  matter,  and  then  laid  on  the 
trollies,  which  are  simply  large  trays 
on  wheels,  to  dry  in  the  sun.  If  rain 
should  come  on  the  trollies  will  be  run 
under  the  house  for  shelter.  That  is 
the  whole  process  here,  except  the 
packing  of  the  beans  in  bags  of, 


344 


The  Windward  Islands. 


roughly,  a  hundred  pounds  weight, 
which,  in  good  times,  are  worth  from 
45s.  to  80s.,  according  to  quality. 
Then,  besides  cacao  and  nutmeg,  we 
have  vanilla,  cloves,  ginger,  Liberian 
coffee,  and  Tonquin  beans  in  small 
but  increasing  quantities ;  while  of 
oranges,  guavas,  mangos,  and  other 
fruits  we  take  no  account. 

With  all  this  Grenada  should  be  a 
nourishing  island,  and  so  in  a  certain 
sense  it  is,  but  there  is  plenty  of  room 
for  further  development.  Not  above 
three-eighths  of  the  land  are  cultivated, 
and  there  are  but  43,000  inhabitants 
to  a  total  area  of  133  square  miles. 
It  is  curious  to  note  the  difference  that 
a  century  has  made  in  these  islands. 
In  the  four  years  1878-1882  the 
annual  exports  from  Grenada  average 
as  follows  : — Sugar,  4,250,000  Ibs.;  mo- 
lasses, nil ;  rum,  10, 000 gallons;  cacao, 
4,450,000  Ibs.— valued  at  210,000?. 
without  any  deduction.  In  1776 
ths  exports  were : — Sugar,  23,285,764 
Ibs. ;  rum,  818,700  gallons ;  cacao, 
457,719  Ibs.;  coffee,  1,827,166  Ibs.; 
cotton,  91,943  Ibs.;  indigo,  27,638 
Ibs. — valued  at  the  port  of  shipment 
after  the  deduction  of  freight  duties, 
insurance  and  other  charges,  at 
600,000?.  In  the  same  year  72,141 
acres  paid  land-tax,  and  it  was  esti- 
mated that  50,000  were  actually  culti- 
vated ;  in  1883  17,780  acres  only  were 
under  cultivation,  and  yet  the  popula- 
tion in  1776  was  37,000  as  against 
43,000  at  present,  but  of  these  35,000 
were  slaves. 

Still,  the  comparison  would  not  tell 
so  adversely  to  the  present  were  it  not 
that  the  revival  of  the  island  has  been 
retarded  by  bad  government.  Grenada 
has  been  peculiarly  unfortunate  in  her 
rulers :  intemperance,  incompetence, 
and  imbecility  have  played  a  leading 
part  latterly  in  her  administration, 
and  private  enterprise  has  been  greatly 
hampered  thereby.  Money  liberally 
voted  by  the  Legislative  Council  has 
been  squandered  and  misappropriated. 
Grenada  may  be  thankful  that  her 
central  position  has  secured  for  her 
the  headquarters  of  government ; 


henceforth  she  may  possibly  be  safer 
from  scandals  and  the  demoralisation 
consequent  thereon. 

From  Grenada  let  us  pass  north- 
ward, along  the  chain  of  the  Grenadines, 
to  St.  Vincent.  The  capital,  Kings- 
town, can  boast  of  no  harbour ; 
nothing  but  an  open  roadstead,  a 
narrow  bay  between  two  lofty  horns. 
On  the  left  horn  is  Fort  Charlotte, 
1100  feet  above  the  sea,  once  renowned 
as  impregnable ;  for  St.  Vincent  has 
seen  more  fighting  than  some  islands, 
and  at  one  time  needed  four  English 
generals  and  7,000  men  to  put  down 
the  French  and  insurgent  blacks. 
From  this  fort,  now  used  as  police 
barracks,  there  is  a  good  view  of  the 
town  as  it  lies  in  a  gentle  curve 
along  the  narrow  plain  adjoining  the 
beach.  Its  construction  is  simple  : 
three  streets  a  mile  and  a  half  long 
parallel  to  each  other  and  to  the  sea, 
and  as  many  running  at  right  angles 
to  them  ;  the  town  ceasing  abruptly 
where  the  ground  begins  to  rise 
towards  Mount  St.  Andrew,  which 
towers  up  2000  feet  behind  the  whole. 
St.  Vincent  is  rather  larger  than 
Grenada,  equally  beautiful  and  fertile, 
and  nearly  half  of  it  is  cultivated. 
Sugar,  unfortunately,  constitutes  the 
staple  product,  but  there  is  also  con- 
siderable cultivation  of  arrowroot  to  the 
value  of  30,000?.  to  40,000?.  annually. 
The  island  has  suffered  much  owing 
to  the  accumulation  of  the  greater 
part  of  the  land  in  the  hands  of  a 
single  English  firm,  which,  having  the 
monopoly  of  capital  and  hence  pre- 
ponderating influence,  holds  the  island 
practically  in  the  hollow  of  its  hand. 
These  large  proprietors  will  permit  of 
no  small  holdings :  they  will  let  land 
for  rent,  but  they  will  not  sell ;  and 
they  insist  on  the  cultivation  of  sugar 
only,  desiring  to  keep  the  people  de- 
pendent on  them — a  vicious  system 
fostered  by  the  West  Indian  Encum- 
bered Estates  Court.  Now  the  English 
sugar  market  has  collapsed,  and  what 
will  happen  to  St.  Vincent  no  one 
knows.  It  is  most  probable  that, 
unless  some  new  convention  be  con- 


The   Windward  Islands. 


345 


eluded  with  the  United  States,  the 
land  will  go  out  of  cultivation,  and 
the  colony  be  ruined  owing  to  the 
short-sighted  and  selfish  policy  of  the 
monopolist  consignees.  They,  of  course, 
will  suffer  as  well  as  the  island,  but 
they  deserve  no  pity,  for  it  is  they  that 
have  for  so  many  years  drawn  large 
incomes  from  the  West  Indian  Colonies 
giving  nothing  countervalent  in  re- 
turn, and  have  done,  with  their  peers, 
incalculable  injury,  not  in  St.  Vincent 
only  but  throughout  the  length  and 
breadth  of  the  Caribbean  Archipelago. 
And  poor  St.  Vincent  is  in  other 
respects  also  an  unlucky  place :  she 
has  suffered  above  her  sisters  from 
wars,  hurricanes,  volcanic  eruptions, 
and  bad  government.  Once  the  botanic 
garden  of  the  West  Indies  she  has 
given  place  to  Trinidad,  and  though 
some  of  the  finest  known  nutmeg 
trees  still  flourish  around  the  Govern- 
ment House  to  tell  of  past  glory,  yet 
they  have  latterly  served  only  to  put 
another  hundred  pounds  a  year  into 
the  pockets  of  an  unsuccessful  admi- 
nistrator. 

But  we  must  leave  St.  Vincent  and 
away,  still  northward,  to  St.  Lucia. 
Our  point  is  the  two  peaks  visible 
many  miles  away  over  the  sea-line : 
these  are  the  Pitons,  at  the  south-west 
corner  of  the  islands,  two  sugarloaf- 
like  mountains  rising  side  by  side 
sheer  out  of  the  sea  to  a  height  of 
near  4000  feet ;  the  finest  sight,  some 
say,  that  is  to  be  seen  in  the  West 
Indies.  Castries,  the  capital,  is  further 
to  the  north,  tucked  away  in  a  long, 
deep  inlet,  snug  and  safe.  Look  away 
a  mile  or  two  to  your  left  as  you  enter 
the  harbour  and  you  will  see  a  bay 
with  a  small  conical  islet,  barely 
apart  from  the  mainland,  at  one  end 
thereof ;  that  is  Pigeon  Island  and  the 
bay  is  Gros  Islet  bay.  You  know  the 
names,  of  course  ?  No  !  Well,  it  was 
from  that  bay  that  Rodney  started  on 
the  8th  April,  1782,  in  pursuit  of  the 
the  French  fleet  under  the  Comte  de 
Grasse,  beginning  on  that  day  the 
action  finally  decided  by  the  great 
victory  of  the  12th;  and  it  was  on 


that  island,  once  strongly  fortified 
and  still  covered  with  ruins  of  large 
barracks,  that  he  stood  and  watched 
and  longed  for  the  appearance  of  the 
enemy.  Nay,  it  was  by  Rodney's 
advice  (so  it  is  said)  that  we  took  St. 
Lucia,  instead  of  Martinique,  at  the 
final  conclusion  of  peace  with  France, 
for  the  sake  of  the  harbour  of  Castries, 
which  no  hurricane  can  render  unsafe. 
As  usual  there  are  lofty  hills  all  around 
the  inlet ;  that  on  the  right  as  you 
enter,  with  the  ruined  fort  at  the 
summit,  is  the  Morne  Fortunee.  That 
name  is,  at  any  rate,  familiar  ]  No  ! 
Well,  this  same  Morne  was  in  April 
and  May,  1796,  the  scene  of  fierce 
fighting  between  the  English  and 
French.  The  English,  under  Sir 
Ralph  Abercrombie,  were  the  assailants, 
and  actually  drove  the  French  from 
that  terribly  strong  position  ;  in  which 
operations  Brigadier  John  Moore  so 
greatly  distinguished  himself  that  he 
was  left  to  complete  the  subjugation  of 
the  island  and  to  govern  it  when 
subdued.  Moore  remained  in  St. 
Lucia  till  1797,  refusing,  meanwhile, 
the  government  of  Grenada,  and  went 
home  after  two  attacks  of  yellow  fever ; 
from  the  second  of  which  he  was 
saved,  almost  literally  from  his  wind- 
ing sheet,  to  be  buried,  as  every  one 
knows,  after  years  more  of  fighting,  in 
his  cloak  at  Corufia.  Government 
House  is  still  at  the  top  of  the  Morne, 
and  a  military  cemetery,  until  the 
advent  of  another  soldier  Governor  four 
years  ago,  neglected  and  uncared  for, 
is  within  a  stone's  throw.  The  road 
leading  to  it  is  so  steep  that  a  carriage 
can  hardly  ascend  it,  and  how  Moore 
got  his  guns  up  not  only  here,  but  also 
to  higher  hills  behind,  is  a  marvel. 
St.  Lucia  is  still  French  in  everything 
but  name ;  the  cheery  hospitable 
planters  speak  French  or  at  all  events 
prefer  it,  and  the  negroes  have,  as  in 
Grenada,  their  own  extraordinary 
patois.  It  is  really  a  thriving  little 
place,  on  a  larger  and  grander  scale 
than  the  rest  of  the  group,  nearly 
twice  the  size,  in  fact,  of  Grenada,  but 
with  a  smaller  population.  Neverthe- 


346 


The  Windward  Islands. 


less,  though  far  harder  to  traverse 
than  the  rest,  owing  to  excessive 
ruggedness  and  not  quite  so  healthy 
as  they  are,  it  is  far  happier,  quieter, 
and  more  prosperous,  and  its  exports 
considerably  exceed  theirs.  But  then 
St.  Lucia  has  never  had  a  parody  of 
representative  government,  nor  the 
benefit  of  the  West  Indian  Encumbered 
Estates  Court,  and,  more  important 
than  all,  has  been  fortunate  in  her 
administrators.  Hence  it  was  that 
the  old  families  of  Martinique,  feeling 
no  confidence  in  their  own  govern- 
ment, brought  capital  exceeding  a  year's 
revenue  into  St.  Lucia,  and  thought  it 
worth  while  to  give  56,000?,  for  a  valley 
sold  but  five  years  previously  for 
4,000?.  Close  to  Castries  is  a  Usine 
or  Central  Sugar  Factory  on  the 
French  system,  and  very  good  sugar 
it  produces ;  but  here  again  the  state 
of  the  sugar  market  must  hit  St.  Lucia 
hard,  yet  not,  it  is  devoutly  to  be 
hoped,  fatally  hard.  Though  sugar  is 
the  staple  crop,  cocoa  is  rising  in 
popularity,  and  logwood  forms  also  an 
article  of  export ;  moreover,  efforts  are 
making  to  cultivate  tobacco,  for 
which  the  soil  is  well  suited.  Then 
again  the  harbour  is  naturally  very 
good  and  with  some  expenditure  may 
be  greatly  improved  ;  already  A-tlantic 
steamers  can  coal  alongside  the  wharfs, 
and  no  fewer  than  eight  lines  make 
Castries  a  coaling  station.  To  make 
the  harbour  perfect,  elaborate  plans 
and  estimates  prepared  by  a  celebrated 
English  engineer,  set  down  the  cost  at 
100,000?. ;  but  for  a  fifth  of  that  sum 
much  could  be  done.  Then  the  neces- 
sary defences  would  take  another 
50,000?.  and  Martinique  being  but 
thirty  miles  away,  some  think  it  would 
be  well  for  them  to  be  taken  in  hand 
at  once.  One  disadvantage  only,  and 
that  greatly  exaggerated,  renders  St. 
Lucia  somewhat  unpopular  to  planters 
in  other  islands,  viz.,  the  abundance  of 
snakes,  especially  of  that  venomous 
kind  known  as  the  fer-de-lance.  The 
deaths  from  snake-bite,  however,  are 
not  very  many,  and  advancing  cultiva- 
tion will  go  far  towards  diminishing 


the  number  of  these  reptiles.  At  one 
time  Government  offered  a  reward  for 
every  snake  killed,  but  the  astute 
negro  used  to  take  ship  and  hie  him  to 
Martinique,  whence  he  returned  with 
a  boat-load  of  snakes  which  that  island 
could  very  well  afford  to  dispense  with, 
and  depleted  the  reward  fund  ;  so  the 
practice  had  to  be  stopped.  For  all 
this  St.  Lucia,  if  the  present  crisis  in 
the  sugar  trade  be  successfully  passed, 
may  be  expected  to  rise  in  importance 
and,  outstripping  the  rest  of  the  group, 
to  take  her  place  eventually  at  their 
head. 

The  distance  to  Tobago  from  Gre- 
nada is  eighty-three  miles,  south  and 
east.  Tobago  is  the  least  of  the  Wind- 
ward Islands,  with  a  total  area  of 
73,000  acres,  less  than  half  of  which 
are  cultivated.  The  population  is 
about  18,000  and  stationary ;  the 
revenue  about  13,000?.  and  decreasing  ; 
the  general  condition  bad  and  growing 
worse.  There  is  no  denying  the  fact 
that  Tobago  is  a  miserable  place ;  its 
very  capital  contains  little  over  a 
thousand  people,  and  the  public  officers 
live  in  houses  which  hardly  keep  the 
rain  out,  and  work  in  offices  which 
are  falling  to  pieces  for  want  of  repair. 
Who  would  think  that  Tobago  was 
ever  worth  fighting  for,  as  she  is  now  ? 
and  yet  we  know  that  she  was  fought 
for.  Can  we  not  see  as  we  look  over 
Scarborough  town  from  the  dangerous 
roadstead,  outside,  a  fort  on  the  right 
hand  hill  and  a  great  square-topped 
mountain  behind  it?  and  do  we  not 
know  that  the  square  top  is  another 
fort  to  which  the  French  dragged  their 
guns  in  some  marvellous  way  and 
then  smote  us  out  of  the  island  ?  But 
now,  after  many  years'  monopoly  of 
land  by  a  London  firm  that  never 
gave  back  a  tithe  of  what  it  received, 
after  the  unparalleled  misfortune  of 
government  by  two  in  succession  of 
the  worst  administrators  that  ever 
turned  a  place  upside  down,  and  eter- 
nal bickerings  among  subordinates, 
what  can  be  said  for  Tobago  1  Have 
not  three  years  of  vastly  improved 
administration  failed  to  do  more  than 


The  Windward  Islands. 


347 


keep  her  head  above  water  and  that 
only  by  severest  retrenchment  ?  And 
yet  the  island  is  as  fertile  and  as 
lovely  as  any.  Humbler  than  the  rest, 
more  hilly  than  mountainous,  it  is 
easier  to  make  roads  and,  through  a 
fortunate  abundance  of  good  metal, 
easier  to  keep  them  up  than  in  St. 
Vincent,  Grenada  and  St.  Lucia — a 
great  advantage  and  a  great  economy 
to  any  island.  Further,  there  is  plenty 
of  pasture  and  some  exportation  of 
cattle,  while  Tobago  ponies  are  well 
known  and  in  considerable  request. 
Latterly,  moreover,  there  has  been  an 
increasing  exportation  of  cocoa-nuts 
(N.B.,  Cocoa-nut  palms  and  cacao 
trees  are  not,  as  some  think,  identical), 
which  are  very  abundant,  cost  nothing 
to  cultivate,  and  pay  well.  But  few 
vessels  call  at  Tobago,  the  mail  indeed 
but  once  a  month  ;  and  so,  even  if  pro- 
duce be  ready,  it  is  hard  to  get  it 
shipped.  Sugar,  of  course,  is  conveyed 
in  the  bottoms  of  the  consignees  ;  but 
these  are  not  available  for  those  who 
wish  to  keep  out  of  their  clutches. 
And,  unless  I  am  mistaken,  the  Tobago 
monopolist  firm  failed  some  months 
since,  and  in  that  case  the  greater 
part  of  the  land  must  have  gone  out 
of  cultivation.  In  any  case  the  re- 
striction of  the  cultivation  to  sugar 
only  must  tell  heavily  in  this  island 
as  in  St.  Yincent,  and  the  outlook  is 
very  dismal. 

Such  are  these  Windward  Islands ; 
once,  with  their  sisters  to  Leeward,  as 
fair  and  rich  possessions  as  ever  were 
owned  perhaps  by  any  country.  Ruined 
forts,  ruined  barracks,  neglected  ceme- 
teries remain  to  show  the  price  we 
were  willing  to  pay  for  them  ;  but  of 
the  former  prosperity  not  a  trace. 
Once  with  no  fear  for  aught  save  war 
and  hurricane,  they  have  lived  to 
dread  Exeter  Hall  and  the  Manchester 
School  more  than  either  of  these :  for 
their  overthrow  was  not  by  storm  nor 
by  the  sword,  but  by  two  Acts  of  the 
British  Parliament  passed  in  1833  and 
1846,  which  are  remembered  by 


Englishmen  as  the  triumphs  of  eman- 
cipation and  free   trade,   but   by  the 
West    Indians  as  times  of   ruin   and 
distress.     Ever  since  the  West  Indies 
have  struggled  to  recover  themselves, 
and  now   a  third   great   crisis    is   on 
them — the    admission    of    bounty-fed 
sugar  on  the  same  terms  as  free  sugar 
has  destroyed  their  trade,  the  rejection 
of  Mr.  Lubbock's  Convention  with  the 
United  States  for  the  free  admission 
of  West  Indian  produce  has  shattered 
their  last  hopes,  and  ruin  stares  the 
vast  majority,  whose  staple  produce  is 
sugar,  in  the  face.    What  the  ultimate 
effect  will  be,  none  can  tell ;  the  imme- 
diate  effect   is   open  disaffection  and 
outcry  for  annexation  to  the  United 
States — a  sad  sign  in  Colonies  which 
plumed  themselves   on   their   loyalty. 
The  question  is  too  long  for  treatment 
here,  but  it  is  certain  that  the  danger 
is   serious   and   pressing,  and   unless 
something  be  done,  and  that  quickly, 
the  report  of  the  Royal  Commission 
must  go  for  naught   and  the  present 
condition  go  from  bad  to  worse.     Thus 
with  sad  misgivings  for  the  future  I 
take  leave  of  these  beautiful  and  un- 
happy islands.  Their  former  prosperity 
was  doubtless  artificial :  freedom  and 
free  trade  destroyed  it  utterly ;    but 
the  downfall  is  real  enough.     Success 
and  failure  were  alike  of  our  making ; 
but   both   turned   to   our   advantage, 
while,  so  far  from  helping  the  islands 
in  their  need,  we  have  gradually  with- 
drawn every  privilege ;  the  garrisons 
so  highly  prized  have  been  removed, 
incapable    governors    have    been    en- 
trusted with  the  administration,  and 
consignees  and  money-lenders,  secure 
under   an   Act    of    Parliament,  have 
taken  the  lion's  share  of  the  prod  vice  to 
let  themselves  live  in  plenty  in  Eng- 
land.    It  is  a  sad  story :  when  they 
piped  unto  us  we  danced,  when  they 
mourned  unto  us    we   lamented   not. 
This   is   the   complaint   of   the   West 
Indies     against    England.     Will    she 
listen  ?     I  fear  not. 


348 


THE   QUESTION   OF   DRINK   IN   ENGLAND. 


MY  reasons  for  venturing  to  write  on 
this  subject  are,  briefly  stated,  these. 
Being  a  moderate  drinker  myself,  I 
am  unable  to  see  why  some  should 
make  a  merit  of  total  abstinence ;  for 
while  I  freely  admit  that  drunkenness 
is  a  very  real  and  national  vice,  I  am 
inclined  to  think  that  a  natural  re- 
action has  led  many  too  far  in  the  oppo- 
site direction.  In  accordance  with  this 
view  I  have  tried  to  discover  whether 
there  might  not  exist  certain  conditions 
at  the  present  time  which  served  only 
to  promote  excessive  drinking  and 
might  be  easily  removed.  And  after 
some  reflection  I  am  convinced  that 
the  state  of  the  public-houses  them- 
selves is  very  greatly  answerable  for 
the  present  frequent  habit  of  drunken- 
ness among  the  poorer  classes.  My 
attention- was  first  drawn  to  this  during 
a  stay  of  some  months  in  France  and 
Germany,  where  I  was  greatly  struck 
with  the  difference  of  the  public-houses 
when  compared  with  our  own  (the 
advantage  being  especially  on  the  side 
of  Germany) — a  difference  which  it 
seemed  to  me  might  partly  account  for 
the  greater  sobriety  of  the  people.  I 
determined  therefore  to  visit  a  certain 
number  of  public-houses  in  London  at 
night,  appearing  as  far  as  possible 
like  an  ordinary  customer,  in  order 
to  see  whether  the  view  I  had  taken 
of  the  question  was  justified  by  the 
result.  I  visited  in  all  ten  public- 
houses,  taking  mental  notes  of  what  I 
saw  at  the  time,  which  I  committed  to 
writing  as  soon  as  I  got  home.' 

I  propose  here  to  give  an  account  of 
some  of  them,  suppressing  for  obvious 
reasons  the  names  and  localities. 

A.  was  one  I  selected  for  an  early 
visit,  as  I  was  by  no  means  eager  to 
venture  far  at  first,  and  I  had  heard  of 
it  as  a  very  quiet  and  respectable  pub- 
lic-house. When  I  first  entered  there 
were  six  or  seven  men  inside,  chiefly 


of  the  groom  or  coachman  class.  Three 
of  them  were  seated,  the  rest  were 
standing,  but  all  of  them  were  convers- 
ing in  a  friendly  manner.  There  was 
more  accommodation  than  I  had  seen 
in  a  previous  visit  to  another  "  public," 
as  there  was  a  bench  in  the  corner, 
capable  of  holding  five,  with  a  small 
table  adjoining.  But  as  at  least 
twenty  men  were  there  during  the  half 
hour  that  I  remained,  the  accommoda- 
tion was  obviously  insufficient ;  and 
here  as  elsewhere  nearly  half  of  the 
whole  room  was  taken  up  by  the  bar. 
The  favourite  drink  seemed  "  bitter," 
though  the  three  men  who  were  seated 
were  drinking  something  which  I  con- 
cluded to  have  been  whisky.  Nearly 
all  who  visited  this  public-house  stayed 
longer  than  I,  and  certainly  were  there 
for  the  sake  of  social  enjoyment,  and 
not  chiefly  for  the  sake  of  drinking. 
The  division  into  compartments  is  a 
feature  in  all  public-houses,  the  number 
of  compartments  differing  according  to 
the  size  of  the  "  public." 

B.  A  low  public-house  in  whose  win- 
dow  absinthe   was   advertised.      The 
atmosphere  was  so  intolerable  that  the 
friend  with  whom  I  went  insisted  on 
going  after  five  minutes.     There  were 
altogether  (in  the  compartment  which 
we    entered)   about   sixteen   persons ; 
there  was  one  small  seat,   capable  of 
seating    five,   where    four   men   were 
playing   dominoes.       There    were — as 
far  as  I  could  see — no  newspapers  or 
any  means  of  social  enjoyment ;  and 
the  beer  was  extremely  bad. 

C.  In  this  public-house,   which  was 
divided    into    six   or   seven    compart- 
ments, there  were  no  seats  of  any  kind 
(of  course  I  can  only  state  this  posi- 
tively as  regards  the  compartment  I 
entered).    At  one  time,  however,  there 
were   twenty   people   inside   this  one 
compartment ;  while  the  barman  had 
nearly  as  much  room  for  dispensing 


The  Question  of  Drink  in  England. 


349 


liquor  as  we  twenty  customers  for 
drinking  it.  Amongst  those  present 
were  two  soldiers,  two  postmen,  and 
three  or  four  women.  There  was  only 
one  man  who  was  really  drunk — so  at 
least  I  inferred  from  his  addressing 
the  most  idiotic  remarks  to  any  one 
who  would  listen  to  him,  and  also, 
perhaps  unfairly,  from  his  buying  two 
halfpenny  buns  for  a  dog,  which  be- 
longed to  the  man  whose  beer  I  had 
drunk  ;  I  must  add,  however,  that  the 
owner  did  not  appreciate  his  kindness, 
as  he  tried  to  set  the  dog  on  him. 
There  were  no  papers  or  any  means  of 
social  recreation.  The  one  point  in 
favour  of  this  public-house  was  that 
the  ventilation  was  good.  Most  of  the 
people  were  drinking  beer  ;  one  or  two 
were  drinking  mysterious-looking  com- 
pounds whose  component  parts  1  could 
not  investigate. 

D.  A  public-house  in  the  immediate 
vicinity  of  a  large  station ;  conse- 
quently there  were  several  porters 
there.  It  was  divided  into  four  com- 
partments ;  in  the  one  which  I  entered 
there  were  ten  persons,  and  during  the 
short  half-hour  that  I  was  there  there 
were  never  more  than  twelve  at  one 
time.  There  were  altogether  seats  for 
five  or  six,  and  the  atmosphere  was  very 
good,  but  I  cannot  say  that  the  place 
was  well  ventilated,  as  it  was  exceed- 
ingly draughty.  There  were  several 
newspapers  within  the  bar,  which  I 
did  not  notice  till  some  one  asked  for 
one ;  and  here  I  must  remark  that 
this  may  have  been  the  case  in  the 
other  places  which  I  have; before  de- 
scribed, but  I  certainly  did  not  observe 
it.  Most  of  the  people  were  drinking 
beer,  and  I  did  not  notice  that  any 
one  took  more  than  one  glass  or 
pewter.  (One  or  two,  however,  ordered 
spirits  of  some  kind  or  other,  and 
several  people  brought  jugs  to  take 
away  what  they  ordered.)  But  while 
the  place  was  good  so  far  as  public- 
houses  go  at  present,  it  was  really 
scandalously  deficient  when  compared 
with  what  might  be  done.  The  chief 
faults  were  a  great  draught,  want  of 
sitting  accommodation  (there  were 


only  two  small  benches  squeezed  up 
close  to  the  wall),  and  very  little 
elbow-room,  though  inside  the  bar 
there  was  abundance  of  space. 

E.  was  rather  a  small  public-house, 
divided  into  three  compartments ;  in 
the  one  which  I  entered  there  were 
only   four   persons.      The   space   was 
extremely    limited    in    this   compart- 
ment, but  there  were  seats  all  round 
it,  capable  of  containing  seven  or  eight 
persons.      The   ventilation   was   very 
bad ;  there  was  no  supply  of  fresh  air, 
and  plenty  of  gas,  but,  on  the  other 
hand,    there    was    no    draught.      In 
the  third  compartment  a  loud   voice 
suddenly   exclaimed,  "You're  an  old 
swindler,  you  are ! " — words'which  were 
repeated  thirty  or  forty  times  in  ex- 
actly the  same  loud  monotonous  tone. 
I  fully  expected  a  row,  but  the  "  old 
swindler,"  whoever  he  was,  made  no 
reply,  and  in  a  few  minutes  all  was 
silent  again.     At  first  I  thought  there 
were  no  papers  in  the  place,  but  after- 
wards I  found  that  they  took  in  the 
Daily  Telegraph,  the  Standard,  and,  I 
believe,  one  or  two  other  papers  also. 
The  principal   beverage   was   beer  of 
one   kind    or   another,   but   one   man 
seemed    to    be    taking    whisky,   and 
another  some  kind  of  cup. 

F.  As  it  wasj  Saturday  night,   and 
this  public-house  was  in  a  poor  neigh- 
bourhood, I  expected  to  find  some  of 
the  poorest  classes  there  ;  and,  sure 
enough,  when  I  entered,  I  found  the 
compartment  full  of  workmen,  smoking 
short  clay  pipes.     (This    public-house 
was  divided  into  four  compartments.) 
There  were  about  twelve  persons  when 
I  first  went  in.     The  atmosphere  was 
fair,  but  the  place  was  draughty.    The 
men  were  all  drinking  beer  (and  dis- 
cussing racing)  ;  one  woman  who  came 
while  I  was  there  ordered  gin.     There 
were  two  or  three  papers,  but  scandal- 
ously little  accommodation — no  more 
than    one    seat    near    the    side   wall, 
capable     of     containing     only     three 
persons. 

In  other  ways  I  have  observed 
many  public  -  houses,  and,  judging 
from  what  I  have  been  able  to  see 


350 


The  Question  of  Drink  in  England. 


of  their  internal  arrangements,  all 
public-houses  are  pretty  much  of  the 
same  character.  In  fact  the  public- 
house  of  the  present  time  is  a  public 
house  merely  in  name — conducted,  as 
it  is,  wholly  for  the  gain  of  private 
persons,  whose  sole  idea  is  consequently 
to  sell  as  much  liquor  as  possible  to 
every  customer.  It  is  a  place  without 
comfort,  with  hardly  any  sitting  ac- 
commodation, small,  dirty,  ill-venti- 
lated, affording  scarcely  any  facilities 
for  literary  or  social  enjoyment ; 
where  all  the  attraction  is  intentionally 
confined  to  the  bar,  and  where  the  liquor 
is  in  many  cases  drugged  to  increase 
the  thirst  of  the  unfortunate  customer. 

The  first  thing,  then,  which  seems 
imperative  towards  diminishing  the 
general  tendency  to  drunkenness 
among  the  poorer  classes  is  to  pro- 
vide some  decent  public  building  or 
house  to  which  they  may  go.  I  have 
endeavoured  to  show  that  the  public- 
house  as  it  at  present  exists  in  Eng- 
land is  a  disgrace  to  a  civilised 
country  i  but  it  exists  because  it  sup- 
plies (though  imperfectly)  a  real  and 
natural  want.  That  want  is  the 
craving  for  society — a  want  which 
teetotalers  seem  to  have  totally  ignored 
in  their  exertions  in  this  field. 

I  give  here  a  report  of  one  of  their 
meetings,  taken  from  the  Daily  News 
of  April  16th  :— 

"Yesterday  afternoon  a  conference 
was  held  at  Exeter  Hall,  under  the 
presidency  of  the  Bishop  of  London, 
to  receive  and  discuss  the  reports 
of  the  enumerators  who  have  been 
engaged  in  taking  a  census  of  the 
people  visiting  public-houses  on  Satur- 
day night  from  9  P.M.,  to  12  o'clock.- — 
The  Chairman,  after  the  meeting  bad 
been  opened  with  prayer  by  the  Rev. 
J.  F.  Gladstone,  called  upon  the  sec- 
retary, Mr.  George  Calvert,  to  read 
the  returns  that  had  been  made.  From 
these  it  appears  that  in  a  given  dis- 
trict in  the  north  of  London  (St. 
Pancras)  fifty-two  public-houses  were 
watched  one  Saturday  night,  with  the 
result  that  11,403  men,  7,731  women, 
and  1,958  children,  or  a  total  of 


21,092  persons  were  seen  to  enter 
between  nine  and  twelve  o'clock.  In 
another  district,  in  the  south,  the 
total  number  of  persons  going  to  the 
fifty  public  -  houses  watched  was 
29,357,  made  up  of  17,347  men, 
10,665  women,  and  1,645  children. 
In  the  west  forty-nine  houses  were 
visited  by  21,962  persons,  of  whom 
12,809  were  men,  7,455  women,  and 
1,698  children.  In  the  east,  repre- 
sented by  forty-nine  houses,  there 
were  7,246  male  visitors,  4,933  female, 
and  1,718  children,  making  a  total  of 
13,897.  The  total  for  the  200  public- 
houses  watched  for  the  same  three 
hours  was  86,608  visitors.  Following 
up  this  inquiry,  they  had  made  a  small 
one  as  to  the  number  of  women  visit- 
ing public-houses  in  the  morning  be- 
tween the  hours  of  ten  and  twelve  ; 
and  last  Monday  twelve  houses  were 
watched  near  Tolmer  Square,  with  the 
result  of  finding  that  as  many  as  1,250 
women  went  to  them  between  those 
hours. — The  Chairman  said  they  had 
heard  these  figures,  and  it  was  for 
them  to  say  what  their  personal  con- 
duct was  to  be,  and  what  they  should 
urge  on  the  legislature.  These  facts 
could  not  be  put  aside  for  a  moment. 
At  the  present  time  the  Government 
were  inquiring  into  the  condition  and 
the  housing  of  the  poor.  It  was  clear 
that  the  two  inquiries  were  very  much 
akin,  and  that  it  was  almost  impossible 
to  separate  them.  He  was  quite  ready 
to  admit  that  the  poor  suffered  by 
fluctuations  in  trade  and  from  other 
causes,  and  was  willing  to  call  on  the 
nation  at  large  to  give  them  a  helping 
hand ;  but  the  man  must  be  stone 
blind  who  did  not  know  that  a  great 
deal  of  the  distress  and  misery  was 
due  to  intemperance.  If  we  could 
stop  this  we  should  do  more  in  the 
way  of  charity  than  by  any  muni- 
ficence. No  gifts  of  money  could 
help  the  poor  more  than  the  sacrifice 
of  their  own  personal  gratification  in 
this  and  other  ways.  An  inquiry 
like  this  drink  census  touched  directly 
on  the  most  painful  causes  of  the  state 
of  things  they  all  deplored,  and  they 


The  Question  of  Drink  in  England. 


351 


could  not  help  considering  what  their 
part,  as  Christian  men.  should  be  in 
view  of  such  facts  as  these.  All 
ministers  of  the  Gospel  find  nothing 
stand  so  much  in  their  way  in  trying 
to  reach  the  masses  as  this  one  great, 
terrible  sin. — The  Rev.  Canon  Fleming 
moved,  '  That  this  conference,  having 
had  under  its  consideration  the  start- 
ling returns  of  the  Saturday-night 
public-house  census  recently  taken  in 
each  quarter  of  the  metropolis,  would 
urge  upon  the  devout  and  earnest 
attention  of  all  Christians  the  im- 
perative necessity  of  personal  absti- 
nence from  the  use  of  all  alcoholic 
liquors  as  a  beverage.'  " 

Now  this  meeting  seems  to  me  to 
give  a  very  fair  example  of  the  general 
action  of  the  total  abstainers.     They 
are  thoroughly  in  earnest,  and  are  de- 
termined to   do  something,  but  their 
method   of    proceeding    is   absolutely 
illogical.      Their   idea    of    subjecting 
public-houses  to  a  minute  inspection 
is  a    good  one.      But   all   they   have 
really  done  is  to  get  some  very  good 
statistics  as  to  the  amount  of  people 
who  enter  public-houses.     What  does 
this    prove  I      Surely    nothing    more 
than    this,    that     the    public  -  houses 
supply    a     real     want.       They     have 
no    right    to   deduce   any   other   con- 
sequence   from  these   statistics.     The 
argument   that  public-houses  are   ob- 
jectionable because  many  people   use 
them  might  be  applied  equally  to  any 
public    building    whatever.     If    they 
had   proved  how  many  of  those  who 
went  came  out  the  worse  for  drink — 
that  would  have  been  a  valuable  piece 
of  evidence.    Again,  if  they  could  have 
shown  that  most  of  those  who  entered 
merely  stayed  a  short  time,  and  that 
therefore  their  main  object  was  drink, 
that  also   would   have    had    a    direct 
bearing   on   the  question.      But   this 
they   have   not   attempted  :    and   yet 
what  they  now  apparently  wish  is  to 
urge    on    the  legislature   to    suppress 
public-houses    without   attempting   to 
provide  any  substitute.     They  would 
wish,  I  suppose,  that  these  multitudes 
of  people  should  stay  quietly  in  their 


homes.  Is  this  possible  1  It  may,  of 
course,  be  argued  that  these  people 
can  go  to  coffee-palaces.  But  the 
coffee-palaces  which  I  have  seen  so 
far  are  nothing  but  feeble  imitations 
of  public-houses.  In  size,  accommoda- 
tion, ventilation,  means  of  recreation, 
and  beverages,  they  are  lamentably 
deficient.  When  once  a  decent  place  of 
accommodation  and  recreation  has  been 
provided,  the  public -houses  will  be 
deserted. 

I  now  propose  to  examine  the  faults 
of  the  public-houses  one  by  one,  and 
to  endeavour  to  show  how  they  may 
be  corrected. 

(a.)  The  first  fault  of  public-houses 
(one  shared  I  believe  by  all  other 
countries)  is  that  they  are  conducted  for 
profit.  I  can  imagine  no  better  object 
for  charity  than  the  establishment  of 
places  where  proper  accommodation 
might  be  provided  for  the  working 
classes  without  any  profit  being  made. 
Such  a  place,  considering  the  enormous 
profits  made  by  the  present  iniquitous 
system,  would  very  soon  make  its 
way,  and  the  profits  would  probably, 
in  time,  be  large.  These  should  be 
devoted,  first,  to  increasing  the  comfort 
of  the  place,  and  secondly,  to  help  to 
found  similar  establishments.  Thus 
in  time  there  might  be  attached  to 
each  public-house  a  room  for  non- 
smokers,  a  library,  a  reading-room,  a 
public  assembly  room,  &c.,  &c. 

(6.)  Secondly,  no  public-house  should 
be  allowed  to  exist  where  the  principal 
room  was  not  above  a  certain  defined 
size,  both  as  regards  length,  breadth, 
and  height.  I  have  some  idea  that 
there  is  a  law  to  this  effect  now,  but  it 
is  certainly  never  put  into  force.  If 
such  a  law  were  made  (or,  if  existing, 
put  into  force)  nine-tenths  of  the 
present  public-houses  would  cease  to 
exist ;  and  the  existence  of  many  small 
public-houses  in  one  street  (as  is  now 
often  the  case)  would  be  rendered 
impossible. 

(c.)  Proper  ventilation  is  also  most 
important.  By  ventilation  I  mean 
the  continual  supply  of  fresh  air  with- 
out a  draught.  There  are  several 


352 


The  Question  of  Drink  in  England. 


systems  by  any  of  which  this  could  be 
done  ;  while  the  electric  light  might 
also  be  with  advantage  introduced. 
At  present  the  public-house  is  either 
intolerably  hot,  or  cold  and  draughty ; 
the  former  is  [more  often  the  case,  for 
the  profit-seeking  owner  finds  that  heat 
is  an  additional  incentive  to  drinking. 

(d.)  Everything  should  be  done  to 
avoid  making  drinking  the  attraction, 
both  by  banishing  the  bar  altogether, 
and  also  by  encouraging  the  sale  of 
non-intoxicating  liquors.  (If  any  one 
were  to  enter  an  ordinary  public-house 
at  the  present  time,  and  ask  for  a  cup 
of  tea  or  coffee,  he  would  be  regarded 
as  a  lunatic;  and  his  demand  would 
probably  be  met  with  a  roar  of 
laughter.)  Spirits  should  be  absolutely 
excluded,  and  the  beer  should  be  both 
light  and  pure.  As  to  this,  I  hope  to 
say  more  further  on.  In  connection 
with  the  subject  of  drinking  I  may, 
perhaps,  suggest  that  some  plan  should 
be  devised  by  which  a  man,  by  paying 
a  trifling  sum  weekly  or  monthly, 
should  be  allowed  to  make  use  of  the 
place  as  a  club  without  being  obliged 
to  order  anything  for  the  good  of  the 
house. 

(e.)  As  the  public-house  should  be 
par  excellence  the  club  of  the  poor 
(men  and  women  alike),  the  accom- 
modation should  be  of  a  simple  but 
comfortable  kind,  and  the  room  should 
be  tastefully  furnished.  The  furnish- 
ing of  such  a  room  would  be  an 
excellent  object  for  charity.  Seats 
should  be  scattered  freely  up  and 
down  ;  probably  the  best  method  would 
be  to  have  small  tables  with  chairs 
around  them,  as  in  the  cafes  at  Paris. 

(./!)  Lastly,  great  efforts  should  be 
made  to  render  the  public-house  as 
bright  and  pleasant  as  possible.  All 
the  best  papers  and  magazines  should 
be  taken  in  ;  and  on  holidays,  such  as 
Saturdays,  entertainments,  concerts, 
&c.,  should  be  given  in  the  public  hall 
attached  to  the  building. 

It  may  be  urged  that  some  such 
reform  is  certainly  needed,  but  why 
include  the  beer?  Because  without  it 
you  will  not  get  the  attendance  of  the 


moderate  drinkers.  Indeed,  it  is  one  of 
the  chief  mistakes  of  the  Church  of 
England  Temperance  Society,  that 
they  have  put  beer  and  spirits  (in 
other  words  temperance  and  excess) 
under  the  same  ban.  For  while  the 
smallest  quantity  of  spirits  may  pro- 
duce the  most  dangerous  effects,  it  is 
practically  impossible  to  get  drunk  on 
undrugged  beer  alone.  Indeed,  beer, 
when  pure,  is  both  a  wholesome  and 
nourishing  drink.  The  principal  substi- 
tute that  the  teetotalers  would  offer  is 
tea,  which  I  cannot  but  think  unsatis- 
factory. But  the  mistake  of  confound- 
ing beer  and  spirits  is  not  confined  to 
the  temperance  society.  The  Chancellor 
of  the  Exchequer,  in  his  recent  speech 
on  the  income-tax,  said,  "that  if  the 
duty  on  spirits  was  to  be  increased,  he 
would  not  be  a  party  to  such  a  pro- 
posal unless  a  fair  increase  were 
made  in  the  duty  on  beer."  Now  I 
believe,  that  from  a  commercial  point 
of  view,  any  increase  of  the  tax  on 
beer  is  most  disastrous  for  the  country  ; 
tending  as  it  does  to  convert  more 
corn-land  into  pasture-land,  and  there- 
by depopulating  the  agricultural  dis- 
tricts. But,  putting  aside  that  view, 
the  fact  remains  that  while  beer  is 
almost  as  great  a  necessity  for  the 
poor  man  as  tobacco,  spirits  are  a 
dangerous  luxury.  Pure  beer,  on  the 
other  hand,  is  neither  dangerous  nor  a 
luxury.  Of  course  I  am  quite  ready 
to  admit  that  the  beer  at  present 
drunk  in  many  public-houses  is  a  far 
from  wholesome  beverage  :  but  surely 
that  is  only  an  additional  reason  for 
endeavouring  to  promote  the  use  of 
beer  of  a  better  kind.  That  beer  of 
such  a  kind  can  be  made,  is,  I  believe, 
perfectly  certain.  The  lager  beer,  as 
drunk  generally  by  the  German  nation, 
and  sold  in  England,  though  at  prohi- 
bitive prices,  fulfils  the  requisite  con- 
ditions. It  is  extremely  light,  ex- 
tremely pure,  and  can,  I  believe,  be 
made  both  easily  and  cheaply.  A 
German  gentleman  has  most  kindly 
f  urnished  me,  after  considerable  labour, 
with  the  most  ample  particulars  on 
the  subject,  of  which  I  may  be  here 


The  Question  of  Drink  in  England. 


353 


allowed  to  give  some  extracts.  He 
writes :  "  The  '  lager  bier,'  the  almost 
common  beverage  all  through  Ger- 
many, contains  about  1  cwt.  of  hops  to 
30  cwt.  of  malt,  and  80  cwt.  of  water. 
The  different  quality  of  the  water  is 
said  to  exert  a  great  influence  upon 
the  quality  of  the  beer.  Of  course  there 
are  stronger  beers  brewed,  as  for  in- 
stance in  Bavaria,  where  the  propor- 
tion of  malt  and  the  percentage  of 
alcohol  contained  in  it  is  much  greater  ; 
there  the  percentage  of  alcohol  comes 
to  about  five  per  cent.,  while  in  your 
English  beer  it  is  eight  to  ten  per  cent. 
I  am  told.  Our  people  do  not  like 
English  beer,  because  they  cannot  con- 
sume great  quantities  without  get- 
ting inebriated,  and  their  object  is  to 
drink  a  great  deal,  and  to  enjoy  drink- 
ing for  its  own  sake,  without  running 
the  chance  of  even  getting  half  tipsy." 
He  also  remarks  that  with  lager  beer, 
to  reach  even  a  state  of  partial  intoxi- 
cation, it  requires  ten  to  twelve  to 
fifteen  glasses  ;  the  price  of  a  glass 
being  fifteen  pfennigs. 

I  had  asked  him  the  following  four 
questions  : — 

1.  Whether  there  was  a  law  against 
adulteration  of  beer  in  Germany,  and 
whether  it  was  strictly  enforced. 

2.  Whether  there  was  a  heavy  tax 
upon  beer. 

3.  Whether     the     beer     depended 
much  on  the  quality  of  the  water  ;  and 
whether   such    beer    could   be   easily 
made  in  England. 

4.  Whether    lager    beer    could    be 
easily  exported. 

These  he  answers  thus  : — 

1.  There  is  a  law  concerning  adul- 
teration  of    beer,    and   it   is    strictly 
enforced.     Breweries   are   fined    occa- 
sionally for  using  bad  ingredients. 

2.  The   tax   upon    manufacture    of 
beer   is   not   a   heavy   one.      Malt  is 
taxed  about  the  rate  of  two  marks  the 
hectolitre.     There  is  no  other  tax. 

3.  The  quality  of  the  beer  depends 
very  much  on  the  quality  of  the  water, 


but  in  what  way  I  can  hardly  tell. 
That  the  same  beer  may  be  made  in 
England  admits  of  no  doubt.  In 
London  there  are  a  great  many  beer- 
houses where  you  get  it. 

4.  Lager  beer  is  exported  to  all 
parts  of  the  world  ;  but  then  it  requires 
some  particular  kind  of  preparation,  of 
which  I  cannot  give  you  any  particu- 
lars. I  think  it  is  the  same  thing  as 
with  porter  and  ale. 

To  this  I  may  add,  that  the  glass 
which  costs  fifteen  pfennigs  (lg<^.)  con- 
tains nearly  a  pint,  so  that  its  cheap- 
ness in  Germany  is  evident.  There 
seems  no  doubt  therefore  that  if  we 
follow  the  example  of  the  German 
nation,  a  pure,  light,  and  cheap  beer 
can  be  made. 

And  now  to  sum  up  briefly  the  main 
points  of  my  argument.  I  believe  that 
the  remedy  for  drunkenness  lies  in  the 
hands  of  the  moderate  drinkers:  and 
that,  if  they  will  but  bestir  themselves 
to  provide  decent  places  where  the 
poor  man  may  meet  his  friend  without 
the  temptation  to  get  drunk,  but  at 
the  same  time  with  the  power  of 
drinking  a  glass  of  good,  pure  beer  if 
he  so  wishes,  the  vice  of  drunkenness 
will  die  a  natural  death,  without  there 
being  any  necessity  of  appealing  to 
the  legislature.  State  control  is 
always  dangerous,  and  in  this  case  the 
remedy  can  certainly  be  best  admin- 
istered by  private  exertion. 

One  thing  is  certain,  that  the  places 
at  present  used  for  the  leisure  hours  of 
the  poor  are  a  disgrace  to  the  country ; 
and  it  is  the  duty  of  teetotallers  and 
moderate  drinkers  alike  to  see  that 
proper  places  shall  be  provided,  where 
the  poor  may  be  able  to  resort  after 
their  work  without  being  made  the 
prey  of  private  gain.  Whether  beer 
shall  be  allowed  there  or  not  is  a  mat- 
ter of  secondary  importance,  except  in 
so  far  as  the  question  arises  whether 
without  it  the  poor  will  come  at  all. 

E.  E.  MACNAGHTEN. 


No.  311. — VOL.  LII. 


A    A 


354 


THE   BATHS   OF   CASCIANA   IN   JULY. 


ALL  the  forestieri  (strangers)  have 
flown  north,  for  ray  countrymen  have 
a  knack  of  leaving  Italy  just  before 
she  is  clothed  in  her  full  beauty. 
June,  when  it  does  not  rain,  is  a 
lovely  month ;  the  hay  has  been  got 
in,  and  the  fields  are  all  bright  with 
fresh,  green  grass  ;  the  corn  is  turning 
golden  yellow,  and  waiting  for  the 
24th  of  June,  before  which  day  no 
well-thinking  Tuscan — who  all  wor- 
ship St.  John,  the  protecting  saint  of 
Florence,  most  devoutly,  chiefly,  I 
believe,  on  account  of  the  fireworks 
and  fun  which  celebrate  his  day  in  the 
City  of  Flowers — ever  thinks  of  reap- 
ing. Many  a  baroccio,  piled  high  with 
openwork  baskets  and  boxes  full  of 
yellow  and  rose-coloured  cocoons,  is 
met,  going  from  the  various  fattorie 
or  farms  to  the  silk  mills  at  Pecsia. 
The  fireflies  glint  and  glance  all 
over  the  country,  causing  the  moon 
to  look  pale,  and  in  the  daytime 
the  cicale  buzz  and  drum  from  every 
tree. 

On  the  1st  of  July  we  left  Florence 
for  Pontedera — a  clean,  prosperous 
little  town  on  the  Pisan  line  of  rail- 
way— where  we  found  a  wonderful 
ramshackle  carriage  awaiting  us.  The 
procaccia,  or  carrier,  of  the  Bagni  di 
Casciana,  imagined  that  English  people 
could  not  stand  the  sun,  and  so  had 
brought  a  kind  of  enormous  square 
box  on  wheels,  which  went  at  a 
capital  pace  along  the  excellent  road, 
as  smooth  as  a  bowling  green,  in  the 
valley  of  the  little  river  Era. 

At  the  village  of  Ponsacco  one  leaves 
the  high  road  and  strikes  up  towards 
the  hills.  In  old  times  Ponsacco  was 
a  fortified  town,  and  in  1363  was  taken, 
during  the  wars  between  Pisa  and 
Florence,  by  the  Florentines,  after  a 
desperate  resistance.  It  reverted,  how- 
ever, to  its  old  ruler,  and  in  1406  stood 


another  siege,  and  capitulated,  with 
military  honours,  to  Florence,  which 
governed  it  mildly  and  increased  its 
prosperity.  But,  according  to  the  old 
proverb,  "  Fiorentini  ciechi,  Pisan  tradi- 
tori,  Senesi  matti,  Lucchesi  signori"  (the 
Florentines  are  blind,  the  Pisans  traitor- 
ous, the  Sienese  mad,  and  the  Lucchese 
fine  gentlemen),  the  Pisans  sent  a 
certain  Ser  Niccolo  Piccinino  to  raise 
the  population  against  their  new  mas- 
ters, who  were  nearly  all  murdered. 
Florence,  furious  at  this  insult,  marched 
with  a  large  force  against  Ponsacco 
and  again  took  it,  after  a  tremendous 
fight.  The  Council  of  Pisa,  many  of 
whose  members  had  possessions  in  the 
valley  of  the  Era,  called  the  Venetians 
to  their  aid  and  re-conquered  the  place. 
They,  however,  took  the  precaution  of 
dismantling  the  fortress  and  throwing 
down  the  walls,  and  were  left  in  quiet 
possession  until  the  times  of  the  Medici, 
when  Ferdinando  gave  Ponsacco,  with 
the  fine  Medicean  villa  of  Camugliano, 
to  the  Marquis  Filippo  Niccolini,  one 
of  his  devoted  courtiers. 

The  fields  are  cultivated  like  a 
market  garden,  and  the  crops  of  corn, 
maize,  hemp,  flax,  and  vines  were  most 
luxuriant.  The  canes  grew  from  eight 
to  ten  feet  high,  stout  and  vigorous, 
while  the  mulberry  trees  are  all  pol- 
larded at  four  feet  from  the  ground, 
and  in  many  places  formed  hedges. 
We  gradually  rose  to  500  feet  above 
the  sea,  which  is  about  twenty  miles 
away,  and  one  feels  the  influence  of 
the  sea-breeze  in  the  delicious,  cool, 
invigorating  air.  The  banks  and  hedges 
were  ablaze  with  wild  roses,  honey- 
suckle, a  brilliant  chrome-yellow  chry- 
santhemum, large  white  convolvolus, 
and  a  mallow  with  mauve-pink  flowers 
of  most  graceful  growth. 

A  nine  miles'  drive  through  this 
laughing  landscape  brought  us  to  the 


The  Baths  of  Casciana  in  July. 


355 


Baths  of  Casciana,  known  to  the 
Romans  as  a  health-restoring  place. 

Bagno  di  Casciana  is  a  small  village 
with  a  piazza,  where  stands  the  Casino 
and  a  church,  Sta.  Maria  de  Aquis, 
which  existed  as  a  priory  in  823 ;  it 
has  been,  however,  so  often  repaired 
that  little  of  the  ancient  structure  is 
left.  In  old  times  the  place  was  called 
Castrum  de  Aquis,  or  ad  Aquas,  and 
afterwards  Bagni  d'Acqui,  till  some 
forty  years  ago  its  name  was  changed 
by  an  edict  of  the  municipal  council 
of  Lari  to  Bagni  di  Casciana,  thus 
coupling  it  with  the  little  town  of 
Casciana  which  is  on  the  hill  about 
two  miles  away,  and  whose  inhabitants 
most  cordially  dislike  the  people  of  the 
Bagni,  who  return  their  hatred  with 
interest. 

Bagno  d'Acqui  (or  di  Casciana)  is 
mentioned  in  various  ancient  docu- 
ments, chiefly  belonging  to  Volterra 
and  to  the  Abbey  of  Morrona,  which 
was  founded  in  1089  by  Ugoccione, 
son  of  Count  Gugliemo  Bulgaro  and 
of  the  Countess  Cilia,  and  given  to 
the  order  of  the  Camaldoli,  together 
with  all  the  land,  streams,  and  aque- 
ducts lying  between  the  Sora  and  the 
Caldana.  Twenty  years  after  this  the 
sons  of  Ugoccione  increased  the  dona- 
tion, and  made  over  to  the  monks  half 
of  the  land  in  the  district  of  the  Corte 
Aquisana,  and  "  "Vivaja  cum  acquis 
and  acqueductibus,  etc. ; "  so  that  the 
baths  came  into  the  possession  of  the 
Church  in  1109.  The  convent  of  the 
Badia  held  this  large  extent  of  country 
until  1135,  when  the  Abbot  Gherardo 
sold  to  Uberto,  Archbishop  of  Pisa, 
part  of  the  hill,  and  the  castle  and 
district  of  Acqui  called  Yivaja.  In 
1148  Pope  Eugenius  III.  confirmed 
Guidone,  Abbot  of  Morrona,  in  all  his 
privileges,  and  in  the  possession  of 
what  remained  of  the  district  of  the 
Corte  Aquisana,  of  the  baths  and 
acqueducts  as  far  as  the  Cascina 
(Balneum  et  aquseductus  usque  in 
Casinam).  In  1152  the  Abbot  Jacopo 
of  Morrona  sold  the  possessions  of 
Montevaso  and  Montanino  to  the 
Archbishop  of  Pisa,  to  raise  funds  for 


building  the  monastery  of  Morrona, 
which  still  exists,  and  in  1316  the 
Abbot  Silvester  d'Anghiari  added  the 
cloisters.  The  abbey  church  is  of  far 
more  ancient  date,  and  possesses  a 
quaint  picture,  said  to  be  anterior  to 
Cimabue. 

In  1482  the  monastery  was  sup- 
pressed in  spite  of  the  opposition  of 
the  Camaldolese  order,  and  all  their 
possessions  were  bestowed  on  the 
bishops  of  Volterra,  who  had  long 
hankered  after  them  ;  they  turned  the 
monastery  into  a  dwelling  house  and 
the  church  into  a  private  oratory. 

Popular  tradition  assigns  the  foun- 
dation of  the  baths  to  the  famous 
Countess  Mathilde,  who,  the  country 
people  say,  was  guided  to  the  place  by 
her  pet  hawk,  who  had  lost  his  feathers, 
and  regained  them  after  dipping  in 
the  waters.  In  1311  the  Republic  of 
Pisa  ordered  the  baths  to  be  re-built, 
and,  with  some  modifications,  they  ex- 
isted till  seventeen  years  ago,  when  the 
present  Casino  and  baths  were  erected. 
Formerly  the  men  bathed  in  the  basin 
of  the  warm  spring  itself,  and  from 
thence  the  water  overflowed  to  the 
women's  bath,  losing  a  considerable 
portion  of  heat  in  the  transit.  The 
lepers'  bath  was  further  off,  and  last 
came  a  place  for  horses.  The  women 
rebelled  against  using  the  water  after 
the  men,  and  petitioned  to  be  allowed 
to  bathe  all  together,  if  a  dress  per 
tutelare  la  decenza  (for  the  tutelage  of 
decency)  was  worn.  This  was  refused, 
but  the  basin  where  the  mineral  water 
comes  bubbling  up  out  of  the  earth, 
was  divided  in  half  by  boards,  and 
thus  the  women  were  placed  on  an 
equality  with  the  men. 

Now  there  are  good  baths  of  white 
marble,  with  an  incessant  stream  of 
water  direct  from  the  spring  always 
flowing,  a  doctor  is  in  attendance,  and 
the  whole  thing  is  comfortable  and 
well  arranged. 

In  the  Archives  of  Florence  there 
is  a  very  amusing  document,  dated  7th 
September,  1575,  and  emanating  from — 

"  Li  Magnifici  Signori  Nove  Conser- 
vatori  della  Jurisditione  et  Dominio 
A  A  2 


356 


The  Baths  of  Casciana  in  July. 


Florentine,"  who  were  very  irate  at 
the  disorder  and  inconvenience  which 
arose  because  the  inhabitants  of  Bagno 
ad  Acqua  did  not  observe  the  statutes 
drawn  up,  and  had  no  care  of  the 
baths  nor  prevented  the  insolence 
practised  by  evil-minded  persons,  who 
went  to  the  said  baths  more  to  air 
their  caprices  than  for  any  need  of 
curing  aches  and  pains.  The  said 
magistrates,  seeing  that  the  Divine 
Majesty  and  nature  had  bestowed  such 
a  treasure  on  their  dominion  as  these 
most  salubrious  baths,  desire  that  all 
men  should  aid  in  maintaining  them 
unsullied  from  every  kind  of  evil 
custom  and  insolence  practised  by  the 
aforesaid  people,  who  only  sought 
amusement,  &c. 

The  ancient  tower,  part  of  which  is 
still  inhabited  by  poor  people,  at 
Petraja,  as  the  upper  portion  of  Bagno 
di  Casciana  is  called,  was  doubtless 
part  of  the  Castello  di  Acqui,  chief 
centre  of  the  district  Corte  Aquisana, 
which  existed  in  1090,  before  which 
date  no  records  exist,  they  having 
perished  in  a  fire,  following  a  pestil- 
ence which  occurred  about  that  time. 

One  skirts  round  the  cluster  of 
small  cottages  surrounding  the  old 
tower,  on  the  winding  road  from 
Bagno  di  Casciana  up  to  the  ruin  of 
the  castle  of  Parlascio  on  the  summit 
of  the  hill.  It  is  a  good  climb,  but 
the  road  is,  as  usual,  excellent.  Leav- 
ing Yivaja  on  the  right,  a  quaint 
little  hillock,  on  which  stood  a  church 
which  was  utterly  destroyed  by  the 
earthquake  of  1846,  one  passes  under 
some  fine  chestnut  and  cherry  trees. 
The  undergrowth  is  fern  and  heather, 
and  the  yellow  tiger  lilies  glowed  in 
the  broken  sun-light. 

Parlascio  is  a  huge  bluff ,  of  rock, 
rising  sheer  out  of  the  hill.  On  a 
plateau  near  the  summit  is  a  little 
church  and  three  or  four  cottages.  A 
marble  head  with  a  Gothic  inscription 
is  let  into  the  wall  on  the  right  hand 
of  the  church  door,  and  on  the  other 
a  long  Gothic  inscription  surrounds  a 
small  bas-relief  of  a  bishop.  As  a 
handsome  contadina  told  me  : — 


"  Ah !  poverini,  sono  morti  tanti 
anni  fa  ;  erano  sacerdoti." 

(  "  Ah  !  poor  things,  they  died  many 
years  ago ;  they  were  priests.") 

The  view  from  the  platform  of  rock 
on  which  the  little  church  stands  is 
magnificent.  To  the  left  Monte  Moro, 
behind  which  lies  Leghorn,  stands  out 
black  against  the  sky;  and  the  sea, 
with  here  and  there  a  white  sail  glint- 
ing in  the  sun,  stretches  far  away. 
Pisa,  with  the  Carrara  mountains 
behind,  lies  in  the  soft  green  plain, 
and  in  front  is  a  curious,  broken  land- 
scape, rounded,  waterwashed  hillocks, 
each  crowned  by  a  grey  townlet  with 
its  tall  campanile  ;  the  haze  caused  by 
the  heat  made  the  whole  land  look 
like  a  large  opal.  The  nearest  grey 
town  is  Morrona,  standing  on  the  peak 
of  a  hill,  near  which,  further  along  the 
ridge,  lies  the  Abbey,  now  the  villa  of 
a  rich  Livornese.  To  the  far  right 
Volterra  rears  her  weather-beaten 
towers  to  the  sky,  perched  on  the 
extreme  edge  of  a  high  hill  like  an 
eagle's  nest. 

Behind  the  church  a  steep  little 
path  leads  up  to  the  summit  of  the 
ancient  castle  of  Parlascio,  whose 
ruins  are  now  covered  by  a  vineyard. 
All  memory  of  its  history  has  vanished 
from  among  the  peasantry,  and  I 
could  find  no  mention  of  it  prior  to 
the  thirteenth  century  in  the  archives 
of  the  Abbey  of  Morrona.  Over  the 
door  of  the  church  is  an  inscription, 
saying  that  it  was  consecrated  on  the 
26th  May,  1444  (Pisan  style),  and 
built  by  the  Counts  of  Upezzinghi  of 
Pisa,  lords  of  the  castle. 

We  skirted  the  top  of  a  long  ridge 
of  hills  and  drove  through,  or  rather 
round,  Casciana  to  Lari,  the  seat  of  the 
pretor,  or  magistrate,  and  of  the  muni- 
cipal council,  and  chief  place  of  the 
commune.  Lari  is  a  nice  little  town, 
perched  on  the  top  of  a  hill ;  and  out 
of  the  centre  of  the  market  place  rises 
a  quadrangular  castle,  built  of  red 
brick.  The  massive  walls,  rising  at 
an  acute  angle,  stand  frowning  some  hun- 
dred feet  above  one,  perfectly  smooth 
— no  bastion,  no  tower  breaks,  the  line. 


Ths  Baths  of  Casciana  in  July. 


357 


In  1067  Lari  is  mentioned  in  a 
judicial  sentence  given  at  Pisa  as  a 
Corte  and  castle  of  Gottfredo,  Mar- 
chese  di  Toscana.  It  must  then  have 
become  Pisan,  as  the  people  of  Lari 
took  part  in  the  rising  against  the  Re- 
public of  Pisa  in  1164,  who  sent  a 
small  army  to  enforce  obedience.  In 
1230  the  Upezzinghi  retired  there 
from  their  possession  of  Mazzagamboli, 
and  it  is  believed  that  they  built  the 
first  castle  on  the  summit  of  the  hill, 
afterwards  considerably  enlarged  and 
strengthened.  It  appears  that  they 
made  over  to  the  Archbishop  of  Pisa 
all  their  rights  over  Lari,  for  in  1375 
the  inhabitants  deliberated  that  it  was 
most  inconvenient  to  hire  a  house 
every  six  months  for  the  Captain  of  the 
Colle  Pisane,  or  Pisan  Hills,  who  came 
to  distribute  justice,  so  they  deter- 
mined to  buy  a  residence  for  that 
purpose. 

Lari  and  its  dependencies  came  into 
the  possession  of  the  Republic  of 
Florence  in  1406,  at  the  same  time  as 
Pisa  ;  but  for  a  long  period  the  Grand 
Dukes  of  Tuscany  paid  a  small  annual 
tribute  to  the  Pisan  Archbishop.  The 
governors  of  Lari  after  that  time  were 
called  Vicario,  and  the  first  Floren- 
tine who  held  the  office  was  Angelo  di 
Giovanni  da  Uzzano. 

On  the  south  side  of  the  castle  a 
flight  of  ninety-five  steps  leads  up  to 
the  gateway  of  the  courtyard  ;  half- 
way is  a  large  cistern,  hollowed  out  of 
the  rock,  decorated  with  the  Pitti  and 
Delia  Scala  arms,  made  in  1448  for  the 
public  benefit.  The  courtyard  is  very 
picturesque,  an  old  well  is  at  one  end, 
and  the  walls  of  the  houses  are  covered 
with  escutcheons  and  coats-of-arms  of 
the  various  Vicarii.  Several  famous  Flo- 
rentine names  are  there,  their  arms  done 
in  Delia  Robbia  ware  and  surrounded 
by  the  well-known  wreaths  of  fruit 
and  flowers.  Rinuccini,  Peruzzi,  Cap- 
poni  and  Delia  Stufa  recalled  the  su- 
premacy of  the  old  Republic ;  and 
above  all  were  the  balls  of  the  Medici, 
ever-present  on  anything  grand  or  in- 
teresting in  Tuscany. 

It  is  recorded   that,   in   1414,   the 


Vicario  Niccolo  di  Roberto  Davanzati 
ancestor  of  Bernardi,  whose  transla 
tion  of  Tacitus  is  celebrated,  reformed 
the  communal  statutes.  In  1523 
Jacopo  di  Bongiann  Gianfigliazzi  was 
the  Vicario,  and  at  a  later  date  the 
following  maccaronic  lines  were  in- 
scribed under  his  escutcheon  : — 

"  Ero  casa  caduca,  abbietta  e  vile, 
Minacciavo  rovina  ad  ogni  vento, 
In  me  non  era  loggia  ne  cortile, 
Ma  ogni  cosa  piena  di  spavento. 
Or  surge  come  casa  signorile, 
Non  fu  dal  ciel  favor  mai  tardo  o  lento, 
Per  grazia  d'esso  nobil  Gianfigliazzo, 
Di  viltugurio  di  vento  palazzo." 

("I  was  a  fallen  house,  abject  and  vile, 
Threatening  ruin  with  every  wind  ; 
I  possessed  no  colonade,  nor  courtyard, 
And  everything  was  full  of  horror. 
Now  I  rise  like  a  noble  house, 
Ne'er  did  the  favour  of  Heaven  come  too 

late. 

By  your  grace,  noble  Gianfigliazzo, 
From  a  vile  hole  I  became  a  palace. ") 

The  writer  of  this  must  have  over- 
looked the  distich  under  the  Delia 
Robbia  arms  of  Bartolomeo  Capponi, 
who  was  Vicario  in  1525  : — 

"  Temporis  et  muri  ssevas  subitura  ruinas 

Transtulit  intutum  signa  benignus  amor. 
Qui  struxit  fastu  longe,  remotis  ab  omni 
Nomine  Capponius  Bartholomeus  erat." 

("With  great  love  he  rendered  safe  these 
walls,  which  threatened  instant  ruin.  Bar- 
tholomew Capponi,  for  such  was  his  name, 
was  the  man  who  had  this  thought,  without 
seeking  for  fame.") 

In  1524  Alessandri  di  Pietro  di 
Mariotto  was  Vicario,  and  his  arms 
are  repeated  on  a  most  lovely  altar- 
piece  by  Luca  Delia  Robbia  in  the 
little  chapel.  It  represents  the  Virgin 
and  Child  and  an  angel,  and  is  sur- 
rounded by  a  splendid  garland  of 
flowers  and  fruit.  The  garrulous  old 
custode  showed  us  the  prisons — very 
ghastly  places — and  then,  opening  a 
postern  door,  took  us  to  an  outside 
walk  all  around  the  top  of  the  castle 
walls.  We  then  saw  that  the  houses 
in  the  courtyard  were  mere  shells,  only 
containing  one  room  in  depth,  and  we 
looked  down  the  dizzy  height  into  the 
tortuous  streets  below,  and  beyond 


The  Baths  of  Casciana  in  July. 


over  the  sunny  plain  at  Pisa,  whose 
leaning  tower  could  be  distinctly  seen. 

Sun-dials  are  frequent  on  the  farm- 
houses, and  some  had  most  poetical 
conceits  written  around  or  over  them. 
Profoundly  sad  is  : — 

"  Segno  le  ore  si,  ma  non  piu  quelle  " 
("I  mark  the  hours,  'tis  true,  but  no 
longer  those  gone  by  "). 

"  Per  i  felice  ed  i  tristi,  segno  ugual- 
mente  le  ore  "  ("  For  the  happy  and  the 
sad,  I  equally  mark  the  hours  "),  is  also 
pretty,  but  less  original  and  terse. 

Next  day  we  drove  through  Soianella 
and  Soiana  up  to  Morrona,  a  grey,  old- 
world,  weather-beaten  place,  with  no 
traces  of  itsancient  splendour  left.TJnder 
the  walls  of  Soiana  Pier  Capponi  fell — 
the  contemporary  and  friend  of  Savona- 
rola, and  one  of  the  most  strenuous 
defenders  of  Florentine  liberties  against 
the  Medici.  He  is  famous  for  his  an- 
swer to  Charles  VIII.  of  France,  who 
tried  to  conquer  Florence,  and  to  obtain 
from  her  large  sums  of  money  when  on 
his  road  to  Naples  in  1493.  To  the 
threats  of  the  King,  Pier  Capponi 
proudly  replied  : — 

"  Voi  suonerete  le  vostre  trombe, 
noi  suoneremo  le  nostre  campane." 
("You  may  sound  your  trumpets,  we  will 
sound  our  bells.") 

The  fortifications  have  long  since 
vanished,  but  these  small  villages  are 
picturesque  enough,  the  stairs  being 
outside  the  houses,  and  various  small 
loggie  and  balconies  making  deep 
patches  of  shade,  where  the  inhabi- 
tants sit  at  their  work.  The  views 
were  magnificent,  particularly  from  the 
high  platform  on  which  stands  the 
small  church  of  Morrona,  rising  some 
500  feet  above  the  plain,  built  where 
in  ancient  times  stood  the  castle. 

Geologically,  the  whole  country  is 
extremely  interesting  ;  here  and  there 
blue  grey  cliffs  rise  perpendicularly, 
apropos  to  nothing  at  all,  100  or  more 
feet  out  of  the  red  earth,  and  the  roads 
are  in  some  places  formed  of  the  re- 
mains of  huge  oyster  shells  and  queer 
fossils.  The  contadini  are  pleasant  and 
civil  in  manner,  delighted  to  tell  one 
the  names  of  the  various  villages  and 


towns,  and  evidently  unused  to  visi- 
tors. Our  advent  at  Morrona  caused 
quite  a  commotion,  and,  as  we  stood 
near  the  church,  admiring  the  pano- 
ramic view,  I  had  a  circle  of  small 
children  sitting  on  their  heels,  staring 
open-mouthed,  while  their  mothers 
smiled  and  hoped  I  did  not  mind  such 
bad  manners.  "E  un  gran  diverti- 
mento per  loro "  ("It  is  a  great 
amusement  for  them). 

Some  of  the  girls  are  strikingly 
beautiful — very  dark,  with  jet-black 
hair,  fine  eyes,  and  delicate  features. 
The  men,  too,  are  good  looking,  and 
have  small  and  curiously  round  heads. 
They  have  a  frank,  nice  way  about 
them,  and,  though  terribly  poor,  will 
show  the  very  little  there  is  to  see  in 
their  villages  with  a  graceful  kind- 
liness of  manner  quite  deprecating  the 
idea  of  being  paid  for  their  trouble. 

From  Morrona  we  went  on  to 
Terricciola,  a  clean  townlet  with 
houses  which  had  once  seen  better 
days.  The  church,  a  fine  red-brick 
building,  has  been  spoiled,  and  they 
were  adding  a  chapel  on  to  one  side 
and  destroying  the  little  that  was  left 
of  the  old  building.  The  piazza  and 
the  church  occupy  the  site  of  the 
ancient  castle,  which  was  taken  and 
re-taken  several  times  during  the  wars 
between  Florence  and  Pisa.  Over 
the  door  of  the  sacristan's  cottage 
was  built  into  the  wall  the  front  of 
rather  a  fine  Etruscan  Cinerary  urn, 
with  a  reclining  female  figure  above, 
and  "  un  Pagano  con  animali "  ("a 
Pagan  with  animals  "),  as  the  old  man 
carefully  explained  it  to  be,  under- 
neath, which  had  been  dug  up  there 
long  ago. 

From  Terricciola  we  descended  a 
winding  road  into  the  valley  of  the 
Cascina,  and  skirted  the  base  of  the 
bare,  water-washed  hill  on  which 
stands  the  monastery  of  Morrona,  an 
enormous  square  edifice  built  around 
a  courtyard,  with  some  fine  trees  near 
it.  The  olives  grow  to  a  large  size  all 
over  this  part  of  Tuscany,  the  tufa 
soil  suiting  them  well.  There  is  a 
tradition  that  an  underground  pas- 


The  Baths  of  Casciana  in  July. 


359 


sage  connects  the  monastery  with  the 
Villa  of  San  Marco,  the  residence  of 
the  bishop  of  the  diocese.  All  the 
country  around  is  tunnelled  with  caves, 
and  at  Terricciola  the  farmers  still 
keep  their  grain  in  the  old  buche  di 
grano,  or  corn  cisterns,  hollowed  out 
of  the  rock.  The  stone-cutters,  whose 
name  is  legion,  have  a  way  of  breaking 
the  stone  into  long  slabs,  used  as  sup- 
ports to  the  pergole  of  vines,  which  I 
never  saw  before.  They  cut  a  slight 
channel  in  the  stone  and  insert  flakes 
of  iron ;  between  these  are  placed 
wedges,  and  then  the  man  gives  little 
taps  with  a  hammer,  very  much  as 
though  he  were  playing  on  a  gigantic 
giglira,  to  the  long  row  of  wedges. 
On  a  sudden  the  stone  gives  a  hollow 
sigh  and  starts  asunder.  Petrified 
shells  and  plants  are  of  frequent  occur- 
rence in  the  rock,  and  some  are  very 
fine. 

Reaping  is  also  different  here  from 
other  parts  of  Tuscany.  The  contadini 
cut  off  the  ears  of  corn  with  a  sickle 
in  small  handfuls,  leaving  two  or  three 
feet  of  straw  standing,  which  is  after- 
wards mown  with  scythes.  An  old 
peasant,  seeing  me  watch  his  opera- 
tions, ceased  work  for  a  moment, 
and,  with  a  twinkle  in  his  eye,  quoted, 
like  a  true  Tuscan  who  knows  and 
loves  his  old  proverbs  — 

La  sa,  Signora,  "  Quando  il  grano  e  ne'  campi, 
13  di  Dio  e  de'  Santi." 

("You  know,  ma'am,  when  the  coi'n  is  in 
the  field,  it  belongs  to  God  and  the  saints. ") 

The  contadini  work  hard ;  in  the 
fields  at  daylight — they  often  do  not 
return  home  till  nine  in  the  evening ; 
and  we  met  women  and  young  girls 
staggering  under  huge  loads  of  green 
grass,  cut  on  the  hills  and  carried 
down  on  their  heads,  after  the  day's 
work,  to  sell  for  a  few  centimes  in  the 
village.  This  habit  of  carrying  jars 
of  water,  baskets  of  fruit,  and  bundles 
of  fodder  on  the  head,  gives  the  con- 
tadine  an  easy,  graceful  walk,  recall- 
ing the  peculiar  swing  of  the  Arab 
women.  The  men  just  now  look  very 


spruce  and  neat,  as  a  new  straw  hat 
and,  if  possible,  a  new  shirt,  is  "  the 
thing "  before  reaping.  The  women 
never  wear  hats  :  they  tie  a  handker- 
chief under  the  chin,  and  pull  it  over 
their  eyes  like  a  hood,  folding  another 
several  times  thick  on  the  top  of  their 
heads,  to  keep  off  the  sun. 

To  the  east  of  Bagno  di  Casciana, 
on  the  Colle  Montanine,  rises  a  steep 
hill,  called  the  "Rocca  della  Contessa 
Mathilde,"  and  of  course  said  to  have 
been  one  of  her  castles.     It  is  rather 
fatiguing  to  get  at,  as,  after  a   two 
miles'  drive  up  hill,  one  has  to  walk 
another  mile  and  a  half  up  a  rough 
road  to  the  foot  of  the  "  Rocca,"  which 
rises  like  half  a  huge  apple  out  of  the 
very   top   of   the   line  of   hills.     The 
view    from  the   summit  was  magnifi- 
cent ;    for  forty  miles  and   more  one 
sees  the  country  on   every  side,  and 
while   we    were    standing    entranced 
with    the    landscape,    an    inky- black 
cloud  suddenly  swept  up  from  no  one 
knew  where,  and  blotted  Yolterra  en- 
tirely out  of  sight,  while  the  thunder 
growled  ominously,  and  the  wind  rose. 
It  was  a  most  impressive  sight,  par- 
ticularly  when    suddenly    the    clouds 
rolled   asunder   and  a  flash   of   light- 
ning shot  as  straight  as  a  plummer's 
line  down  to  the  earth.     We  expected 
a  drenching,  but  the  storm  disappeared 
as  quickly  as  it  had  risen,  and  after 
inspecting  the  remains  of  two  small 
round  towers,  a  wall  about  three  feet 
high   with   traces   of   a   curtain   wall 
beyond,  and  settling  in  our  own  minds 
that  the  great  countess  certainly  never 
lived   in    such    an    eagle's    nest,    \ve 
wended   our   way   down   hill    to    the 
carriage.     One  does  not  see  a  human 
creature  all  the  way ;  the  only  sign  of 
civilisation  was  a  pile  of   sacks  filled 
with  oak  bark,  awaiting  the  donkeys 
who   alone   could   face    such   a    path. 
The  butterflies  are  numerous  and  very 
beautiful.     There  was  a  large  orange 
fellow    flitting    about     whose     wings 
faded  off  to  lenion  yellow  j    another, 
very  big,  was  the  colour  of  a  magpie's 
wing,  blue-black  shot  with  green;  and 
one  was  very  odd,  as  it  seemed  to  fly 


360 


The  Baths  of  Casciana  in  July. 


the  wrong  way,  having  two  tails  to 
the  hind  wings  which  looked  like 
antennae.  I  am  afraid  my  description 
is  most  unscientific ;  all  I  noticed  was 
the  great  variety  of  butterflies  and 
moths,  and  their  colours,  so  gorgeous 
in  the  brilliant  sunlight. 

Bagni  di  Casciana  can  be  reached 
also  from  Fauglia,  on  the  Maremma 
line,  about  the  same  distance  as 
Pontedera,  but  a  more  hilly  drive. 
Fauglia  is  a  bright,  clean  place,  with 
fine  villas  and  country-houses  in  and 
near  it.  A  picturesque  old  church  on 
the  outskirts  of  the  town,  stands  on 
the  very  end  of  a  small  hill ;  its  elegant 
campanile,  rather  Lombard  in  style, 
is  fast  going  to  ruin,  having  been 
struck  by  lightning  and  shaken  by  the 
earthquake  of  1846.  From  Fauglia 
one  descends  through  a  gorge  clothed 
with  stunted  oak,  chestnut,  and  nut 
copse  ;  fern,  tall  Mediterranean  heath- 
er, gum  cistus  and  anisette  forming 
the  undergrowth,  with  the  familiar 
yellow  broom  and  gorse,  into  the  valley 
of  the  Tara,  a  small,  brawling  stream, 
crossed  by  a  good  bridge.  From  there 
begins  a  three-mile  hill,  up  a  capital 
road,  across  a  queer,  bare  country,  with 
great  fissures  and  rents  in  it,  as 
though  it  had  been  torn  with  a  large 
rake.  Much  land  has  been  reclaimed 
and  put  under  vine-cultivation.  The 
waste  land  is  overgrown  with  lentisk 
and  wild  myrtle,  which  scented  the 
warm  air  and  glittered  in  the  bright 
sun.  Larks  innumerable  arose  as  we 
drove  along,  hovering  like  large  moths 
high  in  the  air,  and  singing  aloud. 
To  the  right,  lying  on  the  slope  of  the 
hill,  is  the  old  castle  of  Gello  Matta- 
cino,  lately  restored  and  inhabited. 
There  are  records  of  a  church  there  in 
the  archives  of  Lucca  as  early  as  764, 
and  the  castle  used  to  be  called  Gello 
delle  Colline,  or,  "  of  the  hills,"  until 
a  Florentine,  Alessandro  di  Matteocini, 
bought  it,  and  gradually  his  name  was 
given  to  the  castle  and  lands.  A  short 
dip  brings  us  near  to  Casciana,  and 


then  another  hill,  into  the  Parlascio 
road,  whence  we  bowled  merrily  down 
to  the  Baths. 

Horses  and  carriages  are  good  and 
wonderfully  cheap.  We  had  a  capital 
mare,  an  open  pony  chaise  which 
would  have  held  four,  and  paid  at  the 
rate  of  fivepence  a  mile ;  the  houses 
are  fairly  comfortable,  and  the  chief 
administrator  of  the  baths,  Dr. 
Bimediotti,  is  most  courteous  and  kind. 
We  found  the  mineral  baths  quite 
as  efficacious  as  Aix-les-Bains,  and 
witnessed  some  really  marvellous  cures 
of  rheumatism,  gout,  and  paralysis. 
For  the  information  of  any  medical 
reader  I  give  an  analysis  of  the  waters, 
done  by  a  competent  chemist : — 


IN  300   LITRES. 

Cubic 
centimetres. 

Nitrogen 444,010 

Carbonic  acid 967,770 

SALINE  MATTERS,  &c. 

Grammes. 

Sulphate  of  lime 523-17 

Carbonate  of  lime    .    .    .  100 '35 

Carbonate  of  magnesia    .  6 '96 

Carbonate  of  iron ....  1  '02 

Sulphate  of  magnesium  .  90 '48 

Sulphate  of  sodium     .    .  127 '80 

Chloride  of  sodium     .    .  7 '80 

Chloride  of  magnesia  .    .  5 '40 

Ammonium 0'45 

Silica 11-55 

Alumina 2*46 

Organic  matter 0-63 

Eesidium  of  complex  com- 
position    878 '07 

Litres. 

Pure  water 299 '12 

Density 1, 003-02 

Traces  of  lithia. 

The  water  is  quite  limpid,  and  has  a 
peculiarly  soft  feeling;  the  skin  feels 
almost  slimy  after  remaining  some 
time  in  the  bath,  and  is  stained  slightly 
red,  owing,  I  suppose,  to  the  iron. 

The  maximum  temperature  of  the 
water  is  35°'20  (Centigrade) ;  the 
minimum  33°'90. 

JANET  Boss. 


361 


LOCAL  UNIVERSITY  COLLEGES. 


THOSE  whose  interest  in  education  is 
keen  have  watched  with  no  little 
anxiety  the  efforts  made  to  provide 
London  with  a  university  which  shall 
be  a  teaching  corporation  as  well  as  an 
organisation  of  examiners.  The  move- 
ment is  being  made  none  too  soon. 
The  reproach  that  London  University 
can  do  nothing  but  examine  is  only 
true  enough  to  set  one  thinking ;  we 
must  not  be  allowed  to  under-esti- 
mate  the  immense  part  played  by 
systems  of  examination  in  directing 
study  and  teaching  into  this  channel  or 
that. 

There  is  one  result  of  incalculable 
value  likely  to  come  out  of  the  esta- 
blishment of  a  London  teaching  uni- 
versity ;  the  university  as  at  present 
constituted  is  in  sore  need  of  being 
saved  from  itself.  Teachers  engaged 
in  arming  students  with  weapons  to 
face  the  attacks  of  London  examiners 
know  only  too  well  how  difficult  it  is 
to  make  such  preparation  thorough 
enough  to  promise  any  result  worth 
welcoming  in  the  shape  of  general 
intellectual  strength  and  suppleness. 
A  university  that  both  teaches  and 
examines  soon  finds  this  fact  out ; 
and  the  older  universities  and  those 
younger  corporations  which  have 
formed  themselves  on  matured  models 
have  recognised  it  by  increasing  the 
number  of  subjects  a  candidate  may 
take,  whilst  reducing  the  number  he 
needs  must. 

But  some  such  change  in  the  methods 
of  the  London  organisation  will  be  wel- 
come not  only  to  schoolmasters,  who 
deal  with  a  very  plastic  material,  capa- 
ble of  receiving,  if  not  retaining  long, 
many  diverse  impressions.  The  boon 
would  also  immensely  lighten  the 
heavy  burden  that  weighs  down  and 
weakens  the  younger  provincial  col- 
leges and  embryo  universities  that  are 


struggling  up  the  educational  moun- 
tain. I  propose  in  the  following  notes 
to  call  attention  to  the  important  rela- 
tion borne  by  these  institutions  to  the 
intellectual  and  industrial  progress  of 
this  country,  and  to  the  peculiar  diffi- 
culties with  which  they  have  to 
contend. 

Two  main  tendencies  have  contri- 
buted to  their  foundation  and  de- 
velopment. First  of  all,  the  University 
of  London  offered  its  valuable  certifi- 
cate to  a  very  large  class  of  students 
who,  owing  to  unfulfillable  conditions 
of  residence  or  tests,  were  debarred 
from  the  degrees  conferred  by  the 
Universities  of  Oxford  and  Cam- 
bridge. Young  men  were  able  to 
take  the  first  grade  university  exami- 
nations— for  matriculation — after  a 
sufficiently  comprehensive  cramming 
at  the  various  high  schools  in  London 
and  in  the  large  provincial  towns ; 
their  passage  through  the  subsequent 
stages  they  had,  for  the  most  part,  to 
manage  for  themselves.  The  particu- 
lar defects  attributed  to  this  system 
everybody  knows.  No  doubt  the 
London  University  can  claim  as 
graduates  many  men  of  more  than 
ordinary  mark ;  but  post  hoc  is,  of 
course,  not  propter  hoc,  and  perhaps 
the  system  dear  to  London  has  only 
failed  to  spoil  them. 

But  besides  this  mass  of  unorganised 
and  unattached  intelligence,  which 
London  has  sealed  to  itself,  partly 
welcoming  as  existing,  partly  calling 
into  existence,  there  has  sprung  up  of 
late  years  another  body  of  students, 
who  in  their  turn  are  obeying  a  natu- 
ral impulse  in  seeking  some  systemisa- 
tion  and  organising  bond  ;  these  are 
the  nondescript  elements  of  intellectual 
life  for  which  provision  has  been  sought 
in  the  various  working  schemes  of  uni- 
versity extension.  University  exten- 


362 


Local  University  Colleges. 


sion  was  a  very  natural  and  much- 
needed  movement,  if  only  for  the 
purpose  of  supplying  England  with 
some — even  itinerant — institution  at 
all  comparable  with  the  university 
systems  of  most  other  advanced  Euro- 
pean nations.  When  the  German 
Empire  contains  twenty-four  univer- 
sities, Austria  nine,  and  Switzerland 
five,  surely  England  has  not  yet  her 
fair  share. 

The  classes  attending  instruction 
under  the  university  extension  scheme 
include,  besides  genuine  students  to 
whom  books  and  book-labour  are  them- 
selves subjects  of  real  interest,  many 
middle-class  dilettanti,  to  whom  the 
lectures  are  often  merely  a  means  of 
relaxation ;  often  young  women  of 
leisure,  who  are  past  school  age  and 
yet  are  loath  to  rust  in  unbookish 
domesticity  ;  sometimes  these  are  sup- 
ported by  the  presence  of  older  ladies, 
to  whom  a  lecture  often  supplies  a  form 
of  intellectual  amusement  from  which 
physical  infirmity  or  active  life  ordi- 
narily separates  them. 

Now,  in  any  generous  scheme  of 
middle-class  education,  none  of  these, 
for  various  reasons,  can  well  be  left 
out  of  account.  The  man  or  woman 
whose  bread  will  have  more  or  less 
butter,  according  to  success  in  some 
examination  for  a  certificate  ;  the  intel- 
ligent reader  who  would  fain  get  the 
guidance  of  some  person  more  expe- 
rienced than  himself ;  the  young  man 
or  woman  who  has  carried  out  of 
school  some  respect  for  great  books 
and  the  rarer  quality  of  intellectual 
activity ;  even  the  older  people  whose 
eyes  are  not  good,  or  who  crave  some 
literary  or  scientific  discourse  by  double 
way  of  reminder  and  rest — none  of 
these  may  be  forgotten.  And  in  these 
days  we  have  also  to  deal  with  a  more 
difficult  and  exacting  person  than  all 
these — the  working  man  with  his  hun- 
dred heads,  who  would  be  a  much  more 
tractable  creature  for  education  to 
tackle  if  only  he  knew  himself  what 
he  lacked. 

To  account  for  all  these  is  the  ter- 
ribly various  task  of  the  provincial 


university  college.  The  professor  here 
cannot,  like  his  brother  tutor  at 
Oxford  or  Cambridge,  confine  himself 
to  looking  over  text-books,  calling  at- 
tention to  valuable  notes,  correcting 
exercises  at  his  leisure,  and  sometimes 
not  passing  beyond  the  curriculum  pre- 
scribed by  his  own  university.  The 
provincial  professor  has  indeed  to  pre- 
pare many  of  his  men  and  women  for 
examinations,  but  he  probably  has  to 
keep  in  view  not  one  or  two,  but  a 
dozen  different  examinations.  London 
itself  will  provide  him  with  at  least 
three,  the  matriculation,  the  inter- 
mediate, and  the  final  B.A.  examina- 
tions ;  and  he  will  have  students 
reading  for  the  same  stage,  but  for 
different  dates  of  examination,  and 
therefore  taking  different  subjects,  or 
at  all  events,  reading  at  a  different 
pace.  In  this  way  he  may  have  to 
hold  two  different  matriculation  classes, 
two  classes  for  the  help  of  intermediate 
students,  and  an  indefinite  number  for 
those  taking  the  highest  stages. 

But  besides  the  London  contingent, 
he  will  probably  have  to  shape  his 
course  so  as  to  keep  in  sight  a  certain 
number  of  aspirants  who  are  present- 
ing themselves  for  this  or  that  local 
examination,  senior  or  junior ;  here  and 
there  a  candidate  for  a  Civil  Service 
appointment ;  and  not  unfrequently 
young  men  who  have  left  school,  and 
still  want  gentle  help  up  to  the  stan- 
dard of  matriculation  required  at  the 
colleges  of  Oxford  or  Cambridge. 

"Without  doubt,  too,  there  will  be  a 
certain  number  of  persons,  engaged  in 
teaching  during  the  day,  who  come  to 
classes  in  their  dinner-hour  at  mid- 
day, or  to  the  night  classes ;  for  it 
must  be  understood  that  one  of  the 
most  important  features  of  the  work 
of  these  colleges  is  the  holding  of 
classes  during  the  winter  evenings. 

In  many  respects  these  students  are 
the  most  satisfactory  and,  not  unfre- 
quently, the  most  intelligent  of  ali- 
as, to  be  sure,  we  should  expect  in 
the  case  of  people  engaged  in  teaching 
others.  As  a  rule,  they  belong  to 
public  elementary  schools,  and  apply 


Local   University  Colleges. 


363 


themselves  to  this  extra  work,  because 
the  School  Boards  supply  better  posts 
to  those  who  can  produce  the  highest 
certificates  of  proficiency  in  learning. 
Although  most  people  are  beginning 
to  be  satisfactorily  aware  of  the  truth 
that  a  man  may  carry  a  high  degree 
and  yet  be  an  inefficient  teacher, 
School  Boards  in  large  towns,  to 
whom  the  fact  is  of  vital  importance, 
are  among  the  last  to  recognise  it  and 
carry  its  lessons  into  practice.  A 
little  less  examining,  however,  a  little 
less  driving  to  secure  a  good  return  in 
marks  and  passes,  a  little  more  time 
allowed  to  the  unfortunate  teachers  to 
add  to  his  or  her  stock  of  knowledge, 
would  not  seriously  injure  schools 
under  their  charge,  if,  indeed,  it  would 
not  bring  them  to  the  fulfilment  of 
their  daily  tasks  with  more  healthy 
vigour  of  body  and  soul. 

Occasionally  an  over-worked  and 
over-inspected  elementary  teacher  is 
found  venturesome  enough  to  scale 
the  heights  of  learning  for  the  sake  of 
the  finer  air  he  hopes  to  breathe  there, 
rather  than  for  the  "decoration" 
which  is  the  load-star  of  most  climb- 
ers. This,  however,  is  to  be  the  spirit 
of  all  elementary  schoolmasters  in  the 
happy  future  awaiting  them,  under  the 
results  of  Mr.  Mundella's  efforts  for 
their  improvement.  The  right  honour- 
able gentleman  is  reported  to  have 
said  at  the  first  annual  meeting  of  the 
Teachers'  Guild  of  Great  Britain  and 
Ireland,  "  that  he  agreed  there  should 
be  an  opportunity  for  the  transition  of 
the  accomplished  teacher  to  a  higher 
position  than  the  elementary  schools, 
and  he  had  done  the  best  he  could  to 
open  out  a  career  for  the  elementary 
teacher.  .  .  .  the  elementary  teacher 
should  have  a  better  training  and 
larger  and  more  liberal  education  than 
he  had  received  up  to  the  present ;  he 
should  come  more  into  contact  with 
university  men,  and  he  should  obtain 
some  of  the  advantages  which  the  uni- 
versities of  this  country  and  of  Scot- 
land could  afford  for  the  services  of  the 
teacher."  In  the  meantime  it  would 
be  well  if  the  Committee  of  Council 


on  Education  could  see  its  way  to 
shortening  the  hours  exacted  un- 
necessarily from  elementary  teachers 
for  the  sake  of  getting  high  percent- 
ages of  classes,  and  if  it  could  allow 
and  encourage  them  to  use  without  loss 
to  their  own  pockets  the  educational 
appliances  ready  to  their  hands  in  the 
local  university  colleges. 

In  certain  centres,  it  is  found  that 
these  local  colleges  are  useful  additions 
to  the  teaching  capabilities  of  institu- 
tions specially  theological.  At  Firth 
College,  for  instance,  an  important  Con- 
gregationalist  college,  thirty  minutes 
distant  by  rail,  gets  its  classics,  mo- 
dern languages,  science,  and  mathe- 
matics ;  and  a  local  college  of  the  New 
Connection  Methodists  sends  its  stu- 
dents there  for  classics.  How  much 
this  means  can  really  be  understood 
only  by  those  whose  work  brings  them 
into  close  contact  with  men  who  are 
preparing  for  ministerial  appointments 
in  dissenting  bodies.  As  a  rule,  of 
course,  theological  colleges  belonging 
to  the  Church  of  England  are  mostly 
of  old  foundation,  and  in  possession  of 
endowed  wealth  that  enables  them  to 
provide  within  their  own  walls  for  the 
arts  training  of  their  men.  But  out- 
side these  latter  it  is  very  hard  to  find 
any  great  excellence  even  in  the  dead 
languages  among  students  of  theology. 
The  sceptre  is  certainly  in  the  hands 
of  the  Church.  It  is  hardly  necessary 
to  point  out — for  reasons  which  it  is 
not  the  purpose  of  this  paper  to 
examine — that  most  of  the  clergy  of 
the  Established  Church  are  drawn 
from  classes  of  higher  social  status 
than  the  ministers  of  dissenting  bodies, 
and  the  most  obvious  consequence  of 
this  is,  that  candidates  for  admission 
into  dissenting  ministries  are  less 
well  drilled  in  classics,  as  in  other 
things,  than  candidates  for  ordination 
in  the  National  Church — some  less 
than  others.  To  such  men  local  col- 
leges bid  fair  to  be  of  the  utmost  use  ; 
at  all  events  they  should  there  find 
their  sympathies  and  culture  consider- 
ably quickened.  The  professors  at  such 
colleges  are  mostly  men  from  Oxford 


364 


Local  University  Colleges. 


or  Cambridge,  who  very  probably  have 
a  wholesome  faith  in  the  methods  and 
traditions  of  the  old  homes  of  learning 
to  which  they  are  themselves  indebted, 
and  it  is  natural  that  they  should  try 
to  reproduce  these  under  the  altered 
conditions  required  in  busy  manu- 
facturing towns. 

Some  of  the  theological  students,  I 
have  said,  present  themselves  already 
better  equipped  for  work  than  others. 
Indeed   the  greatest   possible  variety 
exists.     In  the  first  place,  connection 
differs  from  connection ;   in   one  you 
will  have  men  of  a  clearly  higher  social 
grade  than  in  another,  and  for  teach- 
ing purposes  this  must  often  be  taken 
to  determine  their  intellectual  standard 
as  well.     The  conditions  under  which 
men  are  selected  must  naturally  result 
in  most  striking  contrasts  in  regard 
to  intellectual  qualifications.    The  first 
recommendation  of  a  candidate  for  a 
license   is  the   power  to  preach,  and 
there  will  be  no  suspicion  of  irony  in 
the  reminder  that  great  mental  polish 
is  not  necessary  to  a  fervent  and  effec- 
tive  preacher.      Now,    to   meet    such 
cases  as  these,  most  local  colleges  have 
found  it  necessary  to  form  classes  for 
persons  wishing  to  begin  at  the  very 
beginning,  with  /jiova-a  and  mensa  them- 
selves :  and  here  the  teacher  is  met 
with  a  very  curious  and  serious  diffi- 
culty.    He  is  sure  to  have  in  his  class 
two    or   three — may    be    more — with 
whom  the  beginning  is  at  the  begin- 
ning in  very  truth  ;  they  have  to  be 
accustomed  to  the  altogether  (to  them) 
strange  fact  of  accidentic  and  syntactic 
differentiation  of  languages.  Boys  who 
begin  to  learn  Latin  and  Greek  when 
very  young  are  never  troubled  with 
this  difficulty,  or,   if  it  occurs,   as  it 
may  perhaps  somewhere  in  the  vague 
wonder-world    of     youth,    it    is    not 
noticed  and  passes  away.  But  a  grown 
man,    just    being    introduced    to   the 
study,  cannot  be  expected    to  appre- 
hend idiomatic  difference  without  great 
mental  effort,  and  the  more  conscien- 
tious he  is,  the  greater  will  his  diffi- 
culties be.     This  notable  fact  will  go 
far   to  explain   the  greater  readiness 


and  plasticity  which  distinguishes  such 
people  as  the  Welsh.     Accustomed  to 
differences    of    idiom    owing    to    the 
necessities  of   bilingual  life,  to  them 
the  apprehension  of  a  new  language 
is  nothing  more  than  another  acqui- 
sition  in  a  series   of   similar   mental 
efforts ;  it  is  not  an  effort  quite  different 
from  everything  else  in  their  mental 
experience.     For  like  reasons,   Board 
School  examiners  have  observed  how 
much  more  easily  languages   are   ac- 
quired and  their  theories  mastered  by 
the  children  of  the  great  Jewish  set- 
tlement in  the  east  of  London.     Most 
of    these   are   of    German    or  Polish 
origin,    and    many    know    something 
more  of  Hebrew  than  is  necessary  for 
the   understanding   of    their    copious 
daily   prayers ;   therefore   English  or 
any  other  language  is  easily  acquired. 
In  considering  the  relations  of  these 
colleges  to  national  education,  we  must 
first  note   the   important   bearing   of 
"founders'  intentions."     Most  of  the 
founders  had  it  in  their  minds  to  do 
something  for  the  great  mass  of  middle- 
class  people  who  were  (they  supposed) 
craving  for  the  light  of  learning.  There 
must  be  very  many  men,  thought  they, 
who  will  gladly  attend,  at  all  events, 
evening  classes  in  physical  and  moral 
science,    in    modern   or    "  dead "   lan- 
guages.    It  is  not  found,  I  imagine, 
that  these  sanguine  and  kindly  hopes 
have  been  generally  fulfilled.     In  the 
institution  with  which  the  writer  of 
this  article  is  most  familiar,  such  stu- 
dents  have   been   conspicuously   few. 
We    may   not   say,    as  the   late    Mr. 
W.    E.    Greg    would    probably    have 
said,   that   such   is  the   case   because 
that  kind  of   fool,  with    the    zealous 
clerk  who  studied  Cocker  in  the  even- 
ing, is  dying  out.     He  never  really 
flourished   in   any   great    abundance ; 
nor  has  the  wise  man  of  the  "  middle- 
class  "  given  study  a  sufficiently  serious 
trial  to  justify  his  consigning  it,  with 
other  vanities,  to  the  fools.     The  con- 
spicuous few  known  to  the  writer  have 
certainly  not  addled  their  brains,  after 
the   probable   fashion   of   Mr.   Greg's 
clerk ;  indeed,  the  regular  though  little 


Local   University  Colleges. 


365 


time  devoted  to  st\idy  has  given 
them,  as  might  have  been  expected, 
pleasant  relaxation,  with  the  addi- 
tional grace  and  advantage  that,  being 
pursued  for  its  own  sake  and  for  no 
material  gain,  it  has  brought  the  ap- 
propriate gifts  of  knowledge  and  re- 
finement. But  these,  I  say,  are  the 
few,  the  very  few.  The  tradesman 
will  certainly  not  spend  many  of  his 
evenings  at  the  local  college,  and  the 
working  man  is  even  less  likely  to  do 
so.  In  the  first  place,  many  employ- 
ments are  so  exhausting  that  mental 
strain  out  of  working  hours  would  do 
much  more  harm  than  good ;  and  this 
surmise  is  well  borne  out  by  the  fact 
that  a  far  greater  number  of  working 
men  and  women  present  themselves  in 
districts  where  the  work  is  more  seden- 
tary than  in  districts,  like  Sheffield, 
where  the  staple  industries  tax 
physical  strength  to  the  utmost.  It 
may  be  very  safely  laid  down  that  the 
several  local  colleges  will  find  their 
working-men  students  fewer  in  pro- 
portion to  the  "  heaviness  "  of  the  local 
trades,  and  that  of  students  who  do 
come  from  the  working  classes  there 
will  rarely  be  many  from  the  heaviest 
crafts.  The  class  of  small  shopkeepers 
and  others  who  have  sundry  oppor- 
tunities of  looking  into  books,  generally 
produces  a  few  good  students ;  for,  odd 
as  it  may  seem,  here  and  there  an 
English  shopkeeper  will  sometimes 
filch  a  few  minutes  from  his  counter, 
like  the  Mussulman  tradesman  who 
says  his  prayers  in  the  intervals  of 
rest  that  occur  in  the  process  of  bar- 
gaining with  an  obstinate  customer. 

Of  course  there  are  many  other 
points  to  be  considered  in  relation  to 
the  question  as  it  affects  technical 
teaching  :  this  subject  has  its  special 
difficulties.  Let  us  for  the  present  see 
under  what  conditions  the  local  col- 
leges bring  the  best  gifts  of  the  old 
universities  to  those  who  cannot  go  to 
the  fountain-heads. 

It  may  be  expected  that  local  col- 
leges are  not  without  their  enemies, 
and  these  are  of  two  chief  kinds. 
Before  all,  the  part  of  enemy  has  not 


unfrequently  been  played  by  friends. 
Founders  themselves  have  occasionally 
dealt  hardly  with  their  foundations. 
We  saw  above  the  various  classes  of 
persons  to  whom  the  university  col- 
leges were  to  bring  help,  but  we  have 
not  yet  considered  the  subjects  which 
such  institutions  were  to  teach.  The 
university  lecturers  under  the  univer- 
sity extension  schemes  of  course  taught 
what  the  university  had  taught  them  ; 
a  very  large  part,  therefore,  of  the 
lecturing  was  on  "  literary  "  subjects. 
Many  local  colleges,  accordingly,  the 
foundation  of  which  was  suggested  by 
the  success  of  the  extension  lecturers, 
determined  to  make  provision  for  the 
continuance  of  such  teaching,  and  to 
extend  the  privilege  of  being  taught 
to  Latin  and  Greek,  as  subjects  not 
without  some  literary  interest.  But 
at  least  one  important  local  institution 
was  founded  "  to  the  exclusion  of  mere 
literary  education  and  instruction," 
and  accordingly  Latin  and  Greek  were 
without  further  ceremony  refused  re- 
cognition in  the  college  "courses." 
But  it  was  at  last  discovered  that 
Latin  and  Greek  had  other  claims  be- 
sides those  peculiar  to  literary  antiqui- 
ties, and  now  (except  when  the  instruc- 
tion is  entirely  technical)  Latin  and 
Greek  are  taught  in  every  college. 

One  of  the  most  obstinate  foes  of 
these  institutions  is  occasionally  the 
employer  of  labour,  who  is  irritated 
to  think  that  culture,  which  he  himself 
may  have  acquired  unaided,  should  be 
offered  at  so  low  a  price  to  his  work- 
men. If  we  dismiss  this  kind  of  op- 
ponent at  once  from  consideration  we 
shall  give  him  no  less  than  his  deserts; 
he  may  go  with  those  who  discourage 
elementary  education  out  of  terror 
Jest  there  should  be  no  one,  at  the  end 
of  time,  left  to  black  their  boots.  The 
stars  in  their  courses  fight  on  the  other 
side  ;  facts  and  natural  laws  are  against 
them.  It  is  satisfactory  to  note  that 
where  the  education  of  employes  has 
been  actively  and  systematically 
promoted  by  managers,  employers  have 
often  been  demonstrably  the  richer 
for  it. 


366 


Local  University  Colleges. 


But  the  lukewarmness  and  even 
active  opposition  of  workmen  them- 
selves is  a  much  more  serious  matter. 
Efforts  have  been  made  on  behalf  of 
local  colleges  in  sundry  places  to  win 
the  sympathy  of  the  trades  unionists, 
or  rather  of  their  guiding  spirits.  It 
might  naturally  be  supposed  that  these 
societies  would  understand  their  own 
interests  to  be  bound  up  with  the  in- 
terests of  the  education  of  their  class, 
an  d  that  whatever  advantage  they  might 
gain  would  remain  theirs  only  so  long 
as  they  knew  how  to  keep  it.  But  no ; 
they  regard  university  colleges  for  the 
most  part  as  gift  horses  of  more  than 
uncertain  mouths ;  the  Greeks  may 
bring  gifts,  but  your  Trojans  will  have 
none  of  them. 

For  what  does  not  appreciably  and 
at  once  affect  their  stomachs  or  their 
pockets  the  stolid  and  ignorant  care 
not  at  all ;  the  wiseacres,  for  their 
part,  shrewdly  suspect  that  they  have 
here  merely  cunningly-contrived  en- 
gines of  secret  oppression. 

In  a  certain  institution,  with  the 
working  of  which  the  writer  of  these 
notes  is  familiar,  an  energetic  princi- 
pal thought  it  well  to  invite  the  heads 
of  the  local  trades'  unions  to  a  con- 
ference for  the  purpose  of  securing 
their  interest  with  their  fellows  on 
behalf  of  the  local  college.  In  the 
course  of  conversation  he  pointed  out 
the  possible  value  of  lectures  on  English 
history  to  workmen  whose  intelligent 
co-operation  indicated,  he  thought,  an 
inquiring  spirit.  But  the  sages  shook 
their  heads,  and  their  spokesman 
pointed  out  "that  there  had  already 
been  too  much  English  history,  and 
that  it  was  all  going  to  be  undone." 
This  was  not  promising,  and,  indeed, 
the  conference  was  followed  by  a  cor- 
responding result — nothing. 

I  may  be  allowed  to  call  attention 
to  the  following  abstract  from  the 
Report  of  the  Royal  Commission  on 
Technical  Instruction  (vol.  i.  page  525) 
to  show  how  the  commissioners  were 
struck  by  the  apathy  of  the  working 
classes.  "  Your  commissioners  fear 
that  the  belief  in  the  efficacy  of  train- 


ing of  this  highest  character  is,  in  Eng- 
land, at  present,  small  amongst  those 
whom  it  will  ultimately  benefit ;  and 
yet  there  are  few  countries  in  which 
so  many  investigations  have  been 
made,  the  practical  bearings  of  which 
were  not  at  the  outset  apparent,  but 
which  have  in  the  end  led  to  the  most 
important  practical  results.  The  dis- 
covery by  Faraday  of  magneto-electri- 
city, and  by  Joule  of  the  mechanical 
equivalent  of  heat,  at  once  occurred  as 
examples.  The  Englishman  is  ac- 
customed to  seek  for  an  immediate 
return ;  and  has  yet  to  learn  that  an 
extended  and  systematic  education  up 
to  and  including  the  methods  of  origi- 
nal research,  is  now  a  necessary  pre- 
liminary to  the  fullest  development  of 
industry.  It  is,  amongst  other  ele- 
ments of  progress,  to  the  gradual  but 
sure  growth  of  public  opinion  in  this 
direction  that  your  commissioners  look 
for  the  means  of  securing  to  this 
country  in  the  future,  as  in  the  past, 
the  highest  position  as  an  industrial 
nation." 

The  founders  of  most  local  colleges 
seem  to  have  fallen  into  the  very  great 
error  of  not  interesting  the  people 
themselves  in  the  work  as  proprietors. 
Generous  men  have  lavished  large  sums 
on  buildings  without  coming  directly  to 
the  people  they  wish  chiefly  to  benefit, 
and  asking  them  to  share  in  the  work 
by  sparing  some  little  from  their  own 
pockets.  This  has  been  a  great  mis- 
take, and  the  mistake  lies  just  in  the 
point  that  the  "lower"  classes  have 
been  allowed  to  regard  these  institu- 
tions as  eleemosynary,  as  free  gifts  from 
their  betters.  It  has  never  been  pro- 
perly made  clear  to  them,  for  some 
reason  or  other,  that  though  the  gifts 
are  mostly  free  gifts  yet  they  are 
merely  encouragements  to  them  to 
help  themselves.  Let  them  be  asked 
to  contribute  ever  so  little.  Men  love 
nothing  so  well  as  what  they  spend 
their  pains  and  money  on. 

In  England,  unfortunately,  we  can- 
not appeal  to  any  keen  national  senti- 
ment of  competition  in  the  matter  of 
education;  Wales  is  luckier.  Not 


Local   University  Colleges. 


367 


only  can  it,  in  the  interests  of  education, 
make  successful  raids  on  the  public 
purse,  but  it  justifies  itself  by  pro- 
ducing ready  money  itself  for  the 
same  wise  end.  The  quarrymen  of 
Penrhyn  found  scholarships  ;  bursaries 
are  made  up  out  of  farthing  subscrip- 
tions. 

Human  nature  is  differently,  and 
perhaps  better  understood  in  Holland 
than  in  England  and  Wales,  or  even 
France  and  Belgium.  In  Holland 
there  is  positively  no  room  for  the 
scholars  at  the  evening  classes  in  most 
of  the  great  towns.  The  Dutch  autho- 
rities, however,  make  their  students 
pay  13s.  4:d.  per  semester,  as  they 
think  "  that  the  pupils  place  a  greater 
value  on  the  instruction  for  which 
they  have  to  pay." 

It  will  be  very  readily  understood 
that  there  is  no  local  university  col- 
lege that  does  not  make  provision  for 
technical  education,  adapted  in  each 
case  to  supply  the  best  possible  help 
to  the  industries  of  the  districts  served. 
One  would  think  that  in  these  days 
there  is  hardly  need  of  demonstration 
to  prove  the  value  of  such  teaching  in 
a  country  whose  prosperity  depends  on 
the  excellence  of  its  manufactures ; 
but  all  speakers  and  writers  on  the 
subject  of  technical  education  in  Eng- 
land must  needs  take  up  the  apologetic 
or  justificatory  tone,  for  in  this 
country  the  recommendations  of  tech- 
nical teaching  have  yet  to  meet  with 
adequate  success. 

We  may  not  be  unfamiliar  with 
reflections  on  the  evils  effected  by 
machinery,  but,  machinery  or  no,  we 
must  understand  machinery,  and 
understand  well,  if  we  are  to  live ; 
moreover,  other  things  are  taught  in 
technical  schools  besides  the  construc- 
tion and  manipulation  of  machines. 
If  industrial  processes  are  to  be  im- 
proved, they  must  be  understood  ;  and 
rule  of  thumb  has  done  its  best.  It  is 
not  unusual  to  hear  rule  of  thumb 
extolled,  and  therefore  it  is  not  out  of 
place  here  to  reckon  the  prejudice  it 
embodies  as  a  serious  difficulty  in  the 
way  of  technical  schools  in  districts 


where  one  might  have  looked  for  better 
things.  Manufacturers  of  the  "  old 
school "  assert  that  rule  of  thumb  has 
done  well  enough  for  them,  and  must 
serve  for  their  children  ;  but  less  than 
a  generation  will  be  needed  to  show 
that  it  is  a  rival  ill-fitted  to  contend 
with  modern  science.  Bradford,  for 
instance,  is  well  to  the  fore  in  technical 
teaching,  and  the  Royal  Commissioners 
saw  there  "  merinos  manufactured  and 
finished  in  this  country,  which  would 
bear  comparison  in  texture  and  in 
colour  with  the  best  of  those  of  the 
French  looms  and  dye-houses,"  and, 
"  in  the  delicate  fabrics  of  Nottingham 
and  Macclesfield  (thanks,  in  great 
measure,  to  their  local  school  of  art)  we 
no  longer  rely  on  France  for  designs  " 
(vol.  i.  page  507).  This  is  very 
strong  testimony,  and  those  who  are 
most  confident  of  the  value  of  the  old 
methods  will  do  well  to  remember  that 
the  prosperity  which  has  made  the 
wealth  of  England  famous,  is  not  due 
merely  to  the  excellence  of  the  work 
done,  but  in  very  large  measure  to  a 
number  of  economic  and  physical  con- 
ditions which  are  now  the  property  of 
all  our  rivals,  because  of  the  very 
facilities  of  intercourse  which  our  good 
luck  and  enterprise  have  placed  at  the 
world's  disposal. 

On  the  other  hand,  there  is  a  reason- 
able apprehension  in  the  mind  of  the 
employer  of  labour  that  in  promoting 
the  cause  of  technical  education  he  is 
pickling  a  rod  for  his  own  back. 
There  is  justice  in  this  ;  ultimately,  no 
doubt,  the  best  man  will  win.  But 
little  is  gained  by  barring  the  progress 
of  rational  improvement  if  one  of  the 
inevitable  effects  of  such  attempts  is  to 
leave  the  market  in  the  hands  of  the 
foreign  producer.  Peter,  to  be  sure, 
is  robbed,  but  Paul  is  still  unpaid. 
The  obviously  best  plan  is,  of  course, 
not  to  be  last  in  the  race,  and  our 
continental  friends  seem  to  be  well 
alive  to  it,  for  the  Royal  Commis- 
sioners already  quoted  "  cannot  repeat 
too  often  that  they  have  been  impressed 
with  the  general  intelligence  and 
technical  knowledge  of  the  masters 


368 


Local  University  Colleges. 


and  managers  of  industrial  establish- 
ments on  the  Continent.  They  have 
found  that  these  persons,  as  a  rule, 
possess  a  sound  knowledge  of  the 
sciences  upon  which  their  industry 
depends.  They  are  familiar  with  every 
new  scientific  discovery  of  importance, 
and  appreciate  its  applicability  to  their 
special  industry.  They  adopt  not  only 
the  inventions  and  improvements  made 
in  their  own  country,  but  also  those  of 
the  world  at  large — thanks  to  their 
knowledge  of  foreign  languages  and  of 
the  conditions  of  manufacture  pre- 
valent elsewhere."  At  Wurtemberg 
the  Commissioners  found  that  em- 
ployers take  so  much  interest  in  the 
night-schools  that  they  are  supplied 
with  registers  of  attendance  to  see 
whether  their  apprentices  are  diligently 
"  improving  themselves."  Employers 
and  parents  gladly  co-operate  to  secure 
the  attendance  of  the  apprentices,  and 
when  one  absents  himself  without  due 
cause,  the  employer  expects  to  be 
informed  of  the  fact. 

There  is  yet  another  direction  in 
which  local  university  colleges  are 
doing  work  which  ought  to  be  useful, 
though  it  is  odd  that  the  facts  are  by 
no  means  always  readily  recognised  in 
quarters  to  which  one  would  have 
naturally  looked  for  instant  approba- 
tion. The  giving  of  "  popular  lectures  " 
at  nominal  charges  for  admission  has, 
in  many  places,  been  a  very  great 
success.  The  local  institution  is  often 
fortunate  enough  to  secure  the  hon- 
orary services  of  distinguished  men  of 
science  or  letters,  and  in  some  towns 
these  lectures  for  the  people  have 
attracted  huge  crowds.  Elsewhere, 
owing,  without  doubt,  to  local  causes, 
the  lectures  have  been  given  to 
audiences  in  which  the  working-class 
element  has  been  so  small  as  to  have 
been  conspicuous.  In  some  towns 
there  is  a  kind  of  tradition  that  makes 
lecture-going  a  popular  amusement ; 
in  others,  those  who  would  be  most 
welcome  at  popular  lectures,  the  people, 
are  notoriously  shy. 

It  has  suggested  itself  to  some 
persons  actively  engaged  in  organis- 


ing such  matters  that  from  religious 
teachers  and  preachers  of  the  people, 
local  university  colleges  do  not  always 
receive  the  support  to  which  they  are 
fairly  entitled,  considered  merely  as 
adjuncts  and  aids  to  the  reforming 
work  of  the  clergy.  This  is  by  no 
means  entirely  the  fault  of  the  clergy 
themselves.  In  some  cases,  perhaps, 
the  courtesies  due  to  the  old  custodians 
of  national  education  have  not  been 
remembered,  and  the  necessary  exclu- 
sion of  divinity  from  the  curricula,  for 
the  sake  of  concord,  has  not  always, 
may  be,  been  effected  very  gracefully 
or  even  unostentatiously.  But  clergy- 
men will  surely  do  well  to  welcome  in 
university  colleges,  especially  in  regard 
to  their  "  popular  "  work,  very  power- 
ful allies  in  the  war  against  ignorance 
and  class-isolation  and  selfishness. 
The  absolute  exclusion  of  theology  is 
inevitable ;  it  is  not  yet  generally 
regarded  as  possible,  with  all  deference 
to  Professor  Bryce,  to  have  chairs  of 
unsectarian  divinity  even  in  the  older, 
and  therefore  wiser,  universities. 

In  dealing  unconsciously  with  class- 
isolation,  university  colleges  are  likely 
to  have  considerable  influence ;  they 
are  helping  to  break  down  class 
barriers  by  the  best,  the  only  good 
means  possible.  It  does  not,  of  course, 
very  often  happen  that  young  men 
come  thither  to  prepare  for  Oxford  or 
Cambridge,  but  it  is  not  very  un- 
common. Nor,  on  the  other  hand,  is 
it  to  be  expected  that  the  new  colleges 
shall  take  the  place  and  do  the  work  of 
higher-grade  schools.  On  the  contrary, 
the  local  colleges  must  be  fed  by  the 
schools ;  receiving  from  them  those 
pupils  who  for  various  reasons  do  not 
go  into  residence  at  Oxford  or  Cam- 
bridge or  other  great  universities. 
This  ought  to  be  their  chief  aim  ;  it  is 
only  an  accident  that  they  have  now 
very  generally  to  perform  the  duties 
of  Mechanics'  Institutes  on  behalf  of 
men  and  women  beginning  from  the 
beginning.  But  in  discharging  all 
these  various  functions,  they  attract 
people  of  every  social  rank,  and  so  do 
in  the  midst  of  busy  industrial  life 


Local   University  Colleges. 


369 


what  Oxford  and  Cambridge  during 
the  last  half-century  have  been  doing 
in  true  academic  retirement.  A 
university  where  men  do  not  meet  in 
the  lecture-room,  and  at  social  gather- 
ings, open  to  all  alike  as  students,  is 
a  university  only  in  name ;  it  may 
examine  well ;  its  degrees  may  be 
valuable  guarantees  of  capacity ;  but 
to  smooth  social  differences,  to  rub 
off  angles,  it  does  little  indeed.  The 
London  University  has  given  the 
testimonial  of  its  parentage  to  men  of 
all  creeds  and  classes  ;  but  they  have 
left  their  unsympathetic  alma  mater 
without  knowing  anything  of  their 
foster-brothers  ;  without  any  sympathy 
for  new  interests  communicated  in 
social  intercourse ;  without  any  soften- 
ing of  prejudices  or  kindlier  toleration 
for  forms  of  opinion  before  unknown 
and  unwelcome. 

Again,  notable  contribution  should 
be  made  by  local  colleges  towards 
solving  whatever  remains  of  the  pro- 
blem of  female  education.  It  is  now 
very  generally  conceded  that,  if  only 
on  grounds  of  fair  play,  women  so 
minded  should  have  the  same  educa- 
tional chances  as  men ;  those  who 
think  women  will  achieve  and  maintain 
solid  ground  of  their  own  are  glad 
that  there  is  a  prospect  of  justice  being 
done,  and  the  battle  going  to  the 
strong  ;  those  who  think  that  the  sex, 
hitherto  considered  weaker,  will  suffer 
severely  in  the  struggle,  must  get 
what  consolation  they  can  from  the 
reflection  that  only  the  fit  will  survive. 
In  many  classes  the  bulk  of  the 
students  are  women,  usually  young 
women,  some  of  them  working  for  the 
sake  of  their  subjects,  some  mainly 
with  a  view  to  passing  examinations. 
Men,  unless  reading  with  some  special 
end,  or  giving  all  their  time  to  pre- 
paration for  professions  in  which 
"learning  "  is  of  some  account,  do  not 
come  in  great  numbers  to  classes  held 
in  the  day-time.  On  the  other  hand, 
the  night  students  are  mainly  men. 
The  reasons  for  this  are  many.  In  the 
first  place,  it  is  obvious  that  women 
will  prefer  attendance  at  classes  which 
No.  Oil. — VOL.  LIT. 


do   not   require   them  to    leave   their 
homes  at  night ;  the  male  students,  on 
the  other  hand,  have  often  to  spend 
their  day  in  manufactories,  warehouses, 
and   shops,   and   are   glad   to   change 
their    atmosphere   at    night.     Again, 
the  fees  for  the  day  courses  are  higher 
than  those  required  for  attendance  at 
the  evening  courses,  so  that  many  who 
would  hesitate  to  spend  the  full  day 
fee  are  well  able  to  pay  the  very  small 
sum  that  secures  admission  to  night 
instruction.     Besides,  the  day  classes 
meet   twice    a   week,    and   the   night 
classes  usually  once   only ;  and  it  is 
found   that  •  the  preparation  required 
for  this  one  lesson  is  quite  as  much  as 
the  average  night-student  can  manage. 
But  whether  the  classes  meet  during 
the  day  or  in  the  evening,  the  women 
are  certainly  better  than  the  men  ;  not 
only  are  individual  women  superior  to 
individual  men,  but  the  female  students 
at   local   colleges    are   on   the   whole 
intellectually    higher   than   men  who 
there    take   like    subjects.      A   little 
reflection,    however,    will     show    the 
naturalness  of  this.     The  women  are 
picked  women,  the  best  of  their  sex  ; 
the  men  are  mostly  of  the  ordinary 
sort.     Had  the  women  students  been 
men,  they  would  have  been  at  Oxford 
or    Cambridge.      If,    therefore,    com- 
parisons are  to  be  made,  the  women 
students    at    local   colleges    must   be 
matched  against  honour  men  at  the 
universities.     But  even   under  these 
conditions  of  rivalry   they   will   hold 
their  own,  and  it  is  just  because  the 
local  college  gives  such  women  some- 
thing   of    a    university,    which   they 
would    lack   without   such   provision, 
that  it  has   a  very  strong  claim  on 
those  who  profess  to  be  anxious  in  the 
cause  of  female  education.  For  various 
reasons  women  will   not   be   able   to 
fulfil  the  conditions  fulfilled  by  men  at 
Oxford  and  Cambridge,  not  to  the  end 
of  time  ;  but  we  may  hope  that  local 
colleges  will  gradually  be  recognised 
as  giving  them  a  chance  of  the  best 
intellectual  exercise,  whilst  not  depriv- 
ing them  of  the  more  valuable  domestic 
training  to  which  they  have  hitherto 


370 


Local   University  Colleges. 


(as  it  is  usually  supposed)  been  gener- 
ally confined.  The  fact  that  the 
women's  colleges  at  Oxford  and  Cam- 
bridge are  too  small  for  the  numbers 
of  matriculating  students  is  proof 
enough  of  the  utility  of  the  new 
scheme  which  allows  women  to  be  at 
least  examined,  although  it  still  leaves 
virtue  to  be  its  own  chief  reward.  So 
far,  local  colleges  are  not  inefficient, 
but,  of  course,  residence  in  or  near 
university  towns  places  within  the 
reach  of  students  the  best  academical 
help  available. 

From  the  foregoing  notes  the  reader 
will  probably  be  struck,  first,  by  the 
great  want  of  system  in  our  schemes 
of  national  education,  and  then,  by  the 
chaotic  state  of  those  agencies  whose 
business  it  is  to  provide  for  the  higher 
instruction  of  the  classes  below  those 
who  are  able  to  use  the  great  univer- 
sities. From  this  may  be  seen  clearly 
enough  the  severity  of  the  task  imposed 
on  local  university  colleges,  and 
should,  gain  for  them  the  sympathy, 


and  something  more,  of  all  those  who 
wish  well  to  education  in  England. 
At  present  university  colleges  are 
trying  to  perform  most  incongruous 
duties ;  they  are  mechanics'  institutes, 
tutorial  agencies,  universities,  tech- 
nical schools.  So  much  is  expected  of 
them,  and  they  have  usually  so  little 
money,  that  some,  at  least,  of  their 
work  must  be  badly  done  ;  and  what  is 
well  done  is  done  with  a  great  expen- 
diture of  effort,  sometimes  on  puny 
tasks.  The  advanced  subjects  of 
"  arts,"  in  the  academical  sense,  are 
necessary  ;  the  highest  technical  teach- 
ing is  necessary ;  and  these  should  be 
separately  provided  for.  But  adequate 
provision  there  will  never  be  until,  on 
the  one  hand,  the  English  people 
generally  recognise  the  value  of  some 
training  in  letters,  and  until,  on  the 
other  hand,  both  employers  and 
employed  are  agreed  in  seeing  the 
interests  of  all  furthered,  if  not  recon- 
ciled, in  schools  of  national  industry. 


371 


RURAL  ROADS. 


THERE  are  certain  patents,  or  rather 
copyrights,  which  it  would  be  a  blunder 
verging  on  crime  to  infringe.  The  sight- 
seeing of  the  British  isles  must  be  left 
to  our  American  cousins  ;  charioteer- 
ing chronicles  to  the  cosmopolitan 
millionaire,  or  members  of  the  Four- 
in-Hand  Club,  and  the  discovery  of  new 
holiday  haunts  to  the  legions  of  enter- 
prising tourists,  whose  most  difficult 
problem  at  present  is  how  to  get  out 
of  each  other's  way.  The  "  log  "  of  a 
bond  fide  traveller  who  has  occasion  to 
trot  leisurely  through  the  rural  roads 
of  half  a  dozen  counties  in  our  native 
land  must  be  acquitted  of  any  rash 
ambition  to  compete  with  these  esta- 
blished literary  properties ;  but  it  is 
not  claiming  too  much  for  the  British 
isles  to  say  that  within  the  length  and 
breadth  of  them  no  continuous  stretch 
of  150  miles  can  be  traversed  without 
pleasure  and  some  kind  of  instruction, 
most  likely  unforeseen  ;  and  if  the 
chapter  of  accidents  puts  such  a  stretch 
of  road  within  our  reach,  the  invita- 
tion to  follow  it  should  not  be 
neglected. 

A  glance  at  Bradshaw's  map  will 
show  that,  notwithstanding  the  de- 
velopment of  railway  enterprise,  there 
is  no  direct  route  from  the  north-west 
corner  of  Hampshire  to  the  south-west 
end  of  Lincolnshire,  so  that  if  a  horse, 
trap,  and  human  appendages  have  to 
be  conveyed  from  one  point  to  the 
other,  it  is  economically  possible  to 
prefer  the  road  to  a  day's  rail  round 
the  corner  through  London.  It  is  the 
second  week  in  June,  but  owing  to  the 
late  spring  the  hawthorn  is  still  only 
in  its  prime  ;  the  buttercups  in  the 
Hampshire  meadows  make  a  broader 
and  brighter  sheet  of  gold  than  usual, 
and  the  little  villages  which  nestle 
mostly  in  cosy,  wooded  hollows,  round 
about  the  "  neat  and  solid  market 
town "  of  Andover,  still  justify  Cob- 
bett's  assertion  that  "  this  country  has 
its  beauties,  though  so  open,"  and  we 


must  now  add,  so  turnip-ridden.  Sixty 
years  since,  Cobbett's  harangues  to  the 
farmers  were  among  the  attractions  of 
the  great  October  fair  at  Weyhill, 
which  he  describes  as  "  a  village  of 
half  a  dozen  houses  on  a  down,  just 
above  Appleshaw."  It  is  not  much 
larger  now,  but  the  fair  buildings, 
long,  low  sheds,  with  chalk  walls  and 
slate  roofs,  separated  by  green  lanes, 
with  down  outside,  and  a  picturesque 
ex-inn  and  farm-house  in  the  centre, 
give  a  curious  individuality  to  the 
place. 

The  weather  is  cloudy,  and  we  only 
start  at  six  P.M.,  intending  to  sleep  at 
Newbury,  after  a  short  stage  of  six- 
teen miles.  Weyhill  is  known  paro- 
chially as  Penton  Graf  ton,  and  part  of 
the  parish  belongs  geographically  to 
the  neighbouring  village  of  Penton 
Mewsey,  through  which  we  start. 
Penton  is  not  on  the  high  road,  and 
we  follow  lanes  that  meander  gently 
right  and  left,  up  and  down,  with  a 
leisurely,  rustic  slouch.  A  couple 
of  miles  brings  us  to  a  little  corner 
public  house ;  one  boy  represents  the 
population  of  five  cross  lanes ;  presently 
we  find  ourselves  on  the  high  road 
from  Andover  to  Newbury ;  here  are 
milestones,  mostly  illegible,  an  unin- 
habited turnpike  hut,  two  labourers 
going  home  from  work,  one  wayside 
cottage,  a  country  parson  and  a  gig 
crawling  up  the  hill  down  which  our 
old  horse  prefers  to  zig-zag  cautiously. 
The  rain  lifts,  and  only  the  distant 
views  of  Berkshire  hills  are  spoilt ;  the 
brown  atmosphere  seems  to  harmonise 
with  the  silence  ;  all  the  hedge  that  is 
not  snowy  white  is  a  moist,  feathery 
green,  uncontaminated  by  shears  and 
bill-hook,  and  even  without  the  shadow 
of  the  wood  upon  the  right,  one  might 
mistake  these  rural  solitudes  for  the 
lotus  eater's  paradise,  a  land  of  long, 
lazy,  drifting,  through  silent  fragrant 
afternoons. 

Five  miles  from  Andover  we  come 
B   B  2 


372 


Rural  Roads. 


to  Hurstborne  Tarrant,  again  a  fa- 
vourite haunt  of  Cobbett,  though  he 
prefers  the  local  and  corrector  pronunci- 
ation of  Up-husband,  a  largish  village 
with  near  900  inhabitants.  "Wages 
here  in  1822  were  6s.  weekly  ;  in  the 
same  part  of  the  country  they  are  now 
12s.,  but  children  no  longer  go  to  work 
at  six  or  eight,  so  that  the  man  with  a 
"long  family"  has  gained  in  money 
wages  perhaps  half-a-crown.  They 
have  thus  increased  in  the  interval  by 
about  a  halfpenny  per  annum,  a  truly 
magnificent  pace  of  progress,  at  which 
rate,  if  continued  300  years  heuce, 
Hodge  will  be  earning  just  about  the 
621.  per  annum  which  Cobbett  calcu- 
lated to  be  sufficient  to  find  a  labourer's 
family  in  home-grown  bread,  meat,  and 
beer,  without  any  such  new-fangled 
luxuries  as  tea,  school-pence,  or  pota- 
toes. Perhaps,  as  Beranger  says — 

"  Celles-ci    sont    pour  1'an    trois  mil,   ainsi 
soit-il !  " 

More  copse  and  hedges.  A  steep 
pull  up  the  ridge  which  culminates  in 
Beacon  and  Sidown  Hills,  above  Lord 
Carnarvon's  Park.  The  famous  rhodo- 
dendrons of  High  Clere  are  in  bloom, 
but  we  pass  by  on  the  other  side, 
through  the  village,  the  third  and  last 
upon  the  road  to  Newbury,  which  we 
reach,  through  its  modest  fringe  of 
villas,  about  half-past  eight.  The  little 
town  is  strange  to  us,  and  we  seek 
guidance  from  an  opportune  police- 
man, and  though  the  discreet  guardian 
of  the  public  peace  looks  as  if,  like  the 
undergraduate  pressed  to  discriminate 
between  the  major  and  minor  pro- 
phets, he  "  liked  not  to  make  invidious 
distinctions,"  we  gather  from  him 
that  it  will  be  on  the  safe  side  to  "  put 
up  "  at  the  White  Hart.  But  for  the 
quarterly  utterance  of  the  church 
clock,  the  paved  market-place  is  as 
silent  as  the  hedgerows  through  the 
nights. 

These  first  fifteen  miles  were  not  by 
any  means  the  most  solitary  of  the 
road  before  us,  but  they  happen  to 
be  those  as  to  which  it  is  easiest  to 
"  quantify  "  the  impression  we  receive 
of  traversing  a  scantily  peopled 


country.     It  would  be  troublesome  to 
ascertain  for  the  whole  distance   the 
exact  acreage  of  every  parish  traversed, 
but  for  these  sixteen  miles  the  popula- 
tion in  a   strip  of  country  averaging 
about  a  mile  and  four-fifths  wide  along 
the  road,  averages  about  seventy-seven 
to  the    square  mile.     The  soil  is  not 
poor ;  the  land  is  almost  entirely  in- 
closed, is  all  cultivable  and  apparently  all 
cultivated,  except  the  pleasure-grounds 
at  Doleswood  and  High  Clere.  Whether 
under  these  circumstances  the   above 
population  can  be  considered  normal 
in  a   civilised   and   crowded    country 
may  be  judged  from  the  fact  that  the 
general  average   for  Great  Britain  is 
289  to  the  square  mile  ;  the  average  in 
Ireland    before  the  famine  was  249  ; 
that  of  Bengal  is  440  ;    that   of   the 
eastern  province  of    China,  including 
the  great  plain,  is  458  ;  while  three  of 
the  most  populous  of  these  provinces, 
with  an  area  half  as  large   again  as 
Great  Britain  and  Ireland,  had,  at  the 
beginning  of  the  century,  an  average 
of   nearly    750    to   the    square    mile. 
Unless  our  agricultural  labourers  are 
ten  times  as  well  off  as  John  Chinaman 
we  must  have  a  good  deal  to  learn  in 
the  way  of  rural  economy ;  and,  un- 
fortunately,   it    is    an    open   question 
whether  the  agricultural  labourer  is  even 
as  well  off  with  us  as  he  is  (except  in 
famine  years)  in  the  land  of  Mencius, 
where  the  test  of  good  government  has 
always   been,    that  the   aged   agricul- 
turalist is  able  to  "  eat  flesh  and  wear 
silk,"  the  latter  of  course  for  warmth, 
not  ostentation.     Most  of  the  villages 
we  reach  have  a  stationary  or  declining 
population,  and  as  Cobbett's  personal 
experience  of  so  many  different  coun- 
ties gave  a  similar  result,  except  about 
the  then  modest  little  town  of  London, 
it  is  easy  to  understand  his  disbelief  in 
the  return  of  the  second  and  third  census 
(1811    and  1821),    which  represented 
the  population  of  the  whole  country 
as  increasing.     With  all  his  hatred  of 
the  "  war,"  he  hardly  realised  how  many 
villages  could  be  emptied  into  it  with- 
out  making    much  impression  on  its 
apparent  size. 

The  next  day's  journey  must  take 


Rural  Roads. 


373 


in  fifty-six  miles  to  Banbury,  so   an 
early    start    is    prudent.      A.    pretty 
chambermaid   keeps    exemplary  faith, 
and  we  are  off  at    seven,  through  a 
quiet  downpour  suggestive  of  one  of 
the  few  weather  proverbs  that  experi- 
ence justifies  rather  oftener  than  not. 
"  Rain  before  seven,  fine  before  eleven  " 
in  this  case  meant  dry  by  nine  and 
sunny  by  noon,  and  for  the  rest  of  the 
way  we  had  only  to  congratulate  our- 
selves on  the  showers  which  had  laid 
the  dust  and  cooled  the  roads  for  three 
days  ahead.     A  shady  road   leads  out 
of  Newbury  through  Domington  vil- 
lage ;    not   being  sightseers  we  leave 
the  castle  of  that  ilk  on  our  left,  cross 
the  Lambourn  on  its  way  to  join  the 
Kennet,    pass    an    old    road-side   inn 
dedicated  to    the    Fox    and  Hounds, 
catch  a  glimpse  of    Chievely   church 
and  village  on  the  left,  and  admire  a 
long  row   of   laburnum  trees    in   full 
flower   which    some   one   has   planted 
alternately  with  firs  along  a  sloping 
meadow  top.     No  hay  is  cut  or  carry- 
ing ;    one    threshing    machine    is    at 
work,  but    John    opines    that   if  the 
farmer  has  been   holding  back  for  a 
rise  he  is    likely   to    be    disappointed 
when  he  gets  to   market.     About  six 
miles  from  Newbury,  with  thedisregard 
for  horseflesh  common  to  English  road 
makers,  we  charge  straight  up  and  down 
Beedon  hill.a  round  outwork  of  the  Berk- 
shire downs,  avoiding  the  village  which 
lies  on  a  by  road  at  the  western  foot. 

On  the  north  side  of  Beedon  Hill 
we  descend  upon  the  interesting  and 
picturesque  village  of  Market  Ilsley, 
where  sheep  and  lamb  fairs  are  held 
fortnightly  for  several  months.  The 
village  lies  in  the  hollow  between 
Beedon  Hill  and  the  range  of  downs 
which  stretches  west  above  the  vale 
of  the  "White  Horse  to  Ashdown. 
Half  the  village  street  is  taken  up 
en  permanence  with  the  sheep  pens  re- 
quired for  the  recurring  fairs  or 
markets,  and  the  adaptation  of  the 
whole  village  to  a  special  and  unusual 
purpose  gives  it  the  same  half  exotic 
air  in  Weyhill,  which  it  also  resem- 
bles in  the  number  of  its  public- 
houses — there  are  seven  inns  besides 


beer-shops  to  a  population  under  600 
— and  in  the  presence  of  racing  stables, 
brought  by  the  fact  that  the  grass  of 
this    down   furnishes    the    best   exer- 
cising ground  for  young  horses.     We 
had  determined  at  starting  to  follow 
the    custom    of     Swiss    and    Italian 
vetturini,   and  make  two   short  halts 
in  the  morning  and  afternoon,  as  well 
as  the  longer  one  at  mid-day,  and  at 
Ilsley  horse  and   man  tried  the  hospi- 
tality of  one  of  the  seven  inns  while 
the  driver  strolled  up  to  the  Ridgeway. 
Flocks    of    sheep   were    grazing   in 
hurdled   inclosures   under    the    slope, 
the  clouds  were  breaking,  and  gleams 
of  sunlight  flitted   over  the  country, 
resting,   as   it    seemed,   by  preference 
on     the     little     market-place.       The 
summit  of   the   hill   is  open,   and  as 
lovely  a  bit  of  down  as  one  need  wish 
to  see.     The  dim  grass  track  of   the 
Ridgeway  stretches  alluringly  to  the 
west,  and  it  would  be  a  sacrifice  to 
remain  in  sight  of  the  high  road  but 
for  a  copse  or  thicket  on  either  side  of 
it.     Here  the  gorse   in   flower,   with 
hawthorn  trees  in  the  midst,  made  a 
perfect   group   with   earth   and    sky ; 
the  delicate  green,  gold,  and  white — 
hues  fit  for  fairy-land — harmonise  and 
blend  with  each  other  and   the  land- 
scape,  with  a  look  of  naturalness  as 
well  as  beauty  that  the  best  arrange- 
ment of  the  best  horticulturalists  never 
quite  come  up  to.     It  is  not  by  acci- 
dent that  primroses,    wood  anemones 
and  violets,  cowslips  and  purple  orchises, 
wildrose   and  honeysuckle,    loosestrife 
and  meadowsweet,  and  many  another 
floral  pair,  not  only  grow  together,  but 
set  off  each  other's  beauty  as  they  do  so. 
Nature's  groupings  are  the  best  in  our 
eyes,    not    merely    because   they    are 
natural,    but    also    because   our   eyes 
have  not  yet  altogether  unlearnt  the 
unconscious    lessons    of  primeval  life 
by   which   man    adapts    his   taste   to 
what    is    best   in    nature   instead    of 
adapting  nature  to  what  is  worst  in 
man.     The  inhabitants  of  the  village, 
it  is  said,  have  the  right  of   cutting 
furze  upon  the  downs,  but  inclosures 
have  crept  up  so  far  that  the  privilege 
cannot  be  worth  much. 


374 


Rural  Roads. 


As  the  crow  flies,  the  Thames,  just 
below  Moulsford,  is  only  six  or  seven 
miles  off,  but  the  view  due  east  is 
blocked  by  the  shoulder  of  the  down, 
and  the  open  country,  watered  by  the 
obscure  streamlets  which  debouch  into 
the  Thames  at  Abingdon,  has  no  more 
charm  than  belongs  to  every  wide 
outlook  over  cultivated  land.  A  pond 
and  farm-house  betoken  the  neighbour- 
hood of  the  little  village  of  Chiltern, 
which,  like  three  villages  out  of  every 
four,  stands  off  the  high  road.  About 
seven  miles  from  Ilsley  we  cross  the 
Great  Western  Railway  by  Steventon 
station  and  village,  the  latter  of  which, 
no  doubt,  owes  to  the  presence  of  the 
former  the  fact  that  its  population  is 
slightly  on  the  increase.  As  if  to 
assure  us  that,  after  all,  the  plains  of 
merrie  England  are  a  little  more 
populous  than  the  Spliigen,  we  find 
the  village  street  beyond  the  gate  of 
the  level  crossing  engaged  in  the  wild 
dissipation  which  betokens  a  "club 
feast."  There  is  a  small  booth  by  the 
wayside,  and  a  red-coat  is  having  a 
shy  at  "  Aunt  Sally ; "  fathers  of 
families,  in  their  Sunday  best,  saunter 
up  by  twos  and  threes ;  and  a  flag  is 
flying  at  the  inn,  where  the  proceed- 
ings will  terminate  with  the  usual 
minimum  of  benefit  to  the  club 
funds.  Steventon,  however,  rejoices 
in  attractions  more  permanent  than 
those  of  Aunt  Sally.  On  the  Abingdon 
side  the  road  passes  through  what  at 
first  sight  seems  only  an  unusually 
large  and  pretty  village  green,  but  a 
second  glance  shows  that  the  avenue 
of  tall  trees  around  it  belongs  to  the 
green  and  edges  a  raised  path,  like 
those  along  the  Oxford  meadows,  skirt- 
ing the  green.  Admiration  is  mixed 
with  wonder,  for  we  seldom  meet  a 
village  seised  of  such  a  pretty  bit  of 
landed  property.  On  inquiry  it  seems 
that  a  trust  fund,  somewhat  under 
40£.  per  annum,  has  been  bequeathed 
for  keeping  up  the  causeway  and 
avenues;  but  while  such  pretty  pos- 
sessions are  the  exception,  and  the 
custom  of  the  country  is  to  do  without 
them,  their  owners  will  not  know 
what  to  do  with  them,  and  accordingly 


we  find  the  wild  festivities  of  Steventon 
going  on  in  the  street,  with  as  little 
picturesqueness  as  if  no  founder  and 
benefactor  had  ever  thought  of  its 
pleasures.  After  this  the  road  passes 
through  Drayton  village,  and  in  four 
miles  reaches  Abingdon.  It  is  only 
on  entering  and  leaving  a  town  that 
any  question  as  to  the  route  arises. 
From  Abingdon  to  Oxford  there  is  a 
choice,  and  in  following  the  high  road 
we  come  in  by  Christchurch  instead 
of  over  Magdalen  bridge.  The  number 
of  notices  to  trespassers  about  Bagly 
Wood  and  elsewhere  suggests  that  we 
are  in  the  neighbourhood  either  of 
peculiarly  illiberal  landlords  or  a  very 
destructive  native  population.  We 
reach  Oxford  at  noon,  but  these 
centres  of  civilisation  concern  us  not. 

Along  the  Banbury  Road  we  see 
some  haymaking  at  last,  and  the  scent 
of  bean-fields  is  in  the  air.  For  a  mile 
or  so  beyond  Summerstown  a  few 
nurses  and  children,  and  further  on  a 
youth  or  two,  taking  their  constitu- 
tionals on  wheels,  break  the  transition. 
We  touch  the  corner  of  the  straggling 
village  of  Kidlington,  and  then  the 
road  settles  down  into  the  pretty 
agricultural  solitude  which  we  are 
learning  to  look  upon  as  the  traveller's 
right.  Road-side  trees,  rare  in  Hamp- 
shire, grow  steadily  commoner  as  we 
proceed,  their  shade  the  welcomer  as  the 
sky  clears  ;  but  one  cannot  have  every- 
thing at  once,  and  with  them  we  lose 
a  type  of  road  which  at  least  once  a 
year  is  full  of  charm  ;  it  is  edged  with 
turf  on  either  side,  and  the  wheat  or 
turnip-fields  are  almost  shut  out  of 
sight  by  the  hedge  of  branching  haw- 
thorn, seldom  less  than  ten  or  twelve 
feet  high.  Tackley  parish  produces 
"  Sturdy  Castle,"  an  old  junction  inn, 
where  the  high  road  forks  to  Wood- 
stock ;  but  in  Steeple  Aston  we  find  a 
better  half-way  house,  owned  by  a 
farmer  and  still  called  "  Hopcroft's 
Holt,"  after  some  ancient  occupier  of 
equal  wisdom.  This  is  the  typical  or 
rather  the  ideal  way-side  inn,  quiet  and 
white  and  neat,  with  flowers  before  the 
porch  and  a  little  parlour,  which  is 
also  the  family's  best  sitting-room, 


Rural  Roads. 


375 


commanding  a  still  and  pleasant  view 
of  the  copse  and  finger-post  where  four 
unfrequented  roads  diverge  ;  here,  at 
least,  between  five  and  six  the  wayfarer 
may  rejoice  in  afternoon  tea  (though 
even  then  bread  and  cheese  will  be 
proffered  first)  and  either  try  his  hand 
at  a  well- bound  novel,  dedicated  in 
1830  to  the  newly  confessed  "  author 
of  Waverley,"  or  meditate  on  the  con- 
firmation given  by  our  village  inns  to 
the  thesis  of  England's  uninhabited 
estate.  Some  of  these  little  hostelries 
are  pretty  and  pleasant  enough  to  com- 
pare with  ought  of  their  size  in  Switz- 
erland or  Bavaria  or  the  Black 
Forest ;  but  their  pleasantness  is  in  no 
case  supported  or  suggested  by  the 
custom  which  they  receive.  "Pis  not 
for  guests  or  customers  that  flowers 
are  set  in  the  window  and  sweet  peas 
trained  up  the  door.  If  mine  host 
and  his  womenfolk  come  of  a  comfort- 
able stock  acccustomed  to  these 
amenities,  the  inn  will  have  the  homely 
prettiness  of  a  country  farm  ;  if  not,  the 
farmer  and  his  nag  will  respectively 
eat  and  drink  in  due  season,  the 
waggoner  will  stop  to  bait  and  Hodge 
turn  in  to  swallow  silently  as  much 
beer  as  his  meagre  budget  will  admit ; 
and  more  exacting  customers  are  too 
few  to  count.  If  the  inn  looks  prosper- 
ous, the  odds  are  that  the  landlord  is 
a  farmer,  or,  may  be,  postmaster  and 
tailor  as  well,  or,  as  in  Deddington 
just  ahead,  a  blacksmith  or  a  butcher, 
or  sperhaps,  proprietor  of  the  mowing 
or  threshing  machine  which  serves  the 
district.  Civilised  travellers  will  be- 
ware of  the  man  who  lives  by  beer 
alone  and  the  effective  demand  for 
bread  and  cheese,  to  say  nothing  of 
bacon,  is  evidently  inadequate  to  evoke 
a  constant  supply. 

At  six  o'clock  the  best  of  the 
summer  evening  is  before  us ;  the  low 
hill  en  the  right,  with  the  churches  of 
Steeple  Aston  and  North  Aston, 
shields  the  road  which  presently  crosses 
the  little  river  Swere,  and  climbs  the  hill 
to  Deddington,  once  a  market  town 
now  in  appearance  a  rather  overgrown 
village,  and  not  the  worse  for  that, 
since  English  villages  are  generally 


pretty,  and  small  English  towns  almost 
always  ugly,  unless  their  growth  was 
arrested  a  century  ago.  Handsome  old 
timbered  houses  survive  to  tell  the 
tale  of  departed  glory,  and  a  bicycle 
gyrating  down  the  hill  casts  a  slender 
ray  of  hope  on  the  immediate  future  of 
these  rural  roads  and  decaying  village 
inns.  Deddington  has  under  2,000 
and  Adderbury  under  1,500  inhabit- 
ants ;  they  are  only  two  miles  apart 
and  not  unlike  in  situation,  having 
each  a  hill  and  each  a  stream,  and 
each  a  sleepy  high  street,  though  the 
green  side  of  the  hill  sloping  to  the 
water  meadows  is  of  unequal  steepness 
and  beauty.  Here  again  we  meet 
signs  of  life  :  no  fewer  than  three 
carts,  of  various  degrees  of  pretension, 
bearing  ferns  and  flowers  and  more  or 
less  hilarious  drivers  canter  by  us ; 
there  must  have  been  a  flower  show  in 
Banbury,  and  we  ourselves  are  in  the 
parish  of  Bodlicote,  a  spot  of  some  bo- 
tanical interest,  for  medicinal  rlrubarb 
is  grown  here.  Apropos  of  rhubarb, 
we  pass  to-day  some  plants  of  the 
common  sort  in  flower,  and  wonder 
why  it  is  not  grown  as  a  foliage 
plant  in  Hyde  Park  ;  the  heads  are 
finer  than  pampas  grass.  Drugs  and 
flower  shows  notwithstanding,  the  Eng- 
lish settlements  to  the  north  of 
Banbury  (to  borrow  the  language  of  a 
dispassionate  explorer)  are  in  a  declining 
state.  Deddington  has  lost  its  market 
and  Easington  its  parish  church,  or 
rather  the  church  is  still  there  but  the 
parishioners  are  made  over  to  the 
adjoining  cure  of  Cuxham  ;  a  flock  of 
twenty-eight  sheep  left  in  the  wilder- 
ness cannot  expect  to  have  a  shepherd 
to  itself,  and,  as  every  traveller  knows, 
the  ruined  and  deserted  temples  of  an 
ancient  faith  are  always  to  be  met 
with  as  picturesque  ornaments  on  the 
site  of  former  prosperity  and  cultiva- 
tion. 

The  crimson  sun  sets  behind  Ban- 
bury,  a  quiet,  comfortable  little  town 
with  about  10,000  inhabitants,  just — 
so  to  speak — a  size  larger  than  New- 
bury,  and  not  too  large  for  a  good 
contingent  of  the  inhabitants  to  enjoy 
a  summer  evening's  stroll  along  the 


376 


Rural  Roads. 


shady  roads  outside  the  town,  which 
are   not   without    hospitable   benches. 
By  comparison  with  the  roads  we  have 
been  following  we  seem  again  in  an 
inhabited  country,  but  as  at  Newbury 
we    compared    our    own    impressions 
of    England's    uninhabitedness    with 
Chinese  statistics  of    population,    we 
may  now  compare  with  both  the  im- 
pressions    received    by   travellers    in 
that    really    populous    country.     An 
Arab  traveller  of   the  ninth  century 
attempts  to  give  an  idea  of  the  popul- 
ousness  of  the  fertile  plains  in  southern 
China,    by    saying   that   the   villages 
seem  so  close  as  almost  to  touch,  and 
the  cocks  answer  each  other  continuously 
from  hamlet  to  hamlet  for  100  leagues 
together.     In    England    we    speak   of 
"  barn  door  "  fowls,  and  our  peasantry 
have  no  barn  and  but  rarely  fowls,  so 
the   music  of  Chanticleer  is  less  con- 
spicuous a  feature  in  village  life  than 
might   be  wished  ;  but  though  every 
village  kept  wild  cocks  enough  to  spoil 
the  slumbers    of  a  score   of  Carlyles, 
along  our  high  road  their  voices  would 
not   reach  to   make   an   echo   in   the 
nearest  hamlet,  but  would  die   away 
desolately  in  the   void.     The  Spanish 
and  Portuguese  travellers  who  visited 
China   in   the    sixteenth  century   use 
corresponding     expressions :     pagodas 
stood  within  a  stone's  throw  of  each 
other    and    continuously    for    eleven 
days'  journey  they  see  "cities,  towns, 
villages,    boroughs,    forts   and  castles 
not   a  (-hot's   flight  distant   from    one 
another."     The  Jesuit  missionaries  of 
the  eighteenth  and  the  Protestants  of 
the  present  century  tell  substantially 
the  same  story,  describing  agricultural 
China  as  we  should  describe  the  manu- 
facturing   parts    of    Lancashire    and 
Yorkshire,    where   the  smoke  of   one 
town  meets  its  neighbour  in  the  sky. 
One  recent  traveller  '  tried  to  explain 
the  difference  by  the  choice  of    more 
productive  crops,  "  one  acre  of  wheat 
will  in  Europe  support  two  men ;  one 
acre  in  China  will  probably  support 
twenty ; "    but  if   one  acre  of    wheat 
supported  two  men,  a  parish  contain- 
ing   1,920   acres    half   laid    down    in 
1  Gill's  River  of  Golden  Sand,  p.  277. 


wheat  would  support  1,920  inhabitants, 
or  at  the  rate  of  640  to  the  square 
mile,  and  still  have  a  surplus  to  spare 
for  Deddington  market.  The  true 
secret  of  the  matter  is  that  the 
Chinese  agriculturist  does,  and  the 
English  does  not  feed  and  clothe  him- 
self directly  out  of  the  produce  of 
his  own  labour.  The  consequence  is 
that,  as  English  travellers  observe, 
with  a  surprise  that  would  itself  be 
surprising  to  a  Chinaman,  the  country 
people  of  China  are  well  off  in  a  fat, 
fertile  district,  and  only  poor  when  the 
soil  and  climate  are  against  them.  We 
manage  these  things  differently  in 
England  ;  and  it  might  still  be  said, 
almost  as  absolutely  as  by  Cobbett, 
that  "  the  richer  the  soil  and  the  more 
destitute  of  woods,  that  is  to  say,  the 
more  purely  a  corn  country,  the  more 
miserable  the  labourers." 

At  Banbury  the  rights  of  chamber- 
maids are  respected,  and  we  are  not 
"entitled,"  as  the  Scotch  landlord 
says,  to  tea  at  6.30,  except  by  private 
arrangement  with  the  damsel,  who 
agrees  to  curtail  her  lawful  slumbers 
for  a  consideration.  We  are  off  at 
seven,  with  a  clear  and  cloudless  sky  ; 
and  begin  now  to  diverge  from  the 
straight  road  to  Lincolnshire,  and  make 
a  sweep  westward,  in  order  to  touch  at 
Coventry. 

Outside  the  town  we  have  a  choice 
'of  roads — one  to  Warwick  and  Leam- 
ington, the  other  to  Leamington  ;  and, 
as  the  latter  is  our  destination,  we  fol- 
low its  guidance,  and  do  not  repent, 
though  it  proves  not  to  be  the  one  we 
had  predetermined  on.  Close  to  the 
road,  at  our  left,  is  the  pretty  church 
and  village  of  Mollington,  half  in  Ox- 
ford and  half  in  Warwickshire.  The 
country  here  is  exceedingly  pretty — 
finely  timbered,  with  fat,  sloping  pas- 
tures, ridged  from  old  ploughing  or 
draining.  There  is  a  Fenny  Compton 
station,  near  which  we  cross  the  line, 
but  the  village  is  safe  out  of  sight ;  it 
used  to  be  famous  for  its  yeomen,  whose 
substantial  houses  are  now  divided  and 
let  to  labourers.  Pretty  as  the  road  is 
here  it  has  once  been  prettier,  for  al) 
along  one  side  of  it  there  is  one  of 


Eural  Roads. 


377 


those  narrow  slips  of  fields  that  in  such 
a  place  tell  the  tale  of  unmistakable 
stealing — the  inclosure  of  the  wayside 
grass  by  some  bold  bad  man.  The  curi- 
ous thing  here  is  that  telegraph  posts 
stand  upon  the  stolen  ground.  Does 
the  Commons  Preservation  Society 
know  whether  the  Post  Office  is  the 
thief  1  The  last  Ordnance  Map  (1815) 
marks  the  road  as  uninclosed,  and  'tis 
visible  to  the  naked  eye  that  the 
fence  is  now  where  no  fence  can  have 
a  right  to  be. 

After  the  railway  for  as  near  as 
may  be  four  miles  there  is  not  a  single 
house  of  any  sort  upon  the  road ;  in 
1815  there  was  one  at  least,  but  it  has 
disappeared,  and  we  have  to  go  two 
miles  beyond  the  halfway  to  Leaming- 
ton before  coming  to  a  stable  for  the 
morning  halt.  In  compensation,  the 
little  village  of  Ladbroke  reached  at 
last,  has  gates  upon  which  one  may 
lean  away  an  hour  in  bucolic  bliss. 
There  is  a  big  house  with  timbered 
grounds  bounding  the  view  on  one  side, 
one  or  more  middle-sized  dwellings  set 
back  in  gardens,  besides  the  church, 
the  rectory,  and  a  tiny  cluster  of 
cottages,  beginning  with  the  very 
humble  inn  and  ending  with  the  black- 
smith's forge,  250  souls  in  all.  The 
church  is  apparently  a  fine  one,  partly 
fourteenth  century,  with  an  older 
chancel,  and  a  fifteenth  century  clere- 
story, the  latest  feature,  except  a  new 
lych  gate  dedicated  to  the  memory  of 
the  last  incumbent.  The  churchyard 
is  open,  but  the  church  is  locked.  Do 
the  country  clergy  who  stand  aloof 
from  politics,  and  keep  their  parish 
churches  locked,  know  that  they  are 
doing  what  little  in  them  lies  to  further 
the  cause  of  disestablishment  ?  Half- 
a-dozen  paths  converge  at  the  church, 
three  at  least  crossing  one  broad 
meadow  where  the  long  grass  rivals 
the  billowy  radiance  of  ripe  corn ;  can 
anything  be  more  truly  democratic  1 
In  the  dim  ages  when  this  church  was 
built  none  doubted  that  the  one  build- 
ing that  every  one  wished  to  walk  to 
should  be  made  accessible  to  every  one 
by  a  direct  short  cut ;  it  may  be 
doubted  whether,  but  for  the  number 


and  popularity  of  these  "church  paths," 
there  would  be  a  single  footway  in 
England  open  now  ;  there  is  a  homily 
in  their  defence,  wherein  strong  words 
are  not  lacking  :  inter  alia,  "  God  is 
not  bound  to  defend  such  possessions 
as  are  gotten  by  the  devil  and  his 
counsel,"  and  the  preacher,  not  content 
with  denouncing  the  flagrant  sin  of 
those  who  "grind  up  the  ancient  doles 
and  marks,"  to  the  disinheriting  of 
rightful  owners,  laments  too  the  im- 
moral, though  never  illegal,  covetous- 
ness  of  those  who  "  plough  up  so  high 
the  common  balks  and  walks,  which 
good  men  before  made  the  greater  and 
broader,  partly  for  the  commodious 
walk  of  his  neighbour,  partly  for  the 
better  shack  in  harvest-time,  to  the 
more  comfort  of  his  poor  neighbour's 
cattle."  Then,  in  more  special  re- 
ference to  these  church  paths,  he  goes 
on  :  "  It  is  a  shame  to  behold  the  in- 
satiableness  of  some  covetous  persons 
in  their  doings ;  that,  where  their 
ancestors  left  of  their  land  a  broad 
and  sufficient  bier-balk  to  carry  the 
bier  to  the  Christian  sepulture,  now 
men  pinch  at  such  bier-balks,  which  by 
long  use  and  custom  ought  to  be  in- 
violably kept  for  that  purpose  ;  and 
now  they  either  quite  ear  them  up, 
and  turn  the  dead  body  to  be  borne 
further  about  in  the  high  streets ; 
or  else  if  they  leave  any  such 
meer,  it  is  too  strait  for  two 
to  walk  on."  Here  is  by  impli- 
cation the  social  doctrine  "  to  every 
man  according  to  his  wants  "  ;  the  one 
thing  no  man  can  do  without  is  the  bit 
of  earth  that  opens  to  receive  his  bones, 
and  Church  and  State,  law  and  reli- 
gion, agree  to  assure  his  right  to  a 
decent  journey  thither.  But  church- 
yards have,  perhaps,  before  now  been 
the  chosen  scene  for  a  reflection  that 
all  our  life  is  a  journey  to  the  grave  : 
this  being  so,  it  is  consolatory  to  learn 
from  another  Elizabethan  homily  that  by 
divine  right  we  may  make  the  journey 
decently.  But  these  pretty  radical 
paths  were  never  meant  to  lead  to  a 
locked  door ;  and  a  village  church  is 
good  for  something  more  than  for  the 
rural  congregation  (when  there  is  one), 


378 


Rural  Roads. 


to  say  its  prayers  in  on  Sunday.  It 
is  a  monument  of  ancient  faith,  of  a 
long-lost  fraternity  of  purpose  through- 
out the  land,  of  a  liberality  lavish 
enough  to  bestow  on  hamlets  finer 
buildings  for  the  common  use  than 
many  a  large  town  now  erects  with 
much  pother  of  subscription  lists  and 
beggary.  For  the  present  the  nation 
has  no  common  creed  to  profess,  no 
common  worship  to  perform  — 
we  do  not  say  public  prayers  to 
Mammon — in  these  national  edifices, 
but  that  is  only  the  more  reason  why 
the  church  doors  should  stand  open 
wide,  that  all  who  list  may  enter  and 
breathe  a  prayer  in  passing. 

The  moral  is  plain,  that  whensoever 
the  whole  nation  shall  be  as  unani- 
mously resolved  to  bend  its  steps  any- 
whither  as  our  ancestors  were,  to  be 
christened,  married,  and  entombed 
within  the  precincts  of  the  parish 
church,  then  again  as  of  yore,  custom, 
religion  and  law  will  lend  their 
sanction  to  the  claim  and  the  good 
will  of  the  people  shall  be  done  on 
earth. 

"  Celles-ci    sont    pour  1'an  trois   mil,   ainsi 
soit-il !  " 

The  sermon  of  the  locked  church 
door  lasts  a  long  hour  by  the  June  sun- 
shine, and  there  are  appointments  to  be 
kept  ahead.  Again  upon  the  road,  we 
make  a  sharp  turn  to  the  west,  leaving 
the  respectable  town  of  Southam,  with 
its  spires  on  our  right.  Beyond  the 
little  village  of  Ufton,  perched  on  its 
little  hill,  we  cross  the  Roman"  Foss- 
way,"  which  will  meet  us  again  beyond 
Leicester,  as  its  line  is  the  chord  of  the 
arc  we  are  describing.  Interest  in  Rad- 
ford  Semele  cools  as  we  learn  that  the 
King's  name  has  to  do  with  nothing 
more  mythological  than  the  whilom 
presence  of  a  family  that  might  just  as 
well  have  spelt  itself  "  Simely."  Long 
before  Leamington  is  in  sight  sure 
tokens  herald  the  vicinity  of  a  water- 
ing-place, a  town  laid  out  for  the 
pleasure  of  its  residents;  the  well 
kept  roads  have  a  soft  "ride"  on  one 
side,  the  wide  raised  footpath  is  fur- 
nished with  benches  and  tall  trees  on 


either  hand  give  shade  and  freshness. 
In  his  wrath  at  the  kindred  fopperies 
of  the  "  tax-eaters "  of  Cheltenham, 
Cobbett  would  not  deign  to  look  at  the 
expensive  town,  but  the  extreme  pret- 
tiness  of  Leamington  may  suggest 
another  moral  to  a  milder  age.  Here 
are  over  5,000  inhabited  houses,  25,000 
and  odd  mortal  specimens  of  our  ugly 
species,  and  yet  a  good  fourth  or  fifth  of 
the  area  they  occupy  is  by  no  means 
ugly — some  of  it  is  positively  agreeable 
to  behold.  We  shall  have  occasion  to 
remember  this  lesson  in  Leicestershire. 
Private  and  hired  carriages  by  the  score 
frequent  the  ornamental  drives  leading 
to  Warwick  and  Kenilworth.  For  the 
sake  of  "John,"  or  rather  of  his  child- 
ren, to  whom  it  is  fitting  that  he  should 
take  back  some  traveller's  tale,  the  law 
against  sightseeing  is  relaxed  and  Kenil- 
worth  Castle  included  in  the  route. 
With  cockneyfied  surprise  we  note  an 
unbridged  streamlet  |  across  the  most 
frequented  road.  From  Kenilworth  to 
Coventry  there  is  a  long  reach  of  much 
admired  highway,  wide  and  bordered 
with  trees  like  a  great  park  avenue,  and 
for  once  in  a  way  the  effect  is  fine  ;  but 
the  Fenny  Compton  solitudes  are  really 
prettier,  and  we  suspect  that  the  other 
is  mainly  admired  for  being  public 
while  looking  so  much  more  like  private 
property. 

To-day's  stage  is  a  short  one  and  we 
halt  at  Coventry,  but  have  little  leisure 
to  "  watch  the  three  tall  spires,"  one 
of  which  alas  !  was  about  to  be  vested 
in  scaffolding  and  virtually  rebuilt,  not 
in  wantonness,  but  because  the  fabric 
is  really  insecure.  An  ugly  but  ser- 
viceable steam-tram  groans  and  pants 
through  the  venerable  city  and  up  its 
steep  hill,  but  as  we  pass  out  of  it  on 
Thursday  morning,  by  the  Foleshill  side 
it  is  hard  to  realise  that  we  are  leaving 
behind  a  larger  population  than  that  of 
Oxford.  This  district  is  sacred  to  the 
memory  of  George  Eliot.  Foleshill 
itself,  a  straggling  manufacturing  vil- 
lage with  nearly  8,000  inhabitants  lies 
to  the  right  of  the  road  which  passes 
through  fair  wooded  pastures  before 
reaching  the  ugly  little  town  of  Bid- 
worth,  with  about  the  same  population 


Rural  Roads. 


379 


as  Abingdon,  but  with  a  squalid,  coal- 
dusty  look ;  a  very  coal-dusty  little 
public  invites  custom  pathetically  under 
the  sign  of  "  The  Old  Black  Bank  ;  " 
where  will  not  sentiment  find  itself  a 
hook  to  hang  itself  on?  Thrice  be- 
tween Coventry  and  Griff  the  road 
crosses  the  "  brown  canal "  where  half 
a  century  ago,  the  little  sister  caught 
her  fish  and  learnt — 

"  Such  was  with  glory  wed." 

The  old  church  of  Chilver  Colow, 
once  abandoned  to  the  ministrations  of 
the  Rev.  Amos  Barton,  is  in  the  angle 
where  the  road  turns  eastward  to  Nun- 
eaton  and  Leicester.  The  former  is  a 
clean,  pretty  little  country  town  about 
the  size  of  Abingdon  and  Bidworth, 
but  like  the  former,  dating  from  ages 
when  the  aggregation  of  men  for  in- 
dustry did  not  necessarily  imply  the 
mere  multiplication  of  mean  brick 
buildings  all  alike  in  ugliness.  From 
Coventry  to  Leicester  is  about  twenty- 
five  miles,  and  we  propose  to  sleep  at 
Melton  Mowbray  seventeen  miles  fur- 
ther, so  this  time  the  day's  journey  has 
to  be  divided  into  three  stages.  Hinck- 
ley,  a  small  manufacturing  town  (about 
8,000  inhabitants)  is  halfway  to  Leices- 
ter, but  with  memories  of  Market 
Ilsley  and  Ladbroke  churchyard  still 
fresh  we  cannot  willingly  contemplate 
a  halt  at  the  "  Old  Black  Bank  "  or 
hostelries  of  similar  associations. 
Leicestershire,  as  we  enter  it  by  turn- 
ing for  a  few  yards  down  Watling 
Street,  has  a  somewhat  naked  look, 
a  country  with  open  reaches  of  land 
and  sky,  which  needs  the  contrast  of 
a  few  smiling,  sheltered  human  settle- 
ments to  make  one  call  it  open  and 
breezy  instead  of  bare  and  bleak  ;  for 
half  an  hour,  leaving  more  to  fear  than 
hope,  we  resolve  the  anxious  question, 
will  Hinckley  prove  a  blot  or  an  orna- 
ment to  the  landscape?  Slowly,  in 
silent  sadness,  we  pass  through — in  by 
the  Coventry  and  out  by  the  Leicester 
road,  and  choosing  mercy  to  man  rather 
than  beast  we  trust  ourselves  to  the 
chance  of  villages  a-head  rather  than 
waste  a  summer  hour  in  these  dingy 
streets.  Allow  something  for  the 


hasty  judgment  of  an  irresponsible 
wayfarer  spoilt  by  the  bonnes  fortunes 
of  former  days.  I  am  fain  to  hope 
that  all  the  domestic,  social,  and  politi- 
cal virtues  nourish  at  Hinckley;  it  has 
co-operative  stores  and  building  soci- 
eties, there  is  a  hill  behind  it  with  a 
view,  and  though  rich  in  modern  ugli- 
ness, the  town  is  old,  and  the  ringing 
of  the  curfew  bell  is  provided  for  by 
an  endowment  of  land  to  pay  the 
ringer.  But  when  all  possible  justice 
has  been  done  to  all  the  sterling  virtues 
we  know  of  or  can  imagine,  the  fact 
remains  that  the  town  of  Hinckley  is 
not  a  gracious  spot.  The  stocking 
loom  was  introduced  here  at  an  early 
date,  and  the  place  was  comparatively 
more  important  at  the  end  of  the 
eighteenth  century  than  it  is  now  ; 
the  population  was  between  four  and 
five  thousand,  and  as  a  proof  of  its 
singular  healthiness  it  was  stated  that 
for  eight  weeks  not  a  single  death  had 
occurred.  Since  then  the  place  has 
not  quite  doubled  in  size,  but 
as  we  remember  Leamington  that 
is  no  valid  reason  why  it  should 
have  lost  its  good  looks ;  for  it  had 
good  looks  to  lose. 

So  we  turn  our  backs  on  Hinckley, 
and  faring  three  or  four  miles  further, 
reach  the  younger  and  smaller  and  so 
far  more  inoffensive  settlement  of  Earl 
Shilton,  where  a  church  spire  rises 
hopefully  among  trees  on  the  crest  of 
the  hill  up  which  the  village  street 
appears  to  straggle.  Since  we  accepted 
the  hospitality  of  the  villagers  at  the 
sign  of  King  William  the  Fourth,  it 
would  be  ungrateful  to  prophesy  that 
Earl  Shilton  quadrupled  will  be  another 
Hinckley  ;  leaving  man  and  beast  to 
King  William's  tender  mercies  we 
steer  for  the  church  spire  and  emerge 
upon  a  green  meadow  leading  up 
to  the  churchyard.  This  is  planted 
upon  the  very  brow  of  a  little  cliff- 
like  descent,  and  from  this  vantage 
ground  a  fresh  reach  of  slightly 
varied  open  country  is  spread  out 
before  us  to  the  north-east.  The 
churchyard  gate  is  locked,  but  the 
wall  is  low ;  .  .  .  the  church  of  course 
is  locked  ;  but  that  grievance  has  been 


380 


Rural  Roads, 


exhausted  already;  there  is  a  wide 
porch  with  stone  seats  both  at  the 
north  and  south  door,  and  from  the 
welcome  shade  of  the  former  we  look 
out  in  peace  upon  a  scene  of  beauty. 
'Tis  the  second  cloudless  day,  and  the 
sun's  heat  has  been  gathering  strength  ; 
now  at  high  noon  it  bathes  the  plain  in 
a  white  haze,  to  which  the  cool  stone 
porch  and  bright  green  turf  on  the 
foreground  serves  as  a  frame.  Earl 
Shilton,  though  not  beautiful  itself, 
looks  out  on  beauty  enough  to  let  us 
part  from  it  in  charity. 

The  nine  miles  of  road  between  it 
and  Leicester  are  solitary  again ;  a 
park  or  two  and  the  "highway  spin- 
nies "  survive  as  relics  of  what  old 
maps  call  Leicester  Forest,  though  it 
was  really  a  royal  chase,  and  as  such 
alienated  in  the  days  of  Charles  I. 
Presumably  we  pass  through  Glenfield 
parish,  formed  of  three  hamlets  three 
miles  apart,  and  with  a  total  popula- 
tion of  about  1000  souls,  but  the  high- 
road gives  them  all  a  wide  berth.  The 
approach  to  Leicester  is  rather  fine, 
and  the  allotment  gardens,  carved  out 
of  the  common  pastures  of  the  Leicester 
"freemen  "  are  very  interesting.  Only 
townsmen  could  so  covetously  make 
the  most  of  every  inch  of  the  tiny 
plots,  and  one's  heart  warms  to  the 
microscopic  greenhouses  and  liliputian 
arbours,  where  one  can  imagine  happy 
families  sitting  on  Sunday  afternoon, 
each  under  its  own  scarlet-runners ; 
unless,  indeed,  the  local  puritanism 
which  wages  a  holy  war  against  Sun- 
day cricket  closes  the  allotment  gardens 
on  that  day.  In  English  towns  of  a 
certain  size  a  tourist's  inquiries  after 
the  best  hotel  are  apt  to  receive  alter- 
native replies,  according  to  the  blue 
or  buff  shade  of  informant's  'political 
sympathies.  A  clerical  referee  re- 
members that  "the  archdeacon"  stays 
at  the  King's  Head,  while  a  liberal 
resident  is  still  more  confident  in  re- 
commending the  "Queen's."  In 
Leicester  we  follow  Bradshaw  to  the 
"Bell."  Here  the  decoration  of  the 
coffee-room  is  political  but  ambiguous. 
A  large  photograph  represents  a 
spacious  hall,  with  dinner-tables  spread 


for  many  guests,  while  a  handful  of 
spectators  contemplate  the  empty  seats, 
title — "  The  Great  Conservative  Ban- 
quet." Is  this  meant  for  subtle  irony, 
and  are  we  amongst  Radicals  who  thus 
commemorate  a  fiasco  on  the  other 
side  ?  Apparently  not.  The  waiter's 
gravity  rebukes  the  frivolous  thought, 
as  he  condescends  to  explain  that  the 
photograph  represents  M.  le  Proprie- 
taire  and  a  few  friends,  like  a  general 
and  his  staff  surveying  the  future 
field  of  battle. 

Leaving  its  hospitable  portals  be- 
tween five  and  six,  we  pass  out  through 
Belgrave,  a  kind  of  suburb  connected 
with  the  town  by  tramways.  Factories 
and  manufacturing  villages  are  dotted 
about  the  neighbourhood,  and  as  we 
pass  through  the  streets  of  Thurmaston 
and  Syston,  women  are  seen  at  the 
windows  and  on  door-steps  at  work  at 
the  "  seaming  and  stitching "  of  the 
hosiery  woven  in  the  town.  Their 
earnings  average  under  a  shilling  a 
day,  and  they  have  to  fetch  the  work 
or  pay  a  commission  to  the  middleman. 
In  1874  a  trade  union  of  the  women 
seamers  and  stitchers  was  formed,  and 
the  society  succeeded  in  getting  a  list 
of  prices  adopted  by  arbitration,  which 
raised  the  prices  of  the  worst  paid 
work  twenty-five  per  cent.  But  the 
difficulties  in  the  way  of  organisation 
can  be  imagined  when  it  is  said  that 
the  halfpence  which  form  the  sub- 
scriptions have  to  be  collected  from 
members  scattered  in  twenty- seven 
villages.  Ten  and  twenty  miles  a 
day  was  often  tramped  in  winter  by 
the  energetic  women  who  formed  the 
first  committee  of  the  society,  which 
numbered  nearly  3,000  members  in  its 
first  year.  Apparently  the  ladies  of 
Leicestershire  are  an  energetic  race, 
for  in  Thurmaston  a  Mistress  Ruth 
Somebody  combines  the  function  of 
post-mistress,  shopkeeper,  and  parish 
clerk. 

Beyond  Syston  we  pass  again  almost 
suddenly  into  rural  solitudes,  a  land 
of  "  spires  and  squires,"  with  fine 
churches,  cosy  villages,  with  from 
sixty  to  600  inhabitants,  spacious 
parks  and  fat  pastures,  which  the  red 


Rural  Roads. 


381 


cattle  share  with  sheep,  who  look 
oddly  out  of  place  in  the  long  grass 
to  eyes  fresh  from  Hampshire  downs 
and  turnip-fields.  The  abundant 
finger-posts  testify  that  we  are  in  the 
heart  of  Daneland  ;  between  Bears  by 
and  Brooksby  the  road  runs  along  the 
top  of  a  round  ridge  or  wold,  not  too 
broad  to  allow  those  who  pass  along 
the  summit  to  look  down  into  the 
green  valleys  on  either  side,  where 
are  Hoby,  Bothesby,  Frisby,  Symes- 
by,  and  Kirby  Bellairs,  with 
Gaddesby,  Kettleby,  Saxelby,  Welby, 
Brentingby,  and  many  more  with 
the  same  termination  in  the  middle 
and  remoter  distance.  This  effect 
of  the  road  along  the  upland — which 
is  on  too  small  a  scale  to  be  called  a 
down,  and  yet  has  all  the  breeziness 
of  one  and  more  view  than  a  good 
many — is  characteristic  of  the  neigh- 
bourhood, and  will  meet  us  again 
beyond  Melton  Mowbray,  where  we 
have  found  quarters  for  the  night 
before  the  curfew  bells  begin  to  ring. 
Here,  as  every  one  knows,  pork  pies 
are  turned  out  by  the  ton  weekly,  and, 
as  a  great  hunting  centre,  there  is 
stabling  for  700  horses. 

There  only  remains  a  stage  of  thir- 
teen miles  to  be  taken  before  break- 
fast next  morning.  One  small  and 
pretty  village — Thorp  Arnold — lies 
between  Melton  and  Waltham-on-the- 
Wolds,  the  name  of  which  speaks  for 
itself.  The  counti-y  is  of  the  same 
character  as  it  has  been  since  Bearsby. 
Waltham,  which  used  to  have  a  market, 
still  holds  an  annual  horse  and  cattle 
fair ;  the  old  "  Bell  Close "  lets  for 
151.  a  year,  which  pays  for  the  bell 
which  rings  at  eight  o'clock,  morning 
as  well  as  evening.  Croxton  Park 
(pronounced  Crozton),  between  Wal- 
tham and  Croxton  Kerrial,  belongs  to 
the  Duke  of  Butland,  and  a  modest 
manor-house,  picturesquely  situated  but 
of  no  use  to  the  owner  of  Belvoir,  has 
been  half  destroyed,  half  converted  into 
a  farm.  Finely-antlered  deer  graze  upon 
the  racecourse  above  the  park,  and 
some  three  miles  off,  on  the  other  side 
of  the  road,  Belvoir  Castle  towers 
impressively  through  the  morning 


haze.  The  drive  through  Croxton 
Park  opens  on  the  high  road  just 
opposite  the  gate  of  the  drive  to 
Belvoir ;  the  traveller  may  thus,  ac- 
cording to  his  taste,  either  pity  the 
sorrows  of  a  poor  duke  whose  landed 
property  is  cut  in  two  by  the  public 
road,  or  marvel  at  the  instinct  of 
"  agglomeration,"  as  the  Chinese  called 
the  practice  while  they  suffered  from  it. 
Since  the  schoolmaster  has  been  abroad 
the  natives  of  this  region  have  learnt 
to  pronounce  the  name  of  the  duke's 
castle  as  it  is  spelt — Bel — bell  and  voir 
to  rhyme  with  choir.  Popular  educa- 
tion has  the  same  tendency  every- 
where. Board-school  children  in  the 
Borough  talk  about  South-wark  instead 
of  South'ark  as  well-to-do  Londoners 
used  to  do,  and  in  general  those  to 
whom  reading  is  a  new  art,  insist  on 
reading  as  they  think  correctly  all 
those  proper  names  which  have  ac- 
quired a  traditional  mispronunciation. 
The  point  is  a  little  curious  as  a  matter 
of  social  psychology,  for  the  mispro- 
nunciation probably  originated  with 
an  aristocracy  that  could  not  spell  the 
names  of  the  places  and  people  it 
habitually  spoke  of.  When  the  mis- 
pronunciation had  become  established 
it  was  regarded  as  a  refinement  of 
education  to  know  what  names  should 
be  mispronounced  and  how.  The 
middle-class  was  more  anxious  to  talk 
like  its  betters  than  to  read  more  cor- 
rectly than  they.  To  make  Chol- 
mondeley  or  Marjoribanks  into  quadri- 
syllables and  to  pronounce  Belvoir  as 
it  is  written  was  supposed  to  show  an 
ignorance  worse  than  that  of  letters, 
namely,  that  of  the  manners  and 
customs  of  "  county  families."  But 
this  ambition  passes  over  the  heads  of 
elementary  schools,  A  little  further 
on  and  the  journey  ends  at  one  more 
pretty,  well-spired  and  squired  village. 
The  reader  has  not  seen  the  May 
blossom  nor  basked  in  the  silent  sun- 
shine, and  he  may  find  the  unad ven- 
turous progress  dull.  But  seeing  is 
believing,  and  it  is  worth  while  for 
those  who  live  in  towns  and  suffer 
the  costs  of  over  population  to  realise 
what  is  meant  by  the  statistics  which 


382 


Rural  Roads. 


tell  of  a  falling  off  in  all  the  agricul- 
tural counties.  Oxford,  Coventry,  and 
Leicester  are  the  only  towns  of  any 
importance  upon  this  150  miles  of 
road  ;  if  Leamington  is  added  to  these, 
there  remain  only  eighteen  towns  and 
villages  with  a  population  ranging 
from  one  to  ten  thousand  ;  deduct- 
ing these  and  a  proportionate  amount 
of  the  whole  route,  say,  to  be  on  the 
safe  side,  as  much  as  half,  there  will 
remain  seventy-five  miles  of  high  road 
in  the  middle  of  southern  England 
with  an  average  population  around 
that  may  be  approximately  calculated 
at  forty-five  to  the  square  mile ;  to  be 
on  the  safe  side,  say  fifty,  for  we 
certainly  traversed  districts  that  are 
much  less  populous  than  the  part  of 
Hampshire  where  the  exact  area  of 
the  parishes  as  well  as  the  population 
was  ascertained.  Explore  what  part 
of  rural  England  you  will,  the  result 
will  be  found  much  the  same,  and  it 
is  not  one  creditable  to  our  practical 
sagacity. 

Treble  the  population  of  the  purely 
agricultural  districts,  treble  the  amount 
of  labour  spent  upon  the  land,  and  re- 
arrange the  distribution  of  the  pro- 
duce, the  gross  produce  will  be  in- 
creased, the  trade  of  country  towns 
will  revive,  and  the  revival  of  local 
markets  will  further  stimulate  agricul- 
tural production.  The  artisans  of  Lei- 
cester are  not  millionaires,  but  they 
probably  invest  as  much  capital  per 
acre  in  their  allotments  as  a  market 
gardener ;  what  we  want  is  to  have 
village  lands  cultivated  up  to  market 
garden  pitch.  John,  the  paterfamilias 
already  mentioned,  has  something  to 
say  on  the  subject  of  why  we  do  not  get 
it.  He  has  lived  for  fifteen  years  as 
groom  and  gardener  with,  a  country 
clergyman.  When  his  enfranchise- 
ment as  a  county  voter  became  immi- 
nent, we  had  the  curiosity  to  inquire 
into  his  political  opinions  ;  needless  to 
say  that  he  disclaimed  the  indiscreet 
pretensions  to  anything  of  the  kind. 
However,  we  tried  him  with  the  land 
question.  Good  cottages,  he  thought, 
were  very  well,  but  a  man  wants  a  bit 
of  ground  of  his  own.  A  reference  to 


Mr.  Stubbs's  contention  that  the  land 
is  "  labour-starved,"  set  the  stream  of 
his  eloquence  loose ;  the  state  of  this 
and  this  piece  of  land  is  "  something 
shameful,"  and,  in  fact,  bad  farming 
and  bankrupt  farmers  are  more  plentiful 
than  bad  harvests  can  in  any  way  ac- 
count for.  To  continue  the  subject,  the 
rector  lends  John  Mr.  Stubbs's  little 
book  to  the  man,  and  a  year  or  two  later 
when  he  leaves  the  parish,  John  an- 
nounces his  desire  to  stay  behind  and 
take  Absalom's  farm  of  thirty  odd 
acres.  A  man  with  six  children  only 
just  growing  up  has  saved  very  few 
pounds,  but  the  fifty  pounds  he  con- 
siders indispensable  are  promised  as  a 
loan  by  a  friend  of  fifteen  years 
standing.  The  negotiation  goes  off 
upon  the  question  of  rent,  the  farm 
contains  some  of  the  land  which  has 
been  "  used  shameful,"  the  fences  are 
all  in  a  bad  condition.  We  induce  John 
to  correct  his  too  hopeful  estimate  as 
to  the  price  of  crops,  and  warn  him 
against  ruining  himself  by  undertak- 
ing to  pay  a  rent  beyond  what  the  land 
will  bring  in  after  he  has  kept  his 
family.  Thus  encouraged  he  asks  for 
a  reduction  for  the  first  year,  which 
we  privately  think  insufficient,  but  the 
agent  (it  is  shanty  land)  calmly  tells 
him  that  if  anything  is  taken  off  the 
first  year  as  much  again  will  be  put  on 
the  second,  and  the  more  he  thinks  of 
it  the  worse  the  bargain  seems ;  so 
John  will  stay  among  the  wage-earners. 
The  rent  he  is  asked  to  pay  is  close 
on  two  pounds  an  acre  for  a  small  farm 
in  bad  condition  ;  a  large  farm  in  the 
same  neighbourhood  has  been  let  in 
despair,  "  he  hears  say,"  at  Is.  Qd.  an 
acre  ;  he  is  a  silent,  mild  man,  wanting 
in  no  due  reverence  for  the  powers 
that  be,  but  as  we  trot  along  the  lanes 
he  allows  himself  to  observe  that  "  it 
do  seem  rather  unreasonable." 

Emigration  meetings  in  White- 
chapel  and  depopulation  in  Wiltshire 
"  do  seem  rather  "  unreasonably  near 
together ;  and  it  is  a  suggestive  exer- 
cise to  look  with  the  bodily  as  well  as 
the  mind's  eye  "  first  on  this  picture, 
then  on  this." 


383 


THE  NEW  NATIONAL  GALLERY   AT  AMSTERDAM. 


A  FEW  weeks  ago    there  were  great 
rejoicings  at   Amsterdam.      The  city 
was   en  fete ;  the    shops    were   gaily 
dressed  with  flags  ;  salutes  were  fired, 
and  there  were  visible   all  the  signs 
of  national   and    municipal  rejoicing. 
Yet   the   occasion    was    not  a  Royal 
Marriage  or  the  conclusion  of  a  Peace 
— it  was    the    opening   of  the  Rijks 
Museum,   which,    long  promised,  was 
at  last  completed.     As  almost  every 
English  tourist  who  visits  Amsterdam 
does  so,  more  or  less,  for  the  purpose 
of  studying  Dutch  art  in  its  native 
place,    it   is   pretty   generally  known 
that    the    condition     of     the    public 
gallery   there   has  up   till   now   been 
something  of  a  scandal.     The  "  Trip- 
penhuis,"  the  old  building  by  the  side 
of    the  canal,    in    which  the  master- 
pieces of  Rembrandt  and  his  followers 
have  been  housed,  was  a  building  in 
no  way  worthy   of    its    high  calling. 
Not  that  it  is  wanting  in  picturesque- 
ness    or    character.       It   would   have 
served    very    well    for    a    third-rate 
public  office ;  but  it  was  never  designed 
for  the  purpose  of  a  picture  gallery, 
and  not  more  than  a  fragment  of  its 
wall  space  was  properly  lighted.     For 
many  years  the  appeal  of  artists  and 
critics    had    gone    up    to    the    Dutch 
Government  and  the  municipal  autho- 
rities to  take  the  matter  in  hand,  and 
to    do    something    adequate    for    the 
art  which  in    the    eyes    of  mankind 
at  large  has  ever  been  the  glory  of 
Holland.     About  ten    years  ago   the 
decision  was  taken  to  begin  ;  and  the 
work  of    providing    a    new    building 
which    should  be   a  National   Gallery 
and  South  Kensington  Museum  in  one 
was    intrusted    to    Mr.     Cuypers,    a 
gentleman  well  known  in  the  Nether- 
lands and  in  Belgium  as  the  architect 
of  several  important  Roman  Catholic 
churches.       The    new    building    was 
actually  begun  in   1877,  and  it  is  now 


structurally  complete,  though  more 
than  half  of  it  remains  empty,  or 
almost  empty,  of  the  art  treasures 
with  which  it  will  some  day  be 
filled. 

The  arrangement  of  the  new  museum 
will  be   something  after  the  following 
order.     The  two    central    courts  will 
be    devoted — one    to    a    museum    of 
casts   illustrating    not   only   classical 
but  also  mediaeval  and  modern  sculp- 
ture,  and   the   other   to   part  of  the 
"  National      Netherlands     Museum," 
which  will  include  all  kinds  of  furni- 
ture, tapestry,  metal  work  and  faience 
produced    in    the    country  from    the 
earliest  times.     Several  of  the  rooms 
on   the  ground  floor  surrounding  the 
central  courts  will  also  be  given  up  to 
this  class    of    objects,    whilst    others 
will  be  assigned  to  the  schools  which, 
after  the  example  of  our  Science  and 
Art  Department,  the  Dutch  Govern 
ment  is  about  to  establish.     Thus  far, 
however,    the     organisation    of     the 
museums  is  a  matter  for  the  future ; 
at  present  only  one  of  the  ground-floor 
galleries  and   the  greater  part  of  the 
upper  floor  are  completed  and  ready 
for  visitors.     The  former  is  occupied 
by  the  very  celebrated   collection  of 
prints  and  drawings  which  have  long 
been  received  with  inhospitable  shelter 
in  the  "  Trippenhuis."    Above  are  the 
pictures,  viz. : — (1)  The  old  Trippen- 
huis collection  including  the  Dupper 
and  the   Van  der  Poll  bequests  ;  (2) 
The  famous  Van  der  Hoop  collection 
removed  from  the    separate  quarters 
where   it  has    been    kept   since    Mr. 
Adrian  van  der  Hoop  left  it  to  the  town, 
in  1854;  (3)  A  number  of  important 
pictures,  mostly  of  large  size,  removed 
from  the  Town  Hall,   where,  as  has 
been  known    to    a    few    adventurous 
tourists,  they  have  been  housed  in  dark 
and  very  unsuitable  quarters  for  some 
long  time;    (4)  The  modern   pictures 


384 


The  New  Natiojial  Gallery  at  Amsterdam. 


from  the  Royal  Villa  at  Haarlem. 
As  to  the  mode  of  arrangement,  there 
are  large  galleries  and  small  ones  ; 
the  former  lighted  from  the  top,  and 
the  latter,  which  consist  of  a  series  of 
small  rooms  communicating  one  with 
another,  by  high  side  windows.  As 
is  natural,  the  large  galleries  are 
chiefly  occupied  by  the  larger  pictures 
and  the  small  rooms  by  the  innumer- 
able little  masterpieces  of  the  painters 
of  genre  and  landscape  which  were  the 
chief  artistic  output  of  the  seventeenth 
century. 

Passing  up  a  wide,  but  not  very 
effective  staircase,  the  visitor  finds 
himself  in  a  broad  and  lofty  gallery, 
floored,  like  the  whole  museum,  with 
mosaic,  and  adorned  by  a  series  of 
stained  glass  windows  by  an  English 
artist,  Mr.  W.  J.  Dixon.  Out  of  this 
gallery,  which  serves  as  a  kind  of 
Salle  des  pas  perdus,  he  turns  into  a 
long  and  somewhat  gloomy  passage,  on 
either  side  of  which  are  recesses  filled 
with  pictures,  while  at  the  end  he  is 
faced  by  Rembrandt's  famous  Night 
Watch.  The  pictures  in  the  recesses 
are  mostly  of  the  class  known  in 
Holland  as  Schutterstukken,  or  Doelen- 
stukken,  or  those  large  life-size  portrait 
groups  in  which  painters  like  Frans 
Hals,  Van  der  Heist,  Flinck.  and  De 
Keyser  immortalised  sometimes  the 
guilds  and  sometimes  the  charitable 
committees  of  their  day.  Most  of 
these  pictures  have  practically  never 
been  seen  before ;  they  were,  most  of 
them,  in  the  upper  rooms  of  the  Town 
Hall,  where  visitors  were  extremely 
rare,  and  where  the  light  was  never 
such  as  properly  to  display  them.  To 
this  class  also  belongs  the  fine  collec- 
tion of  masterpieces  which  adorns  the 
spacious  "  Salle  Rembrandt;"  at  the 
end  of  this  approach.  The  Night  Watch 
occupies  the  place  of  honour.  To  the 
right  is  the  no  less  famous  Syndics, 
the  crowning  achievement  of  Rem- 
brandt's later  years,  and  to  the  left 
is  a  group  by  Frans  Hals,  which,  to 
the  few  who  saw  it  at  the  Town  Hall, 
and  to  the  multitudes  who  have  never 
seen  it  till  now,  will  be  a  source  of 


great  attraction.  Opposite  the  two 
last  named  are  other  pictures,  also  of 
high  quality,  by  Govert  Flinck  and 
Jacob  Bakker,  whilst  the  two  remain- 
ing walls  are  covered,  one  by  an  im- 
mense picture  of  Van  der  Heist,  and 
by  a  painting  of  great  interest  by 
Thomas  de  Keyser,  a  brilliant  artist, 
whose  rare  handiwork  is  only  besides 
to  be  seen  in  a  few  small  portraits  or 
groups,  such  as  the  famous  Burgo- 
masters, in  the  museum  of  the  Hague. 
When  we  have  added  that  the  large 
gallery  on  the  left  is  occupied  by  a 
miscellaneous  and  not  very  good  col- 
lection of  foreign  paintings ;  that 
afterwards  we  pass  more  or  less 
chronologically  from  the  beginnings  of 
the  Dutch  school  through  a  special 
gallery  of  portraits  to  the  little  rooms 
and  the  little  pictures  of  which  we 
have  spoken ;  and  that  on  completing 
the  circuit  of  this  floor  we  find  our 
way  back  to  the  starting  point  through 
the  rooms  now  given  up  to  modern 
.  pictures,  we  have  said  enough  to  give 
a  general  idea  of  the  arrangement  of 
this  remarkable  collection. 

Before  speaking  of  the  pictures  in 
detail,  a  word  may  be  said  about  the 
building  in  which  they  have  now  found 
a  permanent  home.  It  is  convenient, 
generally  well  lighted,  and  as  fire- 
proof as  modern  resources  can  make 
it ;  and  to  that  extent  it  is  all  that 
could  be  desired.  But  as  far  as  archi- 
tectural beauty  or  dignity  are  con- 
cerned, we  must  frankly  confess  that 
it  has  very  little  of  these  qualities 
about  it.  Holland  surely  has  not  done 
well  to  abandon  the  traditions  of  its 
solid,  dignified,  seventeenth-century 
style  in  building  a  home  for  Rem- 
brandt and  Ruysdael,  for  Terburg  and 
de  Hooch,  which  in  point  of  style  and 
decoration  reminds  an  Englishman  of 
the  least  happy  ventures  of  his  neo- 
Gothic  fellow-countrymen. 

What  is  the  character  of  the  art 
which  is  preserved  for  us  in  these 
galleries  1  The  time  has  gone  by  when 
a  critic  like  Biirger  could  think  it 
necessary  to  speak  apologetically  for 
Dutch  art  on  the  ground  that  in 


The  New  National  Gallery  at  Amsterdam. 


385 


France  it  was  un  art  implement  mau- 
dit.  Probably  when  Biirger  wrote  it 
the  phrase  was  simply  an  exaggera- 
tion ;  and  certainly  now,  when  the 
amateurs  of  Paris  contend  against 
those  of  the  world  for  the  possession 
of  Terburgs  and  Metzus,  it  would  be 
absurd  to  say  that  Dutch  art  does 
not  meet  with  its  full  share  of  appre- 
ciation from  the  people  who,  in 
matters  aesthetic,  give  the  keynote 
to  Europe.  For  ourselves,  too,  in 
England,  we  have  gradually  found 
our  way  into  a  saner  state  of  mind 
than  when  we  used  to  applaud  Mr. 
Ruskin  as  he  eloquently  decried  "  the 
Bak-somethings  and  Van-somethings  " 
of  Holland.  It  is  quite  true  that 
Holland  does  not  rival  Italy  in  the 
estimation  of  those  English  people 
who  care  for  pictures.  But,  at  the 
same  time,  we  have  begun  to  do  jus- 
tice once  more  to  the  masters  whose 
works  were  so  eagerly  collected  by 
our  great-grandfathers  ;  we  are  begin- 
ning to  see  something  more  in  their 
canvases  than  vulgarity  of  feeling  re- 
deemed by  unrivalled  manual  skill. 
The  opening  such  a  collection  as  this 
in  the  Rijks  Museum,  covering  as  it 
does  the  whole  period  of  Dutch  supre- 
macy in  art,  gives  us  an  admirable 
opportunity  for  once  more  asking  our- 
selves what  were  the  problems  which 
these  painters  tried  to  solve,  and  with 
what  degree  of  success  they  solved 
them. 

Eugene  Fromentin,  the  best  of  all 
the  critics  who  have  ever  written  on 
the  art  of  Holland,  opens  his  observa- 
tions on  the  subject  by  pointing  out 
what  was  the  condition  of  things  in 
the  Netherlands  in  the  first  decade 
of  the  seventeenth  century.  In 
Catholic  Flanders,  where  the  long 
struggle  against  Spain  had  ended 
favourably  to  monarchy  and  the 
Bourbons,  an  art  of  great  power  and 
magnificence  was  just  beginning  to 
arise — the  art  of  Rubens.  To  a  dis- 
interested spectator  at  the  time  it 
would  have  seemed  highly  probable 
that  Holland,  if  it  were  to  have  an 
art  at  all,  would  follow  humbly  in 

No.  311.— VOL.  LII. 


the  train  of  the  great  Catholic  and 
Flemish  master.  Fate  decided  other- 
wise. The  revolution  won  the  day  in 
Holland.  Independence  and  Protest- 
antism secured  their  ground  ;  and  in 
art,  as  in  politics,  the  foreigner  was 
beaten  back.  An  extraordinary  group 
of  painters  seemed  to  spring  out  of  the 
earth;  and  from  1596,  the  birth-year 
of  Van  Goyen,  to  1639,  the  birth-year 
of  Adrian  Van  de  Velde,  scarcely  a 
year  passed  without  bringing  into  the 
world  a  man  who  was  to  help  to  make 
his  country  illustrious.  As  these  grew 
up,  the  elder  of  them  found  that  the 
great  events  which  had  echoed  round 
their  cradles  had  changed  the  current 
of  men's  thoughts  and  aspirations ; 
they  found  that  if  art  was  to  exist 
at  all  in  an  enfranchised  Holland  it 
must  have  different  aims  and  objects 
from  those  of  the  previous  genera- 
tions, feebly  inspired  as  they  were 
by  the  Catholic  traditions  of  Italy 
and  Flanders. 

"The  problem,"  says  Fromentin, 
"  was  this  :  given  a  people  practical, 
unaddicted  to  reverie,  very  busy,  op- 
posed to  mysticism,  of  an  anti-Latin 
cast  of  mind,  with  their  traditions 
broken  down,  their  churches  stripped 
of  ornament  and  images,  their  habits 
thrifty — to  find  an  art  which  would 
please  them,  would  satisfy  their  sense 
of  suitability,  and  would  represent 
them.  A  modern  writer  of  enlight- 
enment on  these  matters  has  an- 
swered, with  fine  truth,  that  a 
people  in  this  condition  had  only 
to  impose  upon  itself  the  very 
simple  duty  which  in  the  preceding 
fifty  years  it  had  always  undertaken 
with  success,  viz.,  to  ask  its  painters 
to  paint  its  own  portrait.  In  point 
of  fact,  all  that  is  to  be  said  on  the 
subject  is  contained  in  that  one  word. 
The  painting  of  Holland,  as  was 
quickly  seen,  would  not  and  could 
not  be  anything  else  but  a  portrait  of 
Holland — a  faithful,  exact,  complete, 
and  life-like  portrait,  a  portrait  with- 
out embellishment,  of  the  men,  of  the 
places,  of  the  markets,  of  the  manners 
of  the  people,  of  the  streets,  the  fields. 

c  c 


386 


The  New  National  G-allery  at  Amsterdam. 


the  sea,  and  the  sky.  To  accomplish 
this  was,  to  put  the  matter  in  its 
simplest  form,  the  programme  fol- 
lowed by  the  Dutch  school  from  the 
day  of  its  birth  to  the  day  of  its 
decline." 

How  early  and  how  strongly  this 
character  of  portraiture  was  impressed 
upon  Dutch  art  is  evident  as  one 
walks  through  the  two  rooms  devoted 
to  les  primitifs — the  painters  of  the 
sixteenth  century.  "What  distinguishes 
these  rooms  is  the  curious  groups 
of  life-size  heads,  sometimes  twenty 
or  thirty  in  a  single  frame,  which 
have  found  their  way  here  from  the 
houses  of  various  dissolved  corpora- 
tions. They  are  heads,  nothing  more  ; 
the  artist  has  made  no  attempt  to 
paint  bodies  or  limbs,  and,  from  the 
nature  of  the  case,  there  is  no  question 
of  composition  or  arrangement.  For 
all  their  iiaivete,  for  all  their  want 
of  learning,  they  are  admirable  as  the 
beginnings  of  a  school ;  their  unknown 
painters  were  the  true  ancestors  of 
Hals  and  Ravesteyn.  In  another 
sense,  too,  these  pictures  are  interest- 
ing. They  are  the  seeds  out  of  which 
grew  that  noble  plant  of  seventeenth 
century  art,  that  plant  which  has 
sprung  spontaneously  nowhere  else 
but  in  Holland,  the  corporation-pic- 
tures. Every  one  who  has  passed 
through  Holland  knows  how  abun- 
dant these  are,  and  with  what  uni- 
form success  even  second-rate  painters, 
like  Jan  de  Bray,  have  set  round  their 
tables  the  life-size  groups  of  sober-look- 
ing "  regents  "  or  the  gayer  companies 
of  feasting  arquebusiers.  The  Am- 
sterdam Gallery  now  boasts  a  collec- 
tion of  them,  such  as  has  never  been 
brought  together  till  now.  Rembrandt, 
of  course,  is  among  them  with  his 
Syndics  —  "  De  Staalmeesters  "  —  of 
which  we  shall  have  more  to  say,  and, 
with  his  Company  of  Frans  Banning 
Cocq,  the  so-called  Night-Watch.  Yan 
der  Heist,  infallible  in  the  matter  of 
a  likeness,  a  master  of  smooth  sur- 
faces, supreme  in  facile  and  conven- 
tional arrangement,  is  there  with  his 
vast,  almost  unknown.  Company  of 


Captain  Sicker,  and  with  others,  be- 
sides his  over-famous  Arquebusiers 
celebrating  the  Peace  of  Munster.  Hals, 
too,  is  there,  with  a  picture  of  thirteen 
figures,  dated  1637,  when  his  brilliant, 
wayward  genius  had  scarcely  passed 
its  prime.  But  what  is  of  special 
interest  is  the  fact  that  many  other 
artists  are  represented  here  by  pictures 
of  the  same  class,  whose  fame  has  been 
won  in  quite  other  lines.  Not  Jacob 
de  Bakker,  whose  fine  Regents  in  the 
Hoop  collection  is  the  masterpiece  of 
a  man  who  could  do  nothing  else  so 
well ;  but  Thomas  de  Keyser,  and 
Flinck,  and  even  Karel  du  Jardin,  the 
painter  of  Italianate  pastorals,  and 
Jacob  Ochterveldt,  the  pupil  (it  would 
seem)  and  almost  the  rival  of  Metzu 
in  highly-finished  scenes  of  genre. 
They  are  not  all  equally  good,  of 
course ;  the  two  last  named  are  a 
little  out  of  their  depth  in  this  kind 
of  work  ;  but  they  are  all  marvellously 
competent.  Moreover,  the  competence 
never  seems  to  leave  the  school  till 
we  come  to  the  days  of  full  decadence, 
when  Troost,  the  clever  pastellist, 
famous  for  his  scenes  of  comedy, 
attempts  his  vast  Regentenstuk  of  the 
eleven  hospital  governors,  decked  out 
in  Louis  Quinze  periwigs  and  smart 
laced  coats  that  seem  to  sit  strangely 
on  the  descendants  of  Bol's  sturdy 
burghers.  Till  this  period,  when  art 
in  Holland  had  resolved  itself  into  a 
mere  feeble  echo  of  the  past  or  a  copy 
of  some  foreign  present,  the  men  who 
paint  these  corporation  pictures  never 
fail.  They  have  a  fine  subject ;  they 
have  a  great  tradition ;  and,  as  it 
were  by  instinct,  they  fix  their  sitters 
firmly  on  the  canvas,  they  group  them 
easily,  they  seize  the  dominant  cha- 
racter of  each  face ;  in  a  word,  they 
are  masters  to  whom  the  art  of  por- 
traiture has  given  up  all  its  secrets. 

Can  more  or  less  be  said  of  the 
painters  to  whose  work  we  uncon- 
sciously refer  when  we  speak  of 
"  Dutch  pictures  " — the  painters  of 
character  and  incident,  for  which  un- 
fortunately we  have  no  word  so  ex- 
pressive as  the  French  word  genre  ? 


The  New  National  Gallery  at  Amsterdam. 


387 


Can  more  or  less  be  said  about  those 
who,  with  no  traditions  to  bind  them, 
with  no  object  but  to  relate  exactly 
what  they  saw,  invented  the  modern 
art  of  landscape  painting  ?  There  can 
be  no  question  that  in  both  these 
respects  the  painters  of  Holland  were 
original,  and  that  they  were  moved 
entirely  by  the  same  impulse  as  that 
which  had  already  stirred  the  portrait 
painters.  Among  the  many  surprises 
of  Dutch  art  none  is  more  conspicuous 
than  the  suddenness  with  which,  in 
these  two  characteristic  aspects,  it 
came  into  the  world.  By  the  middle 
of  the  century  we  have  it  nourishing 
at  more  than  half  a  dozen  different 
centres — at  Utrecht,  at  Leyden,  at 
Amsterdam,  and,  above  all,  at  Haar- 
lem ;  and  it  is  impossible  to  regard 
any  one  man  or  group  of  men  as 
strictly  the  founder.  If,  however,  we 
can  point  to  any  names  entitled  to  be 
described  as  the  beginners  of  the 
school,  they  must  be  those  of  Dirk 
Hals,  of  Jan  Yan  Goyen,  of  Solomon 
Ruysdael,  and  of  the  elder  Cuyp.  In 
the  excellent  book  Les  Artistes  de 
Haarlem — a  perfect  storehouse  of  facts 
about  the  less  known  of  the  D utch  artists 
— Dr.  Van  der  Willigen  has  printed 
some  extremely  interesting  documents 
which  bear  upon  the  early  stages  of 
the  art ;  and  among  them  some  lists 
of  picture  lotteries  held  at  Haarlem  in 
the  years  1634  and  1636.  These 
lotteries,  organised  by  the  Guild  of  St. 
Luke,  under  the  authority  of  the 
burgomasters,  appear  to  have  been  one 
of  the  principal  modes  by  which  the 
painters  of  that  time  sent  their 
pictures  out  into  the  world,  and  it  is 
but  natural  that  we  should  find  in  the 
lists  the  names  of  those  who  were  most 
popular  in  their  day.  Here  and  there 
occur  the  titles  of  some  seemingly  large 
religious  or  classical  pictures  by  men 
now  forgotten,  which  were  highly 
priced  and  regarded,  doubtless,  as  the 
masterworks  of  the  time.  But  what 
interests  us  more  than  these  is  the 
discovery  in  the  two  lists  of  several 
landscapes,  large  and  small,  by  Solo- 
mon Ruysdael  and  Jan  Van  Goyen, 


whilst  in  the  first  list  there  are  no  less 
than  ten  pictures  by  Dirk  Hals,  each 
described  in  the  French  version  of  the 
catalogue  as  "  Un  tableau  ovale  repre- 
sentant  des  figures  modernes."  What 
has  become  of  them  1  one  might  well 
ask.  The  museums  of  Europe  pos- 
sess very  few  of  Dirk's  pictures,  and 
the  only  one  at  Amsterdam  is  the 
small  but  very  exquisite  Woman  Play- 
ing, to  be  seen  in  the  Van  der  Hoop 
collection.  But  it  is  evident  from  the 
Haarlem  records  that  when  Adrian 
van  Ostade,  Dou,  and  Metzu  were 
only  beginning  to  paint,  and  when 
Jan  Steen  was  but  a  noisy  school-boy, 
Dirk  Hals  had  been  long  accepted  by 
his  fellow  townsmen  as  the  creator  of 
a  new  and  charming  style  of  art.  Van 
Goyen  appears  to  have  begun  his 
work  at  a  still  earlier  period,  as  well 
as  Solomon  Ruysdael,  whom  Dr.  van 
der  Willigen  has  proved  to  be  the 
uncle  and  not  the  brother  of  Jacob, 
and  as  nearly  as  possible  Van  Goyen's 
contemporary.  A  year  or  two  scarcely 
matters  in  the  estimate,  and  we  shall 
not  be  far  wrong  if  we  place  1620  as 
the  date  when  Dutch  art  in  genre  and 
landscape  took  its  definite  character. 
As  yet,  of  course,  it  is  not  marked  by 
all  the  wonderful  qualities  which  soon 
came  to  belong  to  it — a  little  crude,  a 
little  wanting  in  drawing,  sometimes 
a  little  harsh  in  its  contrasts,  some- 
times a  little  weak  in  its  colour,  but 
still  impressed  with  those  features  of 
frankness  and  sincerity,  of  simple, 
natural  joy  in  rendering  exactly  what 
the  artist  saw,  which  are  its  distin- 
guishing marks  throughout  the 
century. 

The  ten  or  twelve  small  rooms  in 
the  Amsterdam  museum,  which  con- 
tain the  bulk  of  the  genre  and  land- 
scape pictures,  with  the  separate 
galleries  in  which  are  displayed  the 
Van  der  Hoop,  the  Dupper  and  the 
Van  der  Poll  bequests,  form  together 
what  is  probably  the  largest  collection 
of  this  kind  of  art  in  Europe.  It 
would  be  tedious  to  mention  even  the 
names  of  the  numerous  artists  who  are 
here  represented  by  their  best ;  it  will 
c  c  2 


388 


The  New  National  Gallery  at  Amsterdam. 


be  enough,  perhaps,  to  say  that  De 
Hooch  is  strongly  represented,  Terburg 
not  quite  so  abundantly  as  at  the 
Hague  or  at  the  Louvre,  Metzu  fairly, 
Jan  Steen  magnificently,  Nicolas  Maes 
extremely  well,  and  Adrian  Van 
Ostade  adequately.  There  is,  besides, 
in  the  Hoop  collection  one  of  the  rare 
pictures  by  the  fascinating  and  mysteri- 
ous artist  for  whom  Burger's  researches 
have  done  so  much,  Van  der  Meer  of 
Delft.  As  regards  landscape,  there 
are  better  Van  Goyens  to  be  seen 
elsewhere  than  in  Amsterdam.  Eng- 
land is  in  reality  the  great  storehouse 
of  this  artist's  works,  and  during  the 
past  season  there  came  under  the 
hammer  at  Christie's  some  half  a  dozen 
of  his  pictures  which  would  bear 
favourable  comparison  with  any  to  be 
found  at  present  in  Holland.  Solomon 
Ruysdael,  too,  is  only  moderately 
represented  in  the  museum  ;  but  few 
finer  examples  of  Jacob  Ruysdael  are 
in  existence  than  the  two  which  are  in 
the  Van  der  Hoop  collection ;  the 
large  landscape  which  the  late  owner 
purchased  at  Sir  Charles  Blount's  sale 
in  1837,  and  the  famous  "River  view 
with  a  mill,"  which  came  from  the 
Noe  collection  in  1841.  There  are 
also  two  beautiful  de  Konincks,  and 
two  or  three  Paul  Potters  which  are 
very  admirable  in  their  way.  Of 
Adrian  Van  de  Velde,  the  Trippenhuis 
collection  contains  three  beautiful  ex- 
amples, and  in  the  Van  der  Hoop 
room  he  is  represented  by  the  brilliant 
"  Family  group,"  which  many  consider 
to  be  the  gem  of  the  collection. 

As  one  stands  before  such  examples 
of  Terburg  and  de  Hooch  as  the  cele- 
brated Conseil  Paternel,  or  one  or  two 
of  the  Interiors  in  the  Van  der  Hoop 
collection,  one  feels  that  the  objects 
after  which  Dirk  Hals  was  striving 
have  been  finally  achieved.  To  paint 
the  world  as  it  lies  before  him ;  to 
depict  faithfully  life  as  it  is  lived  ; 
to  set  within  the  four  corners  of  the 
canvas  a  scene  which  represents  some 
daily  human  experience  in  all  its 
material  surroundings,  to  grasp  and 
reveal  the  secrets  of  light  and  shade 


— this  is  what  the  Dutch  painter  has 
attempted,  and  he  has  succeeded  as 
none  before  or  after  him  has  been 
able  to  do.  In  the  first  place,  he 
knows  how  to  draw ;  like  Ingres,  he 
regards  drawing  as  "  the  probity  of 
art."  Whether  it  was  habitual  or 
not  for  men  like  Terburg  and  Metzu 
to  make  preliminary  studies  in  pencil 
or  in  chalk  can  only  be  guessed ;  the 
probability  is  that  they  did  not,  and 
few  "studies"  strictly  so  called  can 
be  found  in  the  unrivalled  collection 
of  Dutch  drawings  under  the  care  of 
of  Mr.  Van  der  Kellen  in  the  print- 
room  on  the  ground  floor  of  the 
museum.  But,  however  the  art  was 
learned,  learned  it  was,  and  to  a  degree 
of  perfection  that  leaves  nothing  to 
be  added.  There  are  nuances  indeed 
amongst  the  artists ;  Jan  Steen,  for 
example,  is  supreme  above  all  his 
countrymen  in  this  respect ;  and,  as 
Sir  Joshua  Reynolds  said,  can  only  be 
compared  to  Raffaelle  in  the  freedom 
and  accuracy  of  his  hand ;  but  what 
is  specially  remarkable  is  the  diffusion 
of  this  skill — the  fact  that  it  is 
shared  almost  equally  by  the  painters 
of  conversation  pieces,  by  the  painters 
of  street  scenes  like  Van  der  Heyden, 
by  the  painters  of  animals  like 
Berchem,  by  the  painters  of  still  life 
like  Van  Huysum  and  de  Heem.  It 
is  a  part  of  their  sincerity.  If  the 
aim  of  art  is  to  portray  the  world  as 
we  see  it,  then  the  first  qualification 
of  the  artist  must  be  the  knowledge 
of  form,  and  the  power  of  exactly 
expressing  it.  It  is  all  the  same 
whether  the  thing  to  be  painted  be  a 
face,  or  a  satin  dress,  or  the  bricks  of 
a  courtyard,  or  a  group  of  trees  with 
cattle  reposing  under  them.  To  draw 
them  exactly  is  the  first  step ;  there 
must  be  no  trusting  to  the  general 
impression,  as  Sir  Joshua  too  often 
trusted,  or  to  the  colour,  as  Delacroix, 
that  most  over-rated  of  the  moderns, 
invariable  trusted,  and  as,  it  is  to  be 
feared,  almost  all  the  modern  English 
school  are  apt  to  trust.  "If  a  man 
cannot  draw,"  one  seems  to  hear  the 
Dutch  artists  all  say,  from  Van  der 


The  New  National  Gallery  at  Amsterdam, 


389 


Heist  to  Mieris,  "he  had  better  not 
try  to  paint." 

There  is  the  same  precision  in  their 
painting,  that  is,  in  the  use  of  their 
palette  ;  and,  what  is  of  equal  import- 
ance, there  is  in  their  colouring  the 
same  firm  unwavering  intelligence  of 
their  medium.  But  to  discuss  all  this 
as  it  should  be  discussed,  and  as  some 
Slade  professor  would  do  well  to  dis- 
cuss it,  would  be  too  technical  for  our 
purpose.  Fromentin,  who  could  have 
explained  the  whole  matter  as  few  can 
explain  it — for  he,  besides  being  an 
exquisite  writer,  was  a  painter  hors 
ligne — thus  puts  the  questions  that 
such  a  technical  discussion  should 
answer  : — "  One  should  study  the 
Dutch  palette,  examine  its  founda- 
tions, its  resources,  its  mode  of  em- 
ployment ;  one  should  say  why  it  is 
often  almost  monochromatic,  and  yet 
so  rich  in  its  results,  the  common 
property  of  all  the  painters,  and  yet  so 
varied ;  why  the  lights  are  few  and 
restrained,  the  shadows  dominant ; 
what  is,  generally  speaking,  the  law 
of  this  mode  of  lighting,  which  seems 
to  conflict  with  the  natural  law,  espe- 
cially in  the  open  air ;  and  it  would  be 
interesting  to  determine  to  what  ex- 
tent this  painting,  conscientious  as  it 
is,  is  subject  to  artifice,  to  combina- 
tions, to  partis  pris,  and  as  was  almost 
always  the  case,  to  ingenious  systems. 
Then  would  come  the  question  of  the 
handiwork  itself ;  of  the  painter's 
skill  in  the  use  of  his  tools ;  of  the 
care,  the  extraordinary  care  with  which 
he  worked ;  of  his  use  of  smooth  sur- 
faces, of  the  thinness  and  sparkle  of 
his  paint,  of  the  sheen  of  his  metal  and 
his  precious  stones.  How,  one  would 
have  to  ask,  did  these  excellent  mas- 
ters divide  the  stages  of  their  work  ? 
Did  they  paint  on  light  grounds  or 
dark1?  Did  they,  after  the  example 
of  the  early  schools,  colour  in  the  ma- 
terial or  above  it  ] "  These  are  the 
questions  which  a  professional  treatise 
would  have  to  consider  ;  and  it  would 
have  also  to  try  to  fathom  another 
secret  of  the  Dutch  painters,  and  one 
which  is,  more,  perhaps,  than  any 


other  single  quality,  the  secret  of 
their  charm — that  of  their  mastery 
of  what  painters  call  values.  Values, 
in  painting,  mean  the  relations  which 
the  colours  of  a  picture  bear  to  one 
another ;  and  it  is  easy  to  see  how,  if 
they  are  wrong,  the  whole  picture  is 
wrong  with  them.  To  set  in  their 
proper  relations  foreground,  tree,  sea, 
and  sky  is  the  last  word  of  landscape 
painting ;  and  this  last  word  surely 
Ruysdael  has  spoken. 

We  must  not,  however,  attempt  to 
turn  a  report  of  the  new  Rijks  museum 
into  a  disquisition  upon  Dutch  painting 
in  general ;  and  it  is  better  to  stop  while 
there  is  yet  time,  and  to  say  something 
as  to  the  pictures  that  are  actually  to 
be  found  here.  The  kings  of  portrait 
and  genre  painting  we  have  mentioned 
already ;  we  need  say  no  more  now 
than  that,  with  the  Van  der  Hoop 
collection  for  the  first  time  brought 
into  the  same  building  with  the  other 
pictures,  there  is  a  better  opportunity 
than  has  ever  been  given  before  for  a 
study  of  these  men.  Jan  Steen  espe- 
cially ;  a  building  that  contains  the 
St.  Nicolas  and  the  Malade  d' Amour, 
not  to  mention  the  ugly  but  miracu- 
lous Drinking  Scene  of  the  Van  der 
Hoop  gallery,  must  rank  among  the 
first  existing  displays  of  this  great 
painter's  work.  Never  was  artist  so 
unequal ;  never  was  so  strange  a  mix- 
ture of  technical  mastery  and  of  simple 
carelessness,  of  a  delight  in  beautiful 
line  and  surface  and  of  a  taste  for  the 
vulgar  and  the  base.  Nothing  could 
be  more  delightful  than  the  St.  Nicolas- 
fest,  the  child  to  whom  Santa  Claus 
has  been  kind,  the  whining  boy  to 
whom  have  fallen  the  shoe  and  the 
birch-rod,  the  laughing  sister,  the 
happy  mother  in  the  foreground ;  a 
scene  in  which  human  life  is  caught  at 
one  of  its  brightest,  most  natural  mo- 
ments, and  rendered  once  for  all.  No- 
thing again  could  be  more  brilliant  in 
execution  than  the  odious  figure  of  the 
sleeping  woman  in  the  third  of  the 
pictures  we  have  named.  Watteau 
could  not  have  drawn  an  arm  so  well, 
nor  Metzu  painted  better  drapery. 


390 


The  New  National  Gallery  at  Amsterdam. 


But,  as  every  collector  knows,  it 
is  only  too  possible  to  come  across 
Steens  as  coarse  in  sentiment  as  this, 
and  in  execution  rougher  and  feebler 
than  Molenaer,  save  for  some  one  dazz- 
ling bit  of  colour  that  reveals  the 
master.  On  the  other  masters  of  genre, 
the  men  of  the  first  rank,  we  need  not 
dwell,  except  for  a  moment  on  Jan 
Van  der  Meer,  or  Yermeer,  of  Delft, 
one  of  whose  interesting  pictures  is 
here,  the  Lady  Reading — not  so  fine  a 
picture  as  the  Milkmaid,  of  the  Six 
collection,  but  still  a  work  of  high 
interest.  For  the  last  fifteen  years, 
since  Burger  published  in  the  Gazette 
des  Beaux  Arts  the  results  of  his  in- 
quiries into  this  painter's  life  and  works, 
Van  der  Meer  has  been  a  name  to 
stimulate  curiosity  and  to  whet  the 
appetite  of  collectors.  Of  his  life  we 
know  next  to  nothing ;  even  less  than 
we  know  of  Terburg's,  and  not  more 
than  v?e  know  of  Jacob  Ruysdael's. 
He  was  a  pupil  of  Fabritius ;  he  may 
have  been  a  pupil  of  Rembrandt ;  he 
lived  at  Delft,  and  painted  its  walls 
and  roofs,  in  the  View  now  at  the  Hague, 
with  a  combined  breadth  and  subtlety 
that  no  painter  of  that  day  has  quite 
equalled.  But  more  than  this  we 
hardly  know ;  only  that  his  work  has 
a  tenderness,  a  charm,  a  mastery  of  the 
secrets  of  light,  which  no  other  Dutch 
painting  possesses,  except  that  of  De 
Hooch.  Two  things  are  to  be  hoped 
about  Van  der  Meer  ;  one,  that'  a  fine 
example  of  his  handiwork  may  some 
day  find  its  way  into  our  National 
Gallery ;  the  other,  that  amid  the 
scores  of  vellum-covered  volumes  of 
Archives  now  unworthily  housed  in 
the  garrets  of  the  Stadhuis  at  Amster- 
dam some  keen  searcher  may  yet  dis- 
cover much  more  than  is  now  known 
of  the  life  of  so  charming,  so  person- 
ally interesting  a  painter. 

A  few  of  the  lesser  lights  of  the 
school  may  detain  us  a  moment ;  men 
scarcely  known,  but  to  be  seen  in  this 
gallery  in  aspects  which  prove  them 
to  have  had  elements  of  distinction. 
Such  are  the  portrait-painters  Ver- 
spronck  and  Van  Hemert ;  the  former 


of  whom  signs  a  fine  bust  of  a  burgo- 
master in  the  great  portrait  room, 
and  the  latter  the  picture  of  a  young 
man  in  the  very  interesting  Van  der 
Poll  collection.  Johannes  Verspronck 
is  another  of  the  Haarlem  artists  on 
whose  personality  Dr.  v.  d.  Willigen 
has  thrown  light ;  he  has  shown  that 
the  painter  was  born  in  1597  and 
died  in  1662.  He  is  said  to  have  been 
a  pupil  of  Hals ;  and  indeed  the 
handling  of  this  noble  portrait,  as  well 
as  the  picture  of  the  Lady-regents  of 
the  heilige  geesthuis  in  the  Haarlem 
museum,  shows  that  he  followed  closely 
in  the  steps  of  the  great  master.  His 
work  is  rare,  or  seems  to  be  ;  perhaps 
— who  knows  1 — it  may  before  long  be- 
come the  fashion  to  collect  it.  The 
other  painter,  Van  Hemert,  is  entirely 
unknown.  No  museum,  it  is  believed, 
has  anything  from  his  hand ;  and  his 
fame  for  the  present  must  rest  on  this 
beautiful  portrait  of  Dirk  Hendrik 
Menlenaer,  an  ancestor  of  the  Van 
der  Poll  family.  Another  painter 
whose  repute  will  be  heightened  by  the 
consolidation  of  the  gallery  is  Brekel- 
enkam,  a  Leiden  man,  whose  work, 
of  curiously  unequal  quality,  has  long 
been  known  to  students,  but  whose 
name  has  never  become,  so  to  speak, 
the  property  of  the  public.  There  is 
a  fine  picture  by  him  in  the  Dulwich 
Gallery,  and  another  was  lately  bought 
at  auction  for  Dublin.  Now  that  the 
Van  der  Hoop  pictures  are  before  the 
world  the  brilliant  interior  called 
The  Tailor's  Shop  will  put  Brekelen- 
kam  very  near  the  first  rank  of  genre 
painters.  Again,  if  all  the  works  of 
Hoogstraten  were  like  the  Sick  Lady 
of  the  same  gallery,  he  too  would  take 
a  place  almost  as  high  as  any  one ;  but 
as  it  is,  the  picture  only  proves  of 
painters,  as  many  a  single  poem  has 
proved  of  poets,  that  a  second-rate 
man  may  now  and  then  do  a  piece  of 
first-rate  work  by  accident. 

Passing  through  the  modern  rooms, 
which,  however  excellent  they  may 
be,  it  is  impossible  to  enjoy  after  the 
eye  has  become  trained  to  the  older 
pictures,  we  come  to  the  point  at 


The  New  National  Gallery  at  Amsterdam. 


391 


which  we  started,  opposite  the  two 
great  Rembrandts.  How  magnificent 
they  are,  and  how  different !  How 
interesting  the  comparison  between 
them,  and  with  what  certainty  does 
one  come — now  that  the  Night  Watch 
(the  false  title  will  stick  to  the  picture 
still,  in  spite  of  critical  catalogues) 
and  the  Syndics  hang  side  by  side  and 
can  be  seen — to  the  view  that  the 
soundest  critics  has  always  held  :  that 
the  Syndics  is  the  great  picture,  and 
the  Night  Watch  the  brilliant  mistake  ! 
Sir  Joshua,  who,  in  spite  of  the  "  grand 
style,"  had  so  true  an  eye  for  Dutch 
art,  declared  in  1781  that  the  Night 
Watch  was  "painted  in  a  poor  manner ; " 
and  Fromentin,  a  trained  artist  as 
well  as  critic,  places  this  splendid  tour 
deforce  by  the  side  of  Titian's  Assump- 
tion and  Veronese's  Europa,  as  among 
the  malentendus  of  the  history  of  art. 
Ill-composed,  ill-drawn,  impossible  in 
lighting,  unintelligible  in  motive,  this 
dazzling  picture  represents  rather  the 
romantic  aspirations  of  Rembrandt, 
his  longing  to  paint  light  at  all 
hazards,  than  the  reasoned  work  of 
the  master.  With  the  Syndics,  that 
noble  portrait  group  of  five  grave 
masters  of  the  Drapers'  Guild,  the 
case  is  different  altogether.  The  date 
is  1661,  when  Rembrandt  was  fifty- 
three,  and  when  for  some  years  he  had 
been  under  the  influence — to  him  a 
sobering  influence — of  misfortune.  His 
vogue  was  almost  over;  Amsterdam 
no  longer  regarded  him  as  the  crown- 
ing glory  of  the  city ;  had  said 
farewell  to  such  extravagances  as 
those  in  which  he  had  revelled  ten  and 
twenty  years  before.  Forgetting  him- 
self altogether,  he  throws  his  whole 
soul  into  the  picture  of  the  Syndics ; 
he  aims  at  no  astonishing  effect,  at  no 
problem  as  yet  unattempted  of  light 
and  shade,  but  simply  at  portraying 
as  they  are  these  five  grave  citizens, 
symbols  of  all  that  was  best  and  most 


enduring  in  the  municipal  life  of  Hol- 
land. And  with  what  result  !  The 
picture  is  a  masterpiece  ;  and  one  of 
those  rare  masterpieces  which  invest 
the  character  of  the  man  who  painted 
it  with  an  undefinable  charm. 

The  Syndics  is  the  picture  which  of 
all  others  in  the  museum  is  the  best 
worth  remembering  ;  and  the  visitor 
will  do  well  to  see  it  last  as  well  as 
among  the  first.  But  he  must  return 
another  day ;  for  it  will  not  do  to 
leave  Amsterdam  without  a  visit  to 
Mr.  Van  der  Kellen  and  the  prints  and 
drawings.  Admirably  arranged  in  a 
dozen  handsome  oak  cabinets,  the 
treasures  of  this  rich  department  lie 
in  their  portfolios,  all  but  one  or  two 
hundred  that  are  set  in  chronological 
order,  and  exhibited  to  public  view. 
These  are  of  great  interest,  and  cover 
a  wide  field ;  the  prints,  from  the  ex- 
traordinary achievements  of  the  pre- 
decessors of  Lucas  van  Ley  den — "  The 
Master  of  1480,"  "The  Master  of  the 
Crab,"  and  the  rest — down  to  some 
fine  works  of  yesterday ;  the  drawings, 
mostly  those  slight  but  masterly  per- 
formances of  the  men  of  the  seventeenth 
and  eighteenth  centuries  that  are  now 
so  eagerly  sought  for.  To  show  how 
complete  the  collection  is,  even  in 
departments  where  it  might  well  be 
poor,  we  may  mention  that  it  contains 
many  portfolios  of  fine  English 
mezzotints,  including  almost  complete 
sets — in  fine  states — of  the  works  of 
Earlom,  McArdell,  and  J.  R.  Smith. 
But  its  strength  lies  in  the  Dutch 
school,  and  no  one  who  has  not  looked 
through  the  multitudinous  gathering  of 
the  etchings  of  Paul  Potter,  of  Karel 
Du  Jardin,  of  Ruysdael,  of  Ostade,  Bega, 
and  all  the  other  masters,  great  and 
small,  can  fully  realise  the  comprehen- 
siveness, the  activity,  the  enthusiasm, 
and  the  power  of  the  school  of  artists 
which  the  wonderful  seventeenth  cen- 
tury brought  into  existence  in  Holland. 


392 


INLAND  DUTIES  AND  TAXATION. 


WRITING  some  time  in  the  year  1755 
Dr.  Johnson  libellously  described  the 
prototype  of  the  modern  Inland  Reve- 
nue official  as  a  sort  of  "ruffian  "  hired 
to  extort  what  he  evidently  regarded 
as  very  questionable  items  of  taxation. 
Writing  on  the  6th  of  July,  1885, 
a  figure  as  towering  as  that  of  the 
great  dyspeptic  lexicographer  himself 
—the  Right  Honourable  W.  E.  Glad- 
stone, the  greatest  master  of  finance, 
perhaps,  that  ever  lived,  certifies  that 
during  his  thirty-three  years'  experi- 
ence he  has  always  found  the  modern 
Inland  Revenue  official  "  a  model  of 
enlightened  ability  and  untiring  zeal." 
A  great  change  certainly  in  the 
"  spirit  of  the  dream,"  even  for  a 
span  of  one  hundred  and  thirty  years, 
and  this  change  to  a  great  extent  is 
correlative  with  the  alteration  in  the 
basis,  scope,  and  incidence  of  our 
national  fiscal  system. 

The  Twenty-Eighth  Report  of  the 
Commissioners  of  Inland  Revenue, 
just  issued,  throws  considerable  light 
on  the  transformation  which  has  taken 
place,  whilst  the  facts  and  figures  given 
afford  a  mine  of  wealth  for  the  shap- 
ing hand  of  the  reformer.  We  have 
at  a  glance  the  whole  history  of  Inland 
Duties  from  1660  to  1885,  from  the 
Restoration  of  Charles  II.  to  the 
zenith  of  the  Victorian  reign.  We 
are  carried  back  to  the  very  root  of 
our  fiscal  system ;  to  the  early  im- 
position of  poundage  and  tonnage  in 
the  reign  of  Henry  V.  ;  to  the  un- 
successful effort  of  Charles  I.  in 
1626  to  obtain  supplies  other  than 
those  hitherto  yielded  by  the  Crown 
lands  and  the  voluntary  contributions 
of  the  nobles ;  how  the  resistance  which 
the  Commons  offered,  Parliament 
after  Parliament,  to  any  new  imposts 
culminated  in  the  Civil  War  of  1642  ; 
how  the  Parliamentarians  the  follow- 
ing year  raised  supplies  by  the  very 
means  they  had  previously  condemned  ; 
how  the  Royalists  at  Oxford  followed 
suit,  thus  in  many  instances  making 


the  much  distracted  people  "  double 
debts  to  pay."  After  the  Resto- 
ration what  was  regarded  as  an  ex- 
ceptional burden  during  war  time 
was  permanently  established  under 
the  title  of  Excise,  "  as  full  com- 
pensation to  the  Crown"  for  duties 
hitherto  yielded  by  land  alone.  Little 
by  little  the  people  were  accustomed 
to  it,  but  we  may  take  it  that  down  to 
Johnson's  time  the  somewhat  one-sided 
bargain  was  regarded  as  anything  but 
final  or  equitable.  Only  about  half-a- 
dozen  duties  were  first  imposed.and  these 
of  trifling  amount.  Beer  was  charged 
1  s.  3d.  per  barrel  and  mead  ^d.  per  gallon. 
What  is  described  as  "  strong  water  " 
was  charged  duty  at  the  rate  of  Id. 
per  gallon,  and  evidently  temperance 
principles  were  not  very  popular  in 
those  days,  for  on  every  gallon  of 
coffee  made  and  sold  there  was 
charged  a  duty  of  4c£.,  and  double  that 
amount  on  every  gallon  of  chocolate, 
sherbet  and  tea.  Like  the  first  scent 
of  blood,  however,  these  duties  opened 
a  vista  to  the  rapacity  of  the  king 
and  the  selfishness  of  the  great  land- 
owning and  governing  class.  Year 
after  year  we  find  new  duties  intro- 
duced till  a  culminating  point  was 
reached  about  the  year  of  the  battle 
of  Waterloo.  In  the  very  year  of 
that  battle  there  was  raised  from 
excise  alone  over  thirty  millions  ster- 
ling, some  three  and  a  half  millions 
more  than  was  levied  from  the  same 
source  in  1884-85,  though  our  popu- 
lation has  nearly  doubled  since  then, 
leaving  altogether  out  of  account  the 
great  growth  of  industrial  and  private 
property.  Every  conceivable  trade 
and  every  imaginable  article  was 
taxed,  so  much  so  that  a  noted 
pamphleteer  of  the  day  said  it  was 
the  ineffable  blessing  of  every  Briton 
to  be  reared  in  a  taxed  cradle,  fed  on 
taxed  food,  and  buried  in  a  taxed 
coffin.  Even.the  linings  of  men's  hats 
were  taxed.  In  1813  the  wine  duty 
stood  at  the  highest  point  it  has  ever 


Inland  Duties  and  Taxation, 


393 


reached,  being  within  three  half-pence 
of  a  pound  per  gallon  on  the  French 
product — twenty  times  what  it  is  at 
present.  Even  Spain  and  Portugal 
in  those  days,  much  as  they  grumble 
at  the  half-a-crown  duty  now,  paid 
no  less  than  9s.  \\d.  per  gallon,  but 
Cape  wines  were  admitted  at  one-third 
of  that  figure.  Even  the  spirit  duty 
originally  fixed  at  twopence  per  gallon 
rose  to  8s.  Q±d.  in  1811.  Beer,  the 
great  national  beverage  was  worse  off 
still.  It  bore  a  double  tax.  The  malt 
duty  rose  from  sixpence  per  bushel  to 
4s.  5d.  in  1804,  and  besides  this  there 
was  a  beer  duty  of  ten  shillings  per 
barrel,  so  that  the  good  honest  squires 
who  drank  the  health  of  Lord  Wel- 
lington in  June,  1815,  did  so  in  beer 
taxed  to  the  extent  of  18s.  lOd.  per 
barrel,  exactly  three  times  as  much  as 
at  present. 

Better  times,  however,  were  now  at 
hand.  Peace  was  restored,  and  the 
fiscal  shackles  which  were  strangling 
the  infantile  industrial  instincts  of  the 
people  were  one  by  one  cast  off.  The 
salt  duty  was  the  first  to  go,  and  when 
we  turn  f,o  Indian  needs  at  the  present 
time,  this  fact  should  be  borne  in 
mind.  In  patriarchal  as  well  as 
modern  times  salt  has  always  been  a 
prime  necessary  of  life,  and  none  but 
the  sorest  needs  justify  resort  to  it  as 
an  instrument  of  taxation.  The  beer 
duty  was  abolished  in  1830,  the  malt 
duty,  its  correlative,  still  being  kept 
on.  The  duty  on  vinegar  was  abolished 
in  1844,  that  on  glass  and  on  auction 
duties  in  1845,  and  the  brick  duty 
went  the  way  of  all  flesh  in  1850. 

We  now  enter  upon  the  third  era  of 
excise  taxation  or  rather  freedom  from 
such.  In  December,  1852,  Mr.  Glad- 
stone took  the  reins  as  Chancellor  of 
the  Exchequer,  and  it  is  no  exaggera- 
tion to  say,  that  in  matters  financial 
the  country  has  been  under  his  spell 
since  then.  In  1853  he  knocked  off 
the  soap  duty,  in  1861  free  paper  was 
proclaimed,  in  1862  brewers  had  to 
thank  him  for  free  hops  :  in  1869  the 
fire  insurance  duty  and  stage  carriage 
duties  were  abolished ;  in  1874  the 
duty  on  race  horses  was  taken  off  by 


Sir  Stafford  Northcote,  as  well  as  the 
Customs  duty  on  sugar;  and  in  1880, 
again  by  Mr.  Gladstone,  agricultural 
industry  was  relieved  from  the  incubus 
of  the  malt  duty.  Leaving  out  of  ac- 
count his  proposal,  made  in  1874,  for 
the  entire  abolition  of  the  income  tax, 
it  is  a  brilliant  record,  enough  to 
grave  the  name  of  any  statesman  in 
the  roll  of  those  who  "are  not  born 
to  die."  Save  in  respect  of  tea,  cocoa, 
coffee,  and  dried  fruit,  practically  we 
now  have  a  free  breakfast  table,  thanks 
to  the  broad  enlightened  liberal-minded 
fiscal  policy  steadfastly  pursued  by  the 
country  during  the  past  thirty  odd 
years. 

Progress  is,  however,  the  life-breath 
of  a  people.  The  resources  of  reform 
are  by  no  means  yet  exhausted,  nor  has 
the  need  of  it  disappeared.  It  would 
yet  take  five  and  a  half  millions 
sterling  annually  to  secure  us  an 
absolutely  free  breakfast  table,  and  a 
free  trade  nation  will  not  rest  content 
until  that  modest  goal  is  reached. 
Fruit  alone  yields  over  half  a  million  a 
year  duty,  whilst  the  tea  duty,  low 
as  it  is  at  sixpence  a  pound,  brings  in 
four  and  three  quarter  millions  ster- 
ling. Besides  this,  the  new  Parliament 
will  undoubtedly  take  a  wide  view  of 
the  national  balance  sheet.  It  will 
inquire  into  what  is  and  what  is  to 
be  ;  how  taxation  may  be  more  equit- 
ably distributed,  where,  when  and  how 
retrenchment  may  be  effected.  In  the 
year  ended  31st  March,  1885,  we 
raised  altogether  a  little  over  eighty- 
eight  '  millions  sterling.  And  in  the 
current  year  the  national  and  imperial 
requirements  will  entail  an  expendi- 
ture of  close  upon  a  hundred  millions 
sterling.  Magic  figures  these,  but 
ponderous  with  responsibility.  Our 
Laureate  may  entreat  us  not  to  fail 
through  "  craven  fear  of  being  great ;  " 
but  let  any  thinking  man  reflect  for  a 
moment  on  these  hundreds  of  millions 
of  hard  sovereigns,  which  must  be  got 
together  somehow  out  of  the  pockets 
of  the  people  from  March  in  one 
year  to  March  in  another,  and  say  if 
the  problem  is  not  a  momentous  and 
intricate  one.  Trade  is  sound  now,  if 


394 


Inland  Duties  and  Taxation. 


somewhat  circumscribed ;  but  think 
what  an  expenditure  like  this  would 
mean  in  a  period  of  acute  depression, 
such  as  would  result  from  a  series  of 
bad  harvests  or  a  gigantic  war  in  any 
corner  of  the  world.  Think  of  it  if 
we  ourselves  were  in  the  throes  of  a 
European  or  Asiatic  conflict,  for  be  it 
remembered,  these  ninety  or  a  hundred 
millions  would  have  to  be  met  apart 
from  the  stupendous  cost  of  a  conflict. 
Not  a  few  think  that  this  heavy  liabi- 
lity is  a  dangerous  millstone  round  the 
neck  of  the  commonwealth,  but  it  is 
far  easier  to  point  to  it  and  moralise 
than  suggest  any  royal  road  out  of 
the  difficulty. 

We  may  just  state  the  items  which 
go  to  make  up  this  huge  bill  of  fare. 
The  contributions  are  :— - 

Customs £20,321,000 

Excise 26,600,000 

Stamps 11,925,000 

Land  Tax 1,065,000 

House  Duty 1,885,000 

Income  Tax 12,000,000 


Post  Office 
Telegraph  Service  . 
Crown  Lands  .  .  . 
Suez  Canal  Interest 
Miscellaneous  . 


7,905,000 
1,760,000 
380,000 
1,027,349 
3,174,760 

£88,043,109 


There  is  one  consolation,  that  the 
items  are  fairly  well  distributed,  so 
that  partial  paralysis  would  by  no 
means  cripple  the  whole  working  body. 

Customs  is  a  dwindling  source,  and 
it  is  desirable  in  a  free  trade 
nation  that  it  should  be  so.  Excise 
is  principally  concerned  with  the 
inland  duty  on  spirituous  liquors ; 
and  despite  the  storm  which  upset  the 
late  Ministry,  in  all  probability, 
especially  as  regards  the  beer  duty,  if 
the  pinch  in  right  earnest  came,  this 
is  the  branch  that  would  be'  mainly 
relied  upon.  Stamps  constitute  a 
growing  source,  and  as  they  include 
the  Succession  Duties,  there  are  great 
future  possibilities  in  this  quarter. 
We  fancy  twenty  years'  time  will  see 
a  different  total  to  eleven  millions 
from  this  source.  Of  the  Land  Tax 
we  shall  speak  further  on.  The  House 
Duty  and  Income  Tax  are  pliable  con- 
tributors, especially  the  latter — prime 


favourites  with  finance  ministers — but 
by  no  means  so  with  the  people.  The 
Post  Office  is  making  rapid  strides 
as  a  source  of  profit ;  but  ideal  re- 
formers look  to  the  maximum  of 
accommodation  in  this  direction  rather 
than  absolute  money  getting :  six- 
penny telegrams  are  a  step  in  this  latter 
direction,  though  no  doubt  telegraphic 
rates  lower  still  will  yet  constitute  a 
source  of  profit,  despite  the  admittedly 
exorbitant  price  the  nation  paid  for 
the  rights  of  the  old  companies. 

And  now  we  come  to  the  Income 
Tax  and  all  the  contentious  matter  it 
entails.  The  Report  does  not  enter 
into  the  polemical  aspect  of  the  case, 
but  some  of  the  historical  facts  stated 
will  prove  highly  valuable  at  the  time 
when  the  question  of  a  "graduated" 
Income  Tax  is  under  serious  discus- 
sion. The  tax  dates  from  1798.  Mr. 
Pitt  is  the  author  of  it.  At  that  time 
he  was  at  his  wits'  end  for  money  for 
carrying  on  the  war.  He  had  failed 
in  the  attempt  to  treble  the  assessed 
taxes,  and  the  happy  thought  struck 
him  that  he  could  indirectly  obtain 
the  same  result  by  stealthy  and  less 
unpalatable  means.  He  therefore 
brought  in  a  bill "  Granting  to  his 
Majesty  an  aid  and  contribution  for 
the  prosecution  of  the  war,"  promising 
that  when  the  war  was  over  there 
would  be  an  end  of  the  "  aid  and  con- 
tribution." It  was  not  a  tax  upon 
income  or  property  in  the  proper 
sense,  but  simply  an  elaborate  scheme 
for  raising  the  old  assessed  taxes — 
those  on  houses,  windows,  men-ser 
vants,  carriage-horses,  and  other 
articles  of  luxury — to  such  an  extent 
as  would  represent  a  certain  per  cent- 
age  on  incomes.  This  was  in  every 
sense  of  the  word  a  "graduated" 
Income  Tax,  so  that  those  who  now 
advocate  the  principle  have  at  least 
antiquity  and  parental  authority  in 
their  favour.  Under  it,  incomes  under 
60£.  a  year  were  exempted,  a  sliding 
scale  was  applied  to  incomes  between 
QQL  and  200?.,  and  10  per  cent,  was 
expected  on  incomes  of  the  latter 
amount  and  upwards.  The  scheme 
proved  impracticable,  but  it  is  pos- 


Inland  Duties  and  Taxation. 


395 


sible  that  this  was  owing  more  to  the 
fact  that  it  was  based  on  the  old 
assessed  taxes  than  to  any  inherent 
defect  in  the  principle  itself.  During 
the  next  four  years  another  scheme 
was  tried  and  abandoned ;  and  this 
scheme,  too,  to  some  extent,  recognised 
the  "  graduated  principle."  All  per- 
sons were  required  to  make  return  of 
their  incomes  from  whatever  source 
derived.  Incomes  under  60£.  a  year 
were  exempted,  varying  rates  were 
charged  between  6(W.  and  2001.  and  10 
per  cent,  above  that.  The  only  differ- 
ence between  this  scheme  and  the  short- 
lived one-year  one  was,  that  under  the 
old  scheme  only  those  already  liable 
to  assessed  taxes,  that  is  the  wealthier 
classes,  came  in  for  charge,  whilst 
the  second  tax  brought  all  classes 
into  the  net.  In  1803  the  present 
system  of  Income  Tax  was  introduced, 
and  for  the  third  time  we  find  the 
"graduated"  system  recognised.  In- 
stead of  persons  being  charged  in  the 
lump,  as  it  were,  on  the  whole  of  their 
incomes  from  whatever  source  de- 
rived, they  were  charged  separately,  so 
that  a  professional  man  who  owned  a 
house,  farmed  some  land,  had  an  an- 
nuity from  the  funds,  and  held  a  local 
appointment,  would  be  charged  under 
five  separate  heads.  The  house  rent 
charge  would  be  under  A,  the  profit 
on  farming  B,  the  tax  on  his  income 
from  the  funds  C,  that  on  his  pro- 
fessional earnings  D,  and  that  on  his 
salary  in  connection  with  the  local 
appointment  E.  The  motive  was  ob- 
vious. It  was  to  check  evasion  as 
much  as  possible,  so  that  if  a  man 
suppressed  one  source  of  income  he 
would  at  least  be  caught  under  some 
other.  A  poundage  rate  varying  from 
3d.  to  lid.  in  the  pound  was  imposed 
upon  all  incomes  between  60Z.  and 
1501.  a  year,  and  5  per  cent,  upon 
sums  above  that.  In  1806  the  "  gradu- 
ated "  principle  was  dropped  after 
eight  years  existence,  but  in  lieu  of  it 
we  find  a  principle  equally  subversive 
introduced.  It  is  no  less  than  a  differ- 
entiation between  income  from  realised 
property  and  that  derived  from  trades 
and  professions.  How  some  of  the 


advocates  of  the  principle  at  the  present 
time  could  have  missed  this  point  is  a 
mystery.  The  Report,  cautiously 
worded  as  it  is,  states  the  facts  plainly 
enough.  It  says — 

Between  the  years  1803  and  1806  several 
Acts  were  passed  relating  to  the  income  tax 
which  made  no  alteration  in  the  principle,  but 
in  the  latter  year,  by  46  Geo.  III.  cap.  65,  the 
rate  of  duty  was  again  increased  to  10  per- 
cent. The  exemption  on  incomes  from  realised 
property  under  601.  a  year  (which  before  ex- 
isted) was,  with  a  few  exceptions  repealed, 
entire  exemption  was  limited  to  incomes  under 
501.,  and  a  graduated  scale  imposed  on  in- 
comes "between  501.  and  1501.,  but  limited  to 
pro/its  of  trades,  professions,  and  offices. 

Since  then  the  main  principles  of  the 
tax  have  been  entire  exemption  for 
incomes  of  a  certain  sum,  abatement 
more  or  less,  up  to  another  point,  and 
a  uniform  charge  on  the  whole. 
One  fact  to  be  noted  is  that  the  gradu- 
ated scale  in  its  integrity  never  ap- 
plied to  incomes  above  2001.  Another 
is  that  the  principle  was  tried  and  found 
wanting.  But,  after  all,  what  is  the  pre- 
sent exemption  under  150/.  but  a  grad- 
ation from  0  to  8d.  in  the  pound  ?  What 
is  the  abatement  on  incomes  under 
4:001.  but  the  same  principle  in  a  less 
accentuated  shape?  The  great  argu- 
ment in  favour  of  the  graduated  scale 
is  that  income  above  what  is  necessary 
to  supply  the  necessaries  of  life  should 
be  taxed  more  than  income  barely 
necessary  for  such.  Opponents  of  the 
scheme  ask  where  are  we  to  stop  if  we 
once  introduce  the  principle  of  differen- 
tiation at  all.  The  authority  of  M'Cul- 
loch  is  invoked  warning  us  against  the 
thin  end  of  the  wedge.  The  late 
Chancellor  of  the  Exchequer  says  it 
would  impair  the  wage-spending  power 
of  the  wealthier  classes,  and  thus  re- 
act injuriously  on  the  very  poorest 
section  of  the  population.  John  Stuart 
Mill  was  certainly  in  favour  of  what 
he  termed  "  equality  of  sacrifice,"  and 
the  views  of  Mr.  Chamberlain,  M.P., 
Lord  Randolph  Churchill,  and  Prince 
Bismarck  in  the  same  direction  are 
widely  known — in  fact  we  see  it 
stated  that  a  graduated  income  tax 
has  been  in  force  in  Germany  since 
April  last ;  but  pitted  against  all  this 


396 


Inland  Duties  and  Taxation. 


we  find  the  name  of  a  reformer  like 
Adam  Smith  who  states  that  "  Every 
man  should  contribute  to  the  support 
of  the  State  in  proportion  to  the  in- 
come he  enjoys  under  it." 

Passing   from    theory    to    practice 
from   the  "  dismal   science  "  to  figures 
usually   regarded   as  "  more  dismal," 
we    come   to    what  have  not  inaptly 
been  termed  "the  marvellous  Income 
Tax  returns."     Here,  again,  we  find 
the  doctors  differing.     Figures,   it   is 
said  can  be  made  to  prove  anything. 
Nothing,  say  cynics,  is  falser  than  facts 
except  figures.     Certainly  the  figures 
in  these  marvellous  returns  have  been 
lately  called  upon  to  prove  some  strange 
post-prandial  things.     In  1868-69  the 
gross    amount     of     property    in    the 
United   Kingdom   assessed    under  all 
schedules     was      430,000,000^.       In 
1883-84  the  figures  had  amounted  to 
630,000,000/.  These  200,000,000/.,  ac- 
cording to  Lord  Derby,  represent  the 
growth  of  commerce,  manufactures,  and 
foreign  trade   in  fifteen   years.     Not 
at  all,  says  Mr.  Goschen.     They  only 
represent  the  work    of    the   "  jerry " 
builder  in  multiplying  doubtful   pro- 
perty, the  additional  investments  in 
railways    canals,    mines,     telegraphs, 
and    other    securities    which  may  or 
may    not    be   doubtful,    leaving  only 
60,000,000^.       or       70,000,000^.       as 
the     growth    of     "  commerce,    manu- 
factures, and  foreign  trade "  ;  and  he 
further  went  on  to  show,  in  a  masterly, 
exhaustive  manner  in  his  Manchester 
speech,  that  the  profits  of  the  retail 
trader   would   account   for    the   most 
even  of  this.     In  fact,  broadly  speak- 
ing, he  laid  it  down  that  the  retailer, 
grumbler  though  he  be,  was  the  only 
person  doing  well  during  these  fifteen 
years,   as  the  public  had  not'  got  the 
benefit    of  the  fall  in   cost  prices,  so 
that    the    difference  must    have  gone 
into  his  pockets. 

Let  us  see  what  these  marvellous 
returns  say.  Some  startling  facts  may 
indeed  be  deduced  from  them.  One 
thing  first  of  all  is  proved,  and  that 
is,  that  the  rent  or  gross  annual  value 
of  land  has  nofc  decreased  during  these 
fifteen  years,  taking  the  United  King- 


dom as  a  whole.     In  the  United  King 
dom  there  is  an  increase  of  a  million 
and  a  quarter  sterling,  no  less  than 
three     quarters     of     which     goes     to 
Ireland.       Scotland,    strange    to    say, 
shows   a  decrease    of   250,000^.     The 
explanation  of  all  this  must  be,  that 
voluntary  abatements  of  rent  rather 
than  permanent  reductions  have  taken 
place  in  England ;   that  deer  forests 
are  encroaching  on  the  arable  soil  of 
Scotland ;  that  in  Ireland  either  the 
returns   must   be    better  obtained  or 
the  total  nominal  rental  must  be  still 
about  the  old  pre-Land  League  level, 
for  the  inclusion  of  farm  houses  in  the 
returns   since  1876    would  not   quite 
account     for    the    apparent    increase 
shown.     No  doubt,  however,  the  new 
assessment  taking  place  this  year  will 
show    a    different    result.     In  house 
rentals  there  is,  as  Mr.  Goschen  has 
pointed    out,    a    striking    increase   of 
47,000,000^.  j  whether  this  is  a  healthy 
development   is   another   matter.      It 
means   the   flow    of   population    from 
healthy    villages    to    crowded    cities, 
suggestive  of  the  warning  given  many 
years  ago  that 

"  111  fares  the  land  to  hastening  ills  a  prey, 
Where  wealth  accumulates  and  men  decay. " 

Schedule  B.,  or  what  is  supposed  to 
be  the  farmer's  profit,  has  occasioned 
as  much  bone-breaking  these  last  few 
weeks  as  the  famous  "  graduated 
income  tax"  itself.  It  is  a  sort  of 
will  o'  the  wisp,  entrapping  alike 
a  wary  financier  like  Mr.  Gosohen  and 
an  exact  economist  like  Mr.  Leone 
Levi.  The  returns  year  after  year 
show  sixty  odd  millions  sterling 
charged  under  this  head,  and  poli- 
ticians comfortably  sat  down  well 
contented  with  the  good  times 
these  ever  -  grumbling  farmers  had. 
Now  the  fabric  melts  away  like  last 
year's  snow.  For  all  any  income-tax 
return  in  the  world  can  tell,  there  is 
no  such  thing  as  a  farmer's  profit. 
These  sixty  odd  millions  simply  mean 
the  rental  paid.  The  income-tax  au- 
thorities assume  that  half  this  is  profit, 
and  charge  it  whether  a  profit  is  act- 
ually made  or  not;  but  since  1851  the 


Inland  Duties  and  Taxation. 


397 


right  of  appeal  has  been  allowed.  The 
proportion  in  Ireland  and  Scotland  is 
one-third,  but  in  England  a  deduction 
of  one-eighth  is  allowed.  In  prosper- 
ous times  no  doubt  this  was  a  rough 
and  ready,  and,  on  the  whole,  fairly 
equitable,  way  of  arriving  at  the  dif- 
ference of  rental,  plus  cost  of  produc- 
tion, and  the  sums  realised  by  the 
produce,  but  during  the  past  seven 
years  in  all  probability  rental  has 
been  a  better  clue  to  loss  than  to 
gain.  Farmers,  as  a  rule,  are  poor 
book-keepers,  and  very  often  prefer  to 
pay  the  tax  rather  than  go  to  the 
trouble  of  appealing.  It  would  be 
difficult,  however,  to  devise  any  better 
system.  Lord  Howick  once  suggested 
that  the  profits  from  land  tillage 
should  be  treated  like  profits  from 
any  other  trade,  but  the  proposal  did 
not  meet  with  any  measure  of  support. 
Under  the  Act  of  1803  the  profit  was 
supposed  to  be  three-fourths  of  the 
rental  in  England  and  one-half  in 
Scotland,  the  reason  of  the  reduction 
in  1842  being  stated  to  be  the  increase 
in  rentals  and  the  loss  consequent 
on  the  importation  of  foreign  corn. 

The  items  under  schedule  D  un- 
doubtedly constitute  the  most  im- 
portant part  of  the  income-tax  returns. 
They  represent  the  profits  from  trades 
and  professions,  and  the  dividends 
from  public  companies — broadly  speak- 
ing, as  returned  by  the  people  them- 
selves. Schedule  A.  may  be  delusive 
as  representing  the  nominal  growth 
of  property,  an  incumbrance  rather 
than  an  addition  to  the  national 
wealth ;  schedule  B  may  be  worse 
than  delusive,  being  more  or  less 
bucolic  fiction  of  the  rarer  sort ;  but 
here  with  schedule  D,  we  have  ad- 
mitted income  and  profits  beyond  yea 
or  nay,  received  in  hard  cash.  What 
say  they  ?  Most  satisfactory  the  ac- 
count is.  The  days  of  Old  England 
evidently  are  not  yet  numbered,  nor 
is  that  much-abused  New  Zealander 
putting  in  a  sketching  appearance  yet 
a  while,  as  far  as  can  be  judged  by  this 
official  Blue  Book.  The  gross  profits 
of  the  United  Kingdom  have  swollen 
from  173,000,000^.  in  1868-9  to 


291,000,000^.  in  1883-4,  an  increase 
of  118,000,000^,  or  68  per  cent.  This 
does  not  look  like  decadence !  This 
large  increase  is  as  nearly  as  possible 
divided  equally  between  trades  and  pro- 
fessions and  public  companies. 

Pursuing  the  subdivisions  further 
we  get  some  instructive  facts.  Taking 
incomes  under  3001.  a  year,  for  in- 
stance, we  learn  that  the  recipients  have 
doubled  in  fifteen  years.  Could  we  have 
better  evidence  of  substantial  middle- 
class  progress  ?  The  number  of  persons 
with  incomes  under  4:001.  have  likewise 
doubled.  Under  5001.  the  increase  is 
from  12,000  to  19,000,  and  so  on,  till 
we  come  to  the  colossal  fortunes — to 
the  millionaires — and  here  we  find 
perhaps,  the  most  astonishing  facts  in 
the  whole  of  the  returns.  Persons  and 
corporations  in  receipt  of  incomes  vary- 
ing from  10,000£.  to  50,0001.  per  annum 
have  increased  from  704  to  1,192  in 
the  fifteen  years ;  and  of  50,0001.  and 
upwards,  from  52  to  104 — exactly 
double.  Of  these  104  no  less  than  sixty 
are  assessed  in  London.  Could  any 
other  country  in  the  world  show  such 
progress  in  the  same  time  1  A  certain 
German  general  once  remarked  of 
London,  "  What  a  city  to  plunder !  " 
Did  he  peruse  this  Blue  Book  he  well 
might  say,  "What  a  subject  for  an 
indemnity ! "  No  wonder  French 
admirals  look  with  greedy  eyes  to 
our  coast  towns,  and  dream  of  sup- 
positions requisitions  in  time  of 
war. 

An  analysis  of  the  gross  profits  from 
public  companies  would  show  equally 
satisfactory  results.  The  development 
in  fifteen  years  is  about  60,000,000^., 
contributed  somewhat  in  the  following 
rates : — 

Profit,  increase  of 

Quarries £238,000 

Mines 1,600,000 

Ironworks 1,000,000 

Gasworks 3,000,000 

Canals 2,300,000 

Waterworks 1,200,000 


Fishings 
Foreign  Securities  .  . 
Home  Railways  .  .  . 
Foreign  Railways  .  , 
Interest  out  of  Rates  . 
Various  undertakings 


400,000 
8,300,000 

14,000,000 
3,000,000 
2,000,000 

23,000,000 


398 


Inland  Duties  and  Taxation. 


These  figures  speak  for  themselves. 
The  income  from  foreign  securities 
may  not  be  very  certain.  A  good  deal 
of  it  represents  colonial  borrowings, 
legitimate  no  doubt,  but  there  is  the 
danger — however  remote — that  the 
borrowing  may  proceed  too  rapidly. 
The  additional  money  sunk  in  home 
railways  in  many  instances  means 
competitive  schemes  useless,  or  im- 
provements profitless.  The  develop- 
ment in  foreign  railways — in  India, 
the  Argentine  country,  Canada  and 
Brazil — is  a  healthy  item. 

Shall  we  ever  get  rid  of  the  income 
tax  ?  Could  the  mode  of  charge  be 
amended  ?  Pregnant  questions  these. 
In  its  present  shape  it  is  an  acquaint- 
ance of  forty  years  standing,  and  it  is 
questionable  if  the  opportunity  of  1874 
will  ever  again  come  round.  Two 
objections  are  raised  against  the  tax : 
its  inquisitorial  character  and  the 
inequitable  nature  of  its  incidence.  It 
is  generally  alleged  that  real  property 
does  not  bear  its  proper  share,  but  the 
Commissioners  of  Inland  Revenue  very 
properly  point  out  that  real  property 
has  to  bear  probate  and  other  financial 
burdens  other  than  the  income  tax 
proper.  As  regards  its  inquisitorial 
nature  it  only  applies  where  local 
collectors  are  employed,  and  this 
suggests  the  advisability  of  transferr- 
ing the  collection  as  well  as  the  charging 
of  the  duty  entirely  to  the  government 
officials.  It  would  lead  to  considerable 
economy,  as  clerks  to  local  commission- 
ers, local  assessors,  or  local  collectors, 
figure  largely  in  the  civil  service  vote. 
A  revenue  official  by  the  sheer  force 
of  habit  alone  is  inured  to  secrecy, 
apart  from  that  honour  which  pervades 
all  professions.  The  local  collector  is 
often  a  local  shopkeeper,  and  would  be 
more  than  human  if  he  were  not  in 
some  instances  inquisitive.  At  present 
the  income  tax  in  some  of  the  large 
towns  is  entirely  managed  by  Inland 
Revenue  officials,  and  with  the  most 
satisfactory  results. 

Touching  on  economy  at  all,  the 
public  may  well  ask  what  need  of  one 
Board  for  Customs  and  another  for 
Excise.  Why  not  have  one  Revenue 


Board  for  the  entire  kingdom,  with  a 
responsible  minister  in  the  House  of 
Commons,  just  as  there  is  at  present 
for  the  Board  of  Trade  ?  In  these  days 
of  hundred  million  budgets  there  is 
not  room  for  both.  Already  the  pro- 
cedure of  the  two  departments  has  been 
assimilated,  so  that  the  final  act  of 
fusion  could  at  any  moment  be  carried 
out.  At  first  the  saving  would  be 
small ;  owing  to  superanuations, 
there  may  even  be  a  loss,  but  in  a  few 
years  it  would  result  in  a  saving  of 
half  a  million  per  annum.  The  Excise 
Board  has  already  swallowed  up  the 
stamp  and  tax  establishments,  there- 
by effecting  a  total  economy  of 
74,000£.  a  year,  and  there  is  no  reason 
why  the  Customs  Board  should  not 
share  the  same  fate  as  these  two. 
The  Excise  collect  54,000,000?.  against 
the  Customs  22,000,000?.,  and  at  a  cost 
of  3 -4  per  cent,  against  4-4  by  the 
Customs.  The  Excise  employ  6,000 
officials,  against  6,209  in  the  Customs. 
Each  Excise  official  collects  9,000?.  per 
annum,  and  each  Customs  official 
3,680?.  The  Customs  officials  are 
better  paid,  as  the  frequent  public 
complaints  of  the  Inland  Revenue 
officials  would  testify,  but  great  im- 
provement has  been  effected  in  the 
working  of  the  latter  department  with- 
in the  past  few  years,  and  no  doubt  if 
public  economy  be  effected,  everything 
short  of  an  increase  in  the  estimates 
will  be  done  under  the  present  regime 
to  place  the  department  in  a  thoroughly 
equitable  and  contented  position. 

The  public  favour  which  the  depart- 
ment as  a  whole  enjoys,  is  alluded  to  in 
the  Report  with  pardonable  pride.  Sore 
as  the  income  tax  is,  complaint  against 
the  system  of  administration  is  never 
heard.  Every  stage  of  the  distiller's 
operation  is  watched,  every  scrap  of 
his  goods  locked,  and  yet  if  he  were 
given  the  option,  he  would  retain  both 
the  lock  and  the  custodian  of  it  as  a 
check  against  the  possibility  of  pecula- 
tion on  the  part  of  his  own  servants. 
We  enjoy  the  finest  spirit  in  the 
world,  thanks  to  the  admirable  system 
devised  for  the  collection  of  the  duty 
on  it.  Y/hen  the  paper  duty  was 


Inland  Duties  and  Taxation. 


399 


repealed,  a  Scotch  manufacturer  hoisted 
a  flag  with  a  quotation  from  a  well- 
known  song  by  Burns — himself  a 
revenue  officer — "  The  deil's  awa',  the 
deil's  awa',  the  deil's  awa'  wi'  th' 
exciseman."  Yet  it  is  an  historic  fact 
that  the  maltster,  much  as  he  grumbled, 
parted  with  reluctance  with  the  tape 
and  the  dipping  rod.  No  greater  fiscal 
change  was  ever  introduced  than  the 
transfer  of  the  duty  on  malt  to  beer, 
with  the  necessary  interference  with 
the  course  of  manufacture  which  it 
entailed.  It  would  lead  to  a  revolu- 
tion in  Russia.  Yet  not  the  slightest 
hitch  occurred,  the  brewers  them- 
selves, bearing  testimony  to  the  tact, 
courtesy,  and  enlightened  knowledge 
displayed  by  those  entrusted  with  the 
carrying  out  of  the  Act  of  1880. 

Still  harping  on  the  key  of  reform,  let 
us  see  what  public  charges  are  looming. 
We  have  1,400,000^.  as  the  produce  of 
carriage  and  kindred  licences.  There 
has  been  some  talk  of  transferring 
this  in  relief  of  local  rates.  Liquor 
licences  now  yield  1,900,000.  If  local 
option  were  carried  it  would  be  in- 
teresting to  speculate  what'  would 
become  of  this  item.  The  plate  duties 
are  still  on  the  tapis.  The  arguments 
for  and  against  retention  are  stated 
with  great  clearness  and  impartiality 
in  the  Report.  It  appears  that  the 
manufacturers  themselves  are  not  at 
all  anxious  for  repeal,  no  doubt  having 
an  eye  to  monopoly,  but  in  all  pro- 
bability the  claims  of  Indian  workman- 
ship must  outweigh  all  considerations. 
It  is  doutbful,  indeed,  if  the  tax  will 
survive  the  Colonial  Exhibition  of 
next  year.  Hall  marking  should,  how- 
ever, be  retained  and  its  provisions 
made  more  stringent. 

For  some  years  past  the  Financial 
Reform  Association  has  been  assidu- 
ously preaching  that  land  is  not  bear- 
ing its  proper  quota  of  taxation,  that  all 
the  land  of  the  kingdom  was  primarily 
the  property  of  the  sovereign  as  the  re- 
presentative of  the  State,  that  the 
Convention  Parliament  of  Charles  II. 
fraudently  converted  landholders  into 
landowners,  that  these  landowners 
shifted  the  burdens  which  land  hither- 


to bore,  and  bore  alone,  on  to  the 
general  body  of  the  people — first,  in 
the  shape  of  excise  ;  secondly,  in  unfair 
manipulation  of  the  land  tax ;  and 
thirdly,  in  the  imposition  of  the  in- 
come tax.  The  specific  charge  respect- 
ing the  land  tax  is  that  it  was  fixed  on 
a  valuation  (tainted,  it  is  said,  with 
fraud)  made  in  1692,  that  this  skeleton 
valuation  has  never  since  been  dis- 
turbed, so  that  a  nominal  quota  fixed 
at  4s.  in  the  pound  now  produces  a 
little  over  a  million,  whereas  if  it  were 
levied  on  the  actual  yearly  value  of 
the  same  property,  it  would  yield  about 
19,000,000,  thereby  inferring  that  the 
nation  in  this  respect  alone  is  cheated 
out  of  18,000,000  per  annum.  Some 
historical  facts  now  unearthed,  and 
quoted  in  this  report,  to  some  extent 
weaken  this  contention.  It  is  not  our 
province  to  decide  which  view  is  the 
more  correct.  No  doubt  the  issue  now 
raised  as  to  the  original  scope  of  the 
tax  will  lead  to  further  investigation. 
Up  to  the  middle  of  the  seventeenth 
century,  the  necessities  of  the  realm 
were  chiefly  met  by  subsidies,  land 
chiefly  bearing  the  burden.  Instead 
of  hand-to-mouth  levies  of  this  kind, 
the  Long  Parliament  resorted  to  regular 
assessments.  This  was  the  first  Land 
Tax.  In  1692  a  general  valuation  of  all 
estates  was  made,  and  a  poundage  fixed 
upon  it,  thus  laying  the  basis  of  the 
land-tax  as  known  to  us  at  present. 
Five  years  later  it  appears  to  have 
dawned  upon  the  "  landowners  "  that 
a  rate  levied  upon  property,  increasing 
year  by  year  in  value,  would  be  a 
very  dangerous  screw,  so  they  drew  a 
fixed  line  of  demarcation  beyond  which 
the  total  payment  was  not  to  go,  fixing 
upon  1,484,015^.  as  the  quota  of  Eng- 
land and  Wales.  The  plain  English 
of  this  was  that  the  assessment  fixed 
in  1692  was  to  be  accepted  as  the  basis, 
no  matter  what  the  rise  in  value  of  the 
respective  properties  may  have  been. 
During  the  next  105  years  this  system 
continued,  the  rate  varying  from  Is.  to 
4s.  in  the  pound,  the  old  assessment 
always  taken  as  the  basis.  In  1798 
the  tax  was  made  permanent  at  4s. 
in  the  pound,  and  the  old  valuation 


400 


Inland  Duties  and  Taxation. 


of  1692  was  thus  irrevocably  fixed. 
This  quota  at  this  valuation  produced 
something  over  2,000,000^.,  and  of  this 
856,469Z.  has  been  redeemed  on  the 
basis  of  a  scheme,  devised  by  Mr.  Pitt, 
in  1798,  and  remodelled  in  1853.  The 
fresh  matter  now  unearthed  for  the  first 
time  in  this  report,  shows  that  this  ad- 
herence to  the  old  partial  valuation  of 
1692  has  benefited  all  kinds  of  property 
and  all  kinds  of  income  quite  as  much  as 
it  has  land,  that  the  English  people  as 
a  whole  must  plead  guilty  to  the  filch- 
ing of  this  18,000,000^. ;  in  short,  that  it 
is  a  sort  of  good-natured  family  fraud, 
by  which  Peter  is  robbed  to  pay  Paul. 
And  this  is  proved  in  a  very  simple 
way,  by  showing  that  the  Act  of  1692 
ordained  that  estates,  merchandise, 
chattels,  incomes,  and  profits  of  every 
description  should  be  assessed  at  4s.  in 
the  pound.  This  would  make  it  in 
reality  a  4s.  income  tax,  so  that  it 
would  follow  that  the  "  estates,  mer- 
chandise, chattels,  and  incomes,"  are 
the  real  backsliders,  the  real  robbers 
of  the  nation,  since  land  alone  bears 
the  quota  of  the  tax  still  extant.  A 
strong  case  this,  difficult  to  rebut.  But 
there  are  some  weak  points  in  the 
armour.  It  is  a  most  suspicious  fact 
that  the  "  other  estates,  chattels,  and 
incomes "  were  never  in  reality  as- 
sessed. If  they  were  there  is  no 
record  left.  In  1799,  in  the  Tower 
division  of  London,  where,  be  it  re- 
membered, most  of  the  shipping  of 
the  day  would  be  assessed,  we  find  per- 
sonal estate  yielding  only  227/.  against 
29,964£.  from  land.  The  report  sug- 
gests that  the  final  fixing  upon  land 
may  have  arisen  from  the  fact  that  the 
tax  was  a  fixed  one,  that  those  origi- 
nally charged  upon  personal  incomes 
would  naturally  shift  from'  time  to 
time,  and  thus  slide  out  of  the  assess- 
ments. It  is  possible.  But  is  it  not 
more  probable  that  the  commissioners 
charged  with  the  carrying  out  of  the 
Act  of  1692 — in  most  instances  land- 
holders themselves — would  have  a 
lively  sense  of  the  spirit  of  the  tax, 
would  be  imbued  with  the  feeling  that 
they  were  giving  a  composition  for  the 


burdens  which  the  land  for  centuries 
bore — such  as  military  service,  purvey- 
ance, aids,  relief,  premier  seisin,  ward- 
ships, &c.,  and  with  that  thorough  sense 
of  justice  which  has  always  character- 
ised the  administration  of  purely 
English  affairs,  put  the  saddle  on 
the  right  horse,  knowing  that  "  other- 
estates,  incomes  and  chattels  "  had  to 
yield  liberally  in  indirect  ways,  in  the 
shape  of  the  newly  instituted  excise. 

In  conclusion,  thanks  are  due  to  the 
Commissioners  of  Inland  Revenue  for 
the  publication  of  this  valuable  and 
interesting  report.  As  Mr.  Leone 
Levi  says,  they  might  have  been  con- 
tent with  the  presentation  of  the  scan- 
tiest details.  Instead  of  that  they 
have  given  us  a  living  sketch  of  their 
department  as  it  is,  and  as  it  has  been, 
in  a  report  free  from  the  lugubrious, 
reader-scaring,  ill-digested  mass  of 
statistics  too  often  found  in  official 
publications.  And  they  do  well. 
The  new  electorate  will  be  all  the 
more  contented,  all  the  better  qualified 
to  exercise  their  functions  with  self 
thinking  discretion,  by  knowing  the 
real  nature  of  the  items  which  the  tax- 
man  demands,  why  he  demands  them, 
how  the  money  is  got,  and  how 
the  money  is  spent.  Working  men 
show  sound  judgment  in  the  manage- 
ment of  their  weekly  wage.  Would 
not  the  same  broad  sound  mass  of 
popular  common  sense  be  a  healthy 
fulcrum  in  national  affairs,  if  national 
finance  only  were  made  more  popular  1 
Lord  Salisbury  tells  us  that  human 
nature  is  averse  to  figures.  There  is 
no  reason  why  a  nation  should  be. 
Figures  have  made  Germany  what 
she  is.  The  slide  rule  and  the  loga- 
rithmic table  led  to  the  crowning  vic- 
tory of  Sedan.  When  men  know  what 
they  are  paying,  directly  and  indirectly, 
they  will  begin  to  inquire  why  they 
are  paying  it.  They  will  want  to 
know  how  and  for  what  purposes  it 
is  spent.  They  will  pay  all  the  more 
cheerfully,  if  satisfied,  and  will  thus 
bring  valuable  influence  to  bear  on 
the  administration  of  affairs  at  home 
and  abroad. 


MACMILLAN'S    MAGAZINE. 


OCTOBER,  1885. 


A  PRINCE  OF  COURT  PAINTERS. 


Extracts  from  an  Old  French  Journal. 


VALENCIENNES,  September,  1701. 

THEY  have  been  renovating  my  father's 
large  workroom.  That  delightful, 
tumble-down  old  place  has  lost  its 
moss-grown  tiles  and  the  green 
weather-stains  we  have  known  all 
our  lives  on  the  high  whitewashed 
wall,  opposite  which  we  sit,  in  the 
little  sculptor's  yard,  for  the  coolness, 
in  summertime.  Among  old  Wat- 
teau's  work-people  came  his  son,  "  the 
genius,"  my  father's  godson  and 
namesake,  a  dark-haired  youth,  whose 
large,  unquiet  eyes  seemed  perpetually 
wandering  to  the  various  drawings 
which  lie  exposed  here.  My  father 
will  have  it  that  he  is  a  genius  indeed, 
and  a  painter  born.  We  have  had  our 
September  Fair  in  the  Grande  Place,  a 
wonderful  stir  of  sound  and  colour  in 
the  wide,  open  space  beneath  our  win- 
dows. And  just  where  the  crowd  was 
busiest  young  Antony  was  found, 
hoisted  into  one  of  those  eiripty 
niches  of  the  old  Hotel  de  Ville,  sketch- 
ing the  scene  to  the  life ;  but  with  a 
kind  of  grace  (a  marvellous  tact,  of 
omission,  as  my  father  pointed  out  to 
us,  in  dealing  with  the  vulgar  reality 
seen  from  one's  own  window)  which 
has  made  trite  old  Harlequin,  Clown, 
and  Columbine,  seem  like  people  in 
some  fairy-land ;  or  like  infinitely 
clever  tragic  actors,  who,  for  the 
humour  of  the  thing,  have  put  on 
No.  312.— VOL.  LII. 


motley  for  once,  and  are  able  to 
throw  a  world  of  serious  innuendo 
into  their  burlesque  looks,  with  a  sort 
of  comedy  which  shall  be  but  tragedy 
seen  from  the  other  side.  He  brought 
his  sketch  to  our  house  to-day,  and  I 
was  present  when  my  father  questioned 
him  and  commended  his  work.  But 
the  lad  seemed  not  greatly  pleased, 
and  left  untasted  the  glass  of  old 
Malaga  which  was  offered  to  him. 
His  father  is  a  somewhat  stern  man, 
and  will  hear  nothing  of  educating  him 
as  a  painter.  Yet  he  is  not  ill-to-do, 
and  has  lately  built  himself  a  new 
stone  house,  big,  and  grey,  and  cold. 
Their  old  plastered  house  with  the 
black  timbers,  in  the  Rue  des  Cardi- 
naux,  was  prettier  ;  dating  from  the 
time  of  the  Spaniards,  and  one  of  the 
oldest  in  Valenciennes. 

October,  1701. 

Chiefly  through  the  solicitations  of 
my  father,  old  "Watteau  has  consented 
to  place  Antony  with  a  teacher  of 
painting  here.  I  meet  him  betimes  on 
the  way  to  his  lessons,  as  I  return 
from  mass  ;  for  he  still  works  with  the 
masons,  but  making  the  most  of  late 
and  early  hours,  of  every  moment  of 
liberty.  And  then  he  has  the  feast- 
days,  of  which  there  are  so  many  in 
this  old-fashioned  place.  Ah !  such 
gifts  as  his,  surely,  may  once  in  a  way 
make  much  industry  seem  worth  while . 

D    D 


402 


A  Prince  of  Court  Painters. 


He  makes  a  wonderful  progress.  And 
yet,  far  from  being  set  up,  and  too 
easily  pleased  with  what,  after  all, 
comes  to  him  so  easily,  he  has,  my 
father  thinks,  too  little  self -approval 
for  ultimate  success.  He  is  apt,  in 
truth,  to  fall  out  too  hastily  with  him- 
self and  what  he  produces.  Yet  here 
also  there  is  the  "golden  mean." 
Yes  !  I  could  fancy  myself  offended 
by  a  sort  of  irony  which  sometimes 
crosses  the  half -melancholy  sweetness 
of  manner  habitual  with  him  ;  only 
that,  as  I  can  see,  he  treats  himself  to 
the  same  quality. 

October,  1701. 

Antony  Watteau  comes  here  often 
now.  It  is  the  instinct  of  a  natural 
fineness  in  him,  to  escape  when  he  can 
from  that  blank  stone  house,  si  peu 
historic,  and  that  homely  old  man  and 
woman.  The  rudeness  of  his  home 
has  turned  his  feeling  for  even  the 
simpler  graces  of  life  into  a  physical 
need,  like  hunger  or  thirst,  which 
might  come  to  greed ;  and  methinks 
he  perhaps  over- values  those  things. 
Still,  made  as  he  is,  his  hard  fate  in 
that  rude  place  must  needs  touch  one. 
And  then,  he  profits  by  the  experience 
of  my  father,  who  has  much  know- 
ledge in  matters  of  art  beyond  his  own 
art  of  sculpture  ;  and  Antony  is  not 
unwelcome  to  him.  In  these  last 
rainy  weeks  especially,  when  he  can't 
sketch  out  of  doors,  when  the  wind 
only  half  dries  the  pavement  before 
another  torrent  comes,  and  people  stay 
at  home,  and  the  only  sound  from 
without  is  the  creaking  of  a  restless 
shutter  on  its  hinges,  or  the  march 
across  the  Place  of  those  weary 
soldiers,  coming  and  going  so  inter- 
minably, one  hardly  knows  whether 
to  or  from  battle  with  the  English  and 
the  Austrians,  from  victory  or  defeat- 
Well  !  he  has  become  like  one  of  our 
family.  "  He  will  go  far  !  "  my  father 
declares.  He  would  go  far  in  the 
literal  sense,  if  he  might — to  Paris, 
to  Rome.  It  must  be  admitted  that 
our  Valenciennes  is  a  quiet — nay,  a 
sleepy  place  ;  sleepier  than  ever,  since 


it  became  French,  and  ceased  to  be  so 
near  the  frontier.  The  grass  is  grow- 
ing deep  on  our  old  ramparts,  and  it  is 
pleasant  to  walk  there — to  walk  there 
and  muse  ;  pleasant  for  a  tame,  un- 
ambitious soul  such  as  mine. 

December,  1702. 

Antony  "VVatteau  left  us  for  Paris 
this  morning.  It  came  upon  us  quite 
suddenly.  They  amuse  themselves  in 
Paris.  A  scene-painter  we  have  here, 
well  known  in  Flanders,  has  been 
engaged  to  work  in  one  of  the  Parisian 
playhouses  ;  and  young  Watteau,  of 
whom  he  had  some  slight  knowledge, 
has  departed  in  his  company.  He 
doesn't  know  it  was  I  who  persuaded 
the  scene-painter  to  take  him — that  he 
would  find  the  lad  useful.  We  offered 
him  our  little  presents  ;  fine  thread- 
lace  of  our  own  making  for  his  ruffles 
and  the  like ;  for  one  must  make  a 
figure  in  Paris ;  and  he  is  slim  and 
well-formed.  For  myself,  I  presented 
him  with  a  silken  purse  I  had  long  ago 
embroidered  for  another.  Well !  we 
shall  follow  his  fortunes  (of  which  I 
for  one  feel  quite  sure)  at  a  distance. 
Old  Watteau  didn't  know  of  his  de- 
parture, and  has  been  here  in  great 
anger. 

December,  1703. 

Twelve  months  to-day  since  Antony 
went  to  Paris !  The  first  struggle 
must  be  a  sharp  one  for  an  unknown 
lad  in  that  vast,  over  crowded  place, 
even  if  he  be  as  clever  as  young 
Antony  Watteau.  We  may  think, 
however,  that  he  is  on  the  way  to 
his  chosen  end,  for  he  returns  not 
home  ;  though,  in  truth,  he  tells  those 
poor  old  people  very  little  of  himself. 
The  apprentices  of  the  M.  Metayer  for 
whom  he  works,  labour  all  day  long, 
each  at  a  single  part  only — coiffure,  or 
robe,  or  hand — of  the  cheap  pictures  of 
religion  or  fantasy  he  exposes  for  sale 
at  a  low  price,  along  the  footways  of 
the  Pont  Notre  -  Dame.  Antony  is 
already  the  most  skilful  of  them,  and 
seems  to  have  been  promoted  of  late 
to  work  on  church  pictures.  I  like 


A  Prince  of  Court  Painters. 


403 


the  thought  of  that.  He  receives 
three  limes  a  week  for  his  pains,  and 
his  soup  daily. 

May,  1705. 

Antony  Watteau  has  parted  from  the 
dealer  in  pictures  b,  lion  marche,  and 
works  now  with  a  painter  of  furniture 
pieces,  (those  head-pieces  for  doors  and 
the  like,  now  in  fashion,)  who  is  also 
concierge  of  the  Palace  of  the  Luxem- 
bourg. Antony  is  actually  lodged 
somewhere  in  that  grand  place,  which 
contains  the  king's  collection  of  the 
Italian  pictures  he  would  so  willingly 
copy.  Its  gardens  also  are  magnificent, 
with  something,  as  we  understand 
from  him,  altogether  of  a  novel  kind 
in  their  disposition  and  embellishment. 
Ah !  how  I  delight  myself,  in  fancy 
at  least,  in  those  beautiful  gardens, 
freer  and  trimmed  less  stiffly  than 
those  of  other  royal  houses.  Me- 
thinks  I  see  him  there,  when  his  long 
summer-day's  work  is  over,  enjoying 
the  cool  shade  of  the  stately,  broad- 
foliaged  trees,  each  of  which  is  a  great 
courtier,  though  it  has  its  way  almost 
as  if  it  belonged  to  that  open  and  un- 
built country  beyond,  over  which  the 
sun  is  sinking. 

His  thoughts,  however,  in  the  midst 
of  all  this,  are  not  wholly  away  from 
home,  if  I  may  judge  by  the  subject  of 
a  picture  he  hopes  to  sell  for  as  much 
as  sixty  livres — Un  Depart  de  Troupes — 
Soldiers  Departing — one  of  those 
scenes  of  military  life  one  can  study 
so  well  here  at  Valenciennes. 

June,  1705. 

Young  Watteau  has  returned  home ; 
— proof,  with  a  character  so  independent 
as  his,  that  things  have  gone  well  with 
him ;  and  (it  is  agreed !)  stays  with 
us,  instead  of  in  the  stonemason's 
house.  The  old  people  suppose  he 
comes  to  us  for  the  sake  of  my  father's 
instruction.  French  people  as  we 
have  become,  we  are  still  old  Flemish, 
if  not  at  heart  yet  on  the  surface. 
Even  in  French  Flanders,  at  Douai 
and  Saint  Omer,  as  I  understand,  in 
the  churches  and  in  people's  houses, 
as  may  be  seen  from  the  very  streets, 


there  is  noticeable  a  minute  and  scru- 
pulous air  of  care-taking  and  neatness. 
Antony  Watteau  remarks  this  more 
than  ever  on  returning  to  Valencien- 
nes, and  savours  greatly,  after  his 
lodging  in  Paris,  our  Flemish  cleanli- 
ness, lover  as  he  is  of  distinction  and 
elegance.  Those  worldly  graces  he 
seemed  as  a  young  lad  almost  to  hunger 
and  thirst  for,  as  if  truly  the  mere 
adornments  of  life  were  its  necessaries, 
he  already  takes  as  if  he  had  been  al- 
ways used  to  them.  And  there  is 
something  noble — shall  I  say  ? — in  his 
half-disdainful  way  of  serving  himself 
with  what  he  still,  as  I  think,  secretly 
values  over-much.  There  is  an  air  of 
seemly  thought — le  bel  serieux — about 
him,  which  makes  me  think  of  one  of 
those  grave  old  Dutch  statesmen  in 
their  youth,  such  as  that  famous 
William  the  Silent ;  and  yet  the  effect 
of  this  first  success  of  his,  (greater  in- 
deed than  its  actual  value,  as  insuring 
for  the  future  the  full  play  of  his 
natural  powers,)  I  can  trace  like  the 
bloom  of  a  flower  upon  him  ;  and  he 
has,  now  and  then,  the  gaieties  which 
from  time  to  time,  surely,  must  refresh 
all  true  artists,  however  hard-working 
and  "  painful." 

July,  1705. 

The  charm  of  that— his  physiog- 
nomy and  manner  of  being  —  has 
touched  even  my  young  brother, 
Jean-Baptiste.  He  is  greatly  taken 
with  Antony,  clings  to  him  al- 
most too  attentively,  and  will  be 
nothing  but  a  painter,  though  my 
father  would  have  trained  him  to 
follow  his  own  profession.  It  may  do 
the  child  good.  He  needs  the  expan- 
sion of  some  generous  sympathy  or 
sentiment  in  that  close  little  soul  of 
his,  as  I  have  thought,  watching  some- 
times how  his  small  face  and  hands 
are  moved  in  sleep.  A  child  of  ten 
who  cares  only  to  save  and  possess,  to 
hoard  his  tiny  savings  !  Yet  he  is  not 
otherwise  selfish,  and  loves  us  all  with 
a  warm  heart.  Just  now  it  is  the 
moments  of  Antony's  company  he 
counts,  like  a  little  miser.  Well !  that 
may  save  him  perhaps  from  develop- 
D  D  2 


404 


A  Prince  of  Court  Painters. 


ing  a  certain  meanness  of  character  I 
have  sometimes  feared  for  him. 

August,  1705. 

We  returned  home  late  this  sum- 
mer evening — Antony  Watteau,  my 
father  and  sisters,  young  Jean-Bap- 
tiste,  and  myself — from  an  excursion 
to  Saint-Amand,  in  celebration  of 
Antony's  last  day  with  us.  After 
visiting  the  great  abbey-church  and 
its  range  of  chapels,  with  their  costly 
encumbrance  of  carved  shrines  and 
golden  reliquaries  and  funeral  scut- 
cheons in  the  coloured  glass,  half  seen 
through  a  rich  inclosure  of  marble 
and  brass  work,  we  supped  at  the 
little  inn  in  the  forest.  Antony,  look- 
ing well  in  his  new-fashioned,  long- 
skirted  coat,  and  taller  than  he  really 
is,  made  us  bring  our  cream  and  wild 
strawberries  out  of  doors,  ranging  our- 
selves according  to  his  judgment  (for 
a  hasty  sketch  in  that  big  pocket- 
book  he  carries)  on  the  soft  slope  of 
one  of  those  fresh  spaces  in  the  wood, 
where  the  trees  unclose  a  little,  while 
Jean-Baptiste  and  my  youngest  sister 
danced  a  minuet  on  the  grass,  to  the 
notes  of  some  strolling  lutanist  who 
had  found  us  out.  He  is  visibly 
cheerful  at  the  thought  of  his  return 
to  Paris,  and  became  for  a  moment 
freer  and  more  animated  than  I  have 
ever  yet  seen  him,  as  he  discoursed  to 
us  about  the  paintings  of  Rubens  in 
the  church  here.  jHis  words,  as  he 
spoke  of  them,  seemed  full  of  a  kind 
of  rich  sunset  with  some  moving 
glory  within  it.  Yet  I  like  far  better 
than  any  of  these  pictures  of  Rubens 
a  work  of  that  old  Dutch  master, 
Peter  Porbus,  which  hangs,  though 
almost  out  of  sight  indeed,  in  our 
church  at  home.  The  patron  saints, 
simple  and  standing  firmly  on  either 
side,  present  two  homely  old  people  to 
Our  Lady  enthroned  in  the  midst, 
with  the  look  and  attitude  of  one  for 
whom,  amid  her  "glories,"  (depicted 
in  dim  little  circular  pictures,  set  in 
the  openings  of  a  chaplet  of  pale 
flowers  around  her,)  all  feelings  are 
over,  except  a  great  pitif ulness ;  and 


her  robe  of  shadowy  blue  suits  my 
eyes  better  far  than  the  hot  flesh-tints 
of  the  Medicean  ladies  of  the  great 
Peter  Paul,  in  spite  of  that  amplitude 
and  royal  ease  of  action  under  their 
stiff  court-costumes,  at  which  Antony 
Watteau  declares  himself  in  dismay. 

August,  1705. 

I  have  just  returned  from  early 
mass.  I  lingered  long  after  the  office 
was  over,  watching,  and  pondering  how 
in  the  world  one  could  help  a  small 
bird  which  had  flown  into  the  church 
but  could  find  no  way  out  again.  I 
suspect  it  will  remain  there,  fluttering 
round  and  round  distractedly,  far  up 
under  the  arched  roof,  till  it  dies  ex- 
hausted. I  seem  to  have  heard  of 
some  one  who  likened  man's  life  to  a 
bird,  passing  just  once  only,  on  some 
winter  night,  from  window  to  window, 
across  a  cheerfully  -  lighted  hall. 
The  bird,  taken  captive  by  the  ill-luck 
of  a  moment,  repeating  its  issueless 
circle  till  it  expires,  within  the  close 
vaulting  of  that  great  stone  church — 
human  life  may  be  like  that  bird 
too  ! 

Antony  Watteau  returned  to  Paris 
yesterday.  Yes ! — Certainly  great 
heights  of  achievement  would  seem  to 
lie  before  him — access  to  regions  where 
one  may  find  it  increasingly  hard  to 
follow  him  even  in  imagination,  and 
figure  to  one's  self  after  what  manner 
his  life  moves  therein. 

January,  1709. 

Antony  Watteau  has  competed  for 
what  is  called  the  Prix  de  Rome,  de- 
siring greatly  to  profit  by  the  grand 
establishment  founded  at  Rome  by 
King  Lewis  the  Fourteenth,  for  the 
encouragement  of  French  artists.  He 
obtained  only  the  second  place,  but 
does  not  renounce  his  desire  to  make 
the  journey  to  Italy.  Could  I  save 
enough  by  careful  economies  for  that 
purpose  ?  It  might  be  conveyed  to 
him  in  some  indirect  way  that  would 
not  offend. 

February,  1712. 

We  read,  with  much  pleasure  for  all 
of  us,  in  the  Gazette  to-day,  among 


A  Prince  of  Court  Painters. 


405 


other  events  of  the  great  world,  that 
Antony  Watteau  had  been  elected  to 
the  Academy  of  Painting  under  the 
new  title  of  Peintre  des  fetes  Galantes, 
and  had  been  named  also  Peintre  du 
Roi.  My  brother,  Jean-Baptiste,  ran 
to  tell  the  news  to  old  Jean-Philippe 
and  Michelle  Watteau. 

A  new  manner  of  painting !  The 
old  furniture  of  people's  rooms  must 
needs  be  changed  throughout,  it  would 
seem,  to  accord  with  this  painting ; 
or  rather,  the  painting  is  designed 
exclusively  to  suit  one  particular  kind 
of  apartment — a  manner  of  painting 
greatly  prized,  as  we  understand,  by 
those  Parisian  judges  who  have  had 
the  best  opportunity  of  acquainting 
themselves  with  whatever  is  most  en- 
joyable in  the  arts  —  such  is  the 
achievement  of  the  young  Watteau  ! 
He  looks  to  receive  more  orders  for 
his  work  than  he  will  be  able  to 
execute.  He  will  certainly  relish — 
he  so  elegant,  so  hungry  for  the 
colours  of  life — a  free  intercourse  with 
those  wealthy  lovers  of  the  arts,  M.  de 
Crozat,  M.  de  Julienne,  the  Abbe  de 
la  Roque,  the  Count  de  Caylus,  and 
M.  Gersaint,  the  famous  dealer  in 
pictures,  who  are  so  anxious  to  lodge 
him  in  their  fine  hotels,  and  to  have 
him  of  their  company  at  their  country 
houses.  Paris,  we  hear,  has  never 
been  wealthier  and  more  luxurious 
than  now  :  and  the  great  ladies  outbid 
each  other  to  have  his  work  upon  their 
very  fans.  Those  vast  fortunes,  how- 
ever, seem  to  change  hands  very 
rapidly.  And  Antony's  new  manner? 
I  am  unable  even  to  divine  it — to 
conceive  the  trick  and  effect  of  it — 
at  all.  Only,  something  of  lightness 
and  coquetry  I  discern  there,  at  vari- 
ance, methinks,  with  his  own  singular 
gravity,  and  even  sadness,  of  mien  and 
mind,  more  answerable  to  the  stately 
apparelling  of  the  age  of  Lewis  XIV., 
or  of  Lewis  XV.,  in  these  old,  sombre 
Spanish  houses  of  ours. 

March,  1713. 

We  have  all  been  very  happy — Jean- 
Baptiste,  as  if  in  a  delightful  dream. 


Antony  Watteau,  being  consulted  with 
regard  to  the  lad's  training  as  a 
painter,  has  most  generously  offered 
to  receive  him  for  his  own  pupil.  My 
father,  for  some  reason  unknown  to 
me,  seemed  to  hesitate  at  the  first ; 
but  Jean-Baptiste,  whose  enthusiasm 
for  Antony  visibly  refines  and  beauti- 
fies his  whole  nature,  has  won  the 
necessary  permission,  and  this  dear 
young  brother  will  leave  us  to-morrow. 
Our  regrets  and  his,  at  his  parting 
from  us  for  the  first  time,  overtook 
our  joy  at  his  good  fortune  by  surprise, 
at  the  last  moment,  just  as  we  were 
about  to  bid  each  other  good-night. 
For  a  while  there  had  seemed  to  be 
an  uneasiness  under  our  cheerful  talk, 
as  if  each  one  present  were  concealing 
something  with  an  effort ;  and  it  was 
Jean-Baptiste  himself  who  gave  way 
at  last.  And  then  we  sat  down  again, 
still  together,  and  allowed  free  play 
to  what  was  in  our  hearts,  almost  till 
morning,  my  sisters  weeping  much. 
I  know  better  how  to  control  myself. 
In  a  few  days  that  delightful  new  life 
will  have  begun  for  him :  and  1  have 
made  him  promise  to  write  often  to 
us.  With  how  small  a  part  of  my 
whole  life  shall  I  be  really  living  ai; 
Valenciennes ! 

January,  1714. 

Jean-Philippe  Watteau  has  received 
a  letter  from  his  son  to-day.  Old 
Michelle  Watteau,  whose'  sight  is 
failing,  though  she  still  works  (half 
by  touch,  indeed)  at  her  pillow-lace, 
was  glad  to  hear  me  read  the  letter 
aloud  more  than  once.  It  recounts — 
how  modestly  and  almost  as  a  matter 
of  course  ! — his  late  successes.  And 
yet ! — does  he,  in  writing  to  these  old 
parents,  whom  he  has  forgiven  for 
their  hard  treatment  of  him,  purposely 
underrate  his  great  good-fortune  and 
present  happiness,  not  to  shock  them 
too  much  by  the  contrast  between  the 
delicate  enjoyments  of  the  life  he  now 
leads  among  the  wealthy  and  refined, 
and  that  bald  existence  of  theirs  in 
his  old  home  t  A  life,  agitated,  exi- 
gent, unsatisfying! — That  is  what 
this  letter  discloses,  below  so  attractive 


406 


A  Prince,  of  Court  Painters. 


a  surface.  As  his  gift  expands  so 
does  that  incurable  restlessness,  one 
supposed  but  a  humour  natural  to  a 
promising  youth  who  had  still  every- 
thing to  do.  And  now,  the  one  realised 
enjoyment  he  has  of  all  this,  might 
seem  to  be  the  thought  of  the  inde- 
pendence it  has  purchased  him,  so 
that  he  can  escape  from  one  lodging- 
place  to  another,  just  as  it  may  please 
him.  He  has  already  deserted,  some- 
what incontinently,  more  than  one  of 
those  fine  houses,  the  liberal  air  of 
which  he  used  so  greatly  to  affect, 
and  which  have  so  readily  received 
him.  Has  he  failed  really  to  grasp 
the  fact  of  his  great  success  and  the 
rewards  that  lie  before  him?  At  all 
events,  he  seems,  after  all,  not  greatly 
to  value  that  fine  world  he  is  now 
privileged  to  enter,  and  has  certainly 
but  little  relish  for  his  own  works — 
those  works  which  I  for  one  so  thirst 
to  see. 

March,  1714. 

We  were  all — Jean-Philippe,  Mi- 
chelle Watteau,  and  ourselves — half 
in  expectation  of  a  visit  from  Antony  ; 
and  to-day,  quite  suddenly,  he  is  with 
us.  I  was  lingering  after  early  mass 
this  morning  in  the  church  of  Saint 
Vaast.  It  is  good  for  me  to  be  there. 
Our  people  lie  under  one  of  the  great 
marble  slabs  before  ihejube,  some  of 
the  memorial  brass  balusters  of  which 
nre  engraved  with  their  names  and  the 
dates  of  their  decease.  The  settle  of 
carved  oak  which  runs  all  round  the 
wide  nave  is  my  father's  own  work. 
The  quiet  spaciousness  of  the  place  is 
itself  like  a  meditation,  an  acte  de 
recueillement,  and  clears  away  the 
confusions  of  the  heart.  I  suppose 
the  heavy  droning  of  the  carillon  had 
smothered  the  sound  of  his  footsteps, 
for  on  my  turning  round,  when  I  sup- 
posed myself  alone,  Antony  Watteau 
was  standing  near  me.  Constant  ob- 
server, as  he  is,  of  the  lights  and 
shadows  of  things,  he  visits  places  of 
this  kind  at  odd  times.  He  has  left 
Jean-Baptiste  at  work  in  Paris,  and 
will  stay  this  time  with  the  old  people, 
not  at  our  house  :  though  he  has  spent 


the  better  part  of  to-day  in  my  father's 
workroom.  He  hasn't  yet  put  off,  in 
spite  of  all  his  late  intercourse  with 
the  great  world,  his  distant  and  pre- 
occupied manner — a  manner,  it  is  true, 
the  same  to  every  one.  It  is  certainly 
not  through  pride  in  his  success,  as 
some  might  fancy,  for  he  was  thus 
always.  It  is  rather  as  if,  with  all  that 
success,  life  and  its  daily  social  routine 
were  somewhat  of  a  burden  to  him. 

April,  1714. 

At  last  we  shall  understand  some- 
thing of  that  new  style  of  his — the 
Watteau  style — so  much  relished  by  the 
great  world  at  Paris.  He  has  taken 
it  into  his  kind  head  to  paint  and 
decorate  our  chief  salon — the  room 
with  the  three  long  windows,  which 
occupies  the  first  floor  of  the  house. 

The  room  was  a  landmark,  as  we 
used  to  think,  an  inviolable  milestone 
and  landmark,  of  old  Valenciennes 
fashion — that  sombre  style,  indulging 
much  in  contrasts  of  black  or  deep 
brown  with  white,  which  the  Spaniards 
left  behind  them  here.  Doubtless 
their  eyes  had  found  its  shadows 
cool  and  pleasant,  when  they  shut 
themselves  in  from  the  cutting  sun- 
shine of  their  own  country.  But  in 
our  country,  where  we  must  needs 
economise  not  the  shade  but  the  sun, 
its  grandiosity  weighs  a  little  on  one's 
spirits.  Well  !  The  rough  plaster  we 
used  to  cover  as  well  as  might  be  with 
morsels  of  old  arras  a  personnages,  is 
replaced  by  dainty  panelling  of  wood, 
with  mimic  columns,  and  a  quite  aerial 
scroll-work,  around  sunken  spaces  of 
a  pale-rose  stuff,  and  certain  oval 
openings — two  over  the  doors,  open- 
ing on  each  side  of  the  grand  canape 
which  faces  the  windows,  one  over  the 
chimney-piece,  and  one  above  the 
bahut  which  forms  its  vis-a-vis — four 
spaces  in  all,  to  be  filled  by  and  by 
with  "  fantasies  "  of  the  Four  Seasons, 
painted  by  his  own  hand.  He  will 
send  us  from  Paris  fauteuils  of  a  new 
pattern  he  has  devised,  suitably  covered, 
and  a  painted  clavecin.  Our  old  silver 
flambeaux  look  well  on  the  chimney 


A  Prince  of  Gour'^  Painters. 


407 


piece.  Odd,  faint-coloured  flowers  till 
coquettishly  the  little  empty  spaces 
here  and  there,  like  ghosts  of  nose- 
gays left  by  visitors  long  ago,  which 
paled  thus,  sympathetically,  at  the  de- 
cease of  their  old  owners ;  for,  in  spite 
of  its  new-fashionedness,  all  this  array 
is  really  less  like  a  new  thing  than  the 
last  surviving  result  of  all  the  more 
lightsome  adornments  of  past  times. 
Only,  the  very  walls  seem  to  cry  out — 
No  !  to  make  delicate  insinuation,  for 
a  music,  a  conversation,  nimbler  than 
any  we  have  known,  or  are  likely  to 
find  here.  For  himself,  he  converses 
well,  but  very  sparingly.  He  assures 
us,  indeed,  that  this  new  style  is  in 
truth  a  thing  of  old  days,  of  his  own 
old  days  here  in  Valenciennes,  when, 
working  long  hours  as  a  mason's  boy, 
he  in  fancy  reclothed  the  walls  of  this 
or  that  house  he  was  employed  in,  with 
this  fairy  arrangement ; — itself  like  a 
piece  of  "  chamber-music,"  methinks, 
part  answering  to  part ;  while  no  too 
trenchant  note  is  allowed  to  break 
through  the  delicate  harmony  of  white, 
and  pale  red,  and  little  golden  touches. 
Yet  it  is  all  very  comfortable  also,  it 
must  be  confessed ;  with  an  elegant 
open  place  for  the  fire,  instead  of  the 
big  old  stove  of  brown  tiles.  The 
ancient,  heavy  furniture  of  our  grand- 
parents goes  up,  with  difficulty,  into 
the  grenier,  much  against  my  father's 
inclination.  To  reconcile  him  to  the 
change,  Antony  is  painting  his  portrait 
in  a  vast  perruque,  and  with  more 
vigorous  massing  of  light  and  shadow 
than  he  is  wont  to  permit  himself. 

June,  1714. 

He  has  completed  the  ovals — The 
Four  Seasons.  Oh !  the  summer-like 
grace,  the  freedom  and  softness  of  the 
"  Summer  " — a  hayfield  such  as  we 
visited  to-day,  but  boundless,  and  with 
touches  of  level  Italian  architecture 
in  the  hot,  white,  elusive  distance,  and 
wreaths  of  flowers,  fairy  hayrakes  and 
the  like,  suspended  from  tree  to  tree, 
with  that  wonderf  ul  lightness  which  is 
one  of  the  charms  of  his  work.  I  can 
understand  through  this,  at  last,  what 


it  is  he  enjoys,  what  he  selects  by  pre- 
ference from  all  that  various  world  we 
pass  our  lives  in.  I  am  struck  by  the 
purity  of  the  room  he  has  refashioned 
for  us — a  sort  of  moral  purity ;  yet,  in 
the  forms  and  colours  of  things.  Is 
the  actual  life  of  Paris,  to  which  he 
will  soon  return,  equally  pure,  that  it 
relishes  this  kind  of  thing  so  strongly  1 
Only,  methinks  'tis  a  pity  to  incor- 
porate so  much  of  his  work,  of  himself, 
with  objects  of  use  which  must  perish 
by  use,  or  disappear,  like  our  own 
old  furniture,  with  mere  change  of 
fashion. 

July,  1714. 

On  the  last  day  of  Antony  Watteau's 
visit   we   made   a   party  to  Cambrai. 
We  entered  the  cathedral  church  ;  it 
was  the  hour  of  Vespers,  and  it  hap- 
pened that  Monseigneur  le  Prince  de 
Cambrai  was  in  his  place  in  the  choir. 
He  appears  of  great  age,  assists  but 
rarely  at  the  offices  of  religion,  and  is 
never  to  be  seen  in  Paris ;  and  Antony 
had  much  desired  to  behold  him.    Cer- 
tainly,  it  was    worth    while  to  have 
come  so  far  only  to  see  him,  and  hear 
him  give  his  pontifical  blessing,  in  a 
voice  feeble  but  of  infinite  sweetness, 
and   with    an    inexpressibly   graceful 
movement  of  the  hands.     A  veritable 
grand  seigneur  !     His  refined  old  age, 
the   impress    of   genius   and   honours, 
even  his  disappointments,  concur  with 
natural  graces  to  make  him  seem  too 
distinguished  (a  fitter  word  fails  me) 
for  this  world.       Omnia   Vanitas  !   he 
seems  to  say,  yet  with  a  profound  re- 
signation, which  makes  the  things  we 
are  most  of  us  so  fondly  occupied  with 
seem  petty  enough.    Omnia  Vanitas  ! — 
Is  that  indeed  the  proper  comment  on 
our   lives,  coming,  as  it  does  in  this 
case,  from  one  who  might  have  made 
his  own  all  that  life  has  to  bestow  1 
Yet  he  was  never  to  be  seen  at  court, 
and  has  lived  here  almost  as  an  exile. 
Was  our  "  Great  King  Lewis  "  jealous 
of    a   true   grand    seigneur,  or    grand 
monarque    by  natural    gift    and    the 
favour  of  heaven,  that  he  could  not 
endure  his  presence? 


408 


A  Prince  of  Court  Painters. 


July,  1714. 

My  own  portrait  remains  unfinished 
at  his  sudden  departure.  I  sat  for  it 
in  a  walking-dress,  made  under  his 
direction — a  gown  of  a  peculiar  silken 
stuff,  falling  into  an  abundance  of 
small  folds,  giving  me  "  a  certain  air 
of  piquancy  "  which  pleases  him,  but 
is  far  enough  from  my  true  self.  My 
old  Flemish  faille,  which  I  shall 
always  wear,  suits  me  better. 

J  notice  that  pur  good-hearted  but 
sometimes  difficult  friend  said  little  of 
our  brother  Jean-Baptiste,  though  he 
knows  us  so  anxious  on  his  account — • 
spoke  only  of  his  constant  industry, 
cautiously,  and  not  altogether  with 
satisfaction,  as  if  the  sight  of  it 
wearied  him. 

September,  1714. 

Will  Antony  ever  accomplish  that 
long-pondered  journey  to  Italy?  For 
Lis  own  sake,  I  should  be  glad  he 
might.  Yet  it  seems  desolately  far, 
across  those  great  hills  and  plains.  I 
remember  how  I  formed  a  plan  for 
providing  him  with  a  sum  sufficient 
for  the  purpose.  But  that  he  no 
longer  needs. 

With  myself,  how  to  pass  time  be- 
comes sometimes  the  question  ; — un- 
avoidably, though  it  strikes  me  as  a 
thing  unspeakably  sad  in  a  life  so  short 
as  ours.  The  sullenness  of  a  long  wet 
day  is  yielding  just  now  to  an  outburst 
of  watery  sunset,  which  strikes  from 
the  far  horizon  of  this  quiet  world  of 
ours,  over  fields  and  willow-woods,  upon 
the  shifty  weather-vanes,  and  long- 
pointed  windows  of  the  tower  on  the 
square — from  which  the  Angelus  is 
sounding — with  a  momentary  promise 
of  a  fine  night.  I  prefer  the  Salut  at 
Saint  Vaast.  The  walk  thither  is  a 
longer  one  ;  and  I  have  a  fancy'always 
that  I  may  meet  Antony  Watteau 
there  again,  any  time ;  just  as,  when 
a  child,  having  found  one  day  a  tiny 
box  in  the  shape  of  a  silver  coin,  for 
long  afterwards  I  used  to  try  every 
piece  of  money  that  came  into  my 
hands,  expecting  it  to  open. 

September,  1714. 
We   were   sitting    in  the   Watteau 


chamber  for  the  coolness,  this  sultry 
evening.  A  sudden  gust  of  wind 
ruffled  the  lights  in  the  sconces  on 
the  walls ;  the  distant  rumblings, 
which  had  continued  all  the  after- 
noon, broke  out  at  last :  and  through 
the  driving  rain,  a  coach,  rattling 
across  the  Place,  stops  at  our  door ; 
and  in  a  moment  Jean-Baptiste  is  with 
us  once  again ;  but  with  bitter  tears 
in  his  eyes  ; — dismissed ! 

October,  1714. 

Jean-Baptiste  !  he,  too,  rejected  by 
Antony  1  It  makes  our  friendship  and 
fraternal  sympathy  closer.  And  still, 
as  he  works,  not  less  sedulously  than 
of  old,  and  still  so  full  of  loyalty  to 
his  old  master,  in  that  Watteau  cham- 
ber, I  seem  to  see  Antony  himself,  of 
whom  Jean-Baptiste  dares  not  yet 
speak,- — to  come  very  near  to  his  work, 
and  understand  his  great  parts.  And 
Jean-Baptiste 's  work  may  stand,  for 
the  future,  as  the  central  interest  of 
my  life.  I  bury  myself  in  that. 

February,  1715. 

If  I  understand  anything  of  these 
matters,  Antony  Watteau  paints  that 
delicate  life  of  Paris  so  excellently, 
with  so  much  spirit,  partly  because, 
after  all,  he  looks  down  upon  it,  or  de- 
spises it.  To  persuade  myself  of  that, 
is  my  womanly  satisfaction  for  his 
preference — his  apparent  preference — 
for  a  world  so  different  from  mine. 
Those  coquetries,  those  vain  and 
perishable  graces,  can  be  rendered  so 
perfectly  only  through  an  intimate 
understanding  of  them.  For  him,  to 
understand  must  be  to  despise  them  ; 
while  (I  think  I  know  why)  he  yet 
undergoes  their  fascination.  Hence 
that  discontent  with  himself  which 
keeps  pace  with  his  fame.  It  would 
have  been  better  for  him — he  would 
have  enjoyed  a  purer  and  more  real 
happiness — had  he  remained  here, 
obscure ;  as  it  might  have  been  better 
for  me ! 

It  is  altogether  different  with  Jean- 
Baptiste.  He  approaches  that  life, 
and  all  its  pretty  nothingness,  from  a 
level  no  higher  than  its  own  ;  and, 


A  Prince  of  Court  Painters. 


409 


beginning  just  where  Antony  Watteau 
leaves  off  in  disdain,  produces  a  solid 
and  veritable  likeness  of  it,  and  of  its 
ways. 

March,  1715. 

There  are  points  in  his  painting  (I 
apprehend  this  through  his  own  per- 
sistently modest  observations)  at  which 
he  works  out  his  purpose  more  excel- 
lently than  Watteau  ;  of  whom  he  has 
trusted  himself  to  speak  at  last,  with 
a  wonderful  self-effacement,  pointing 
out  in  each  of  those  pictures,  for  the 
rest  so  just  and  true,  how  Antony 
would  have  managed  this  or  that ; 
and,  with  what  an  easy  superiority, 
have  done  the  thing  better — done  the 
impossible. 

February,  1716. 

There  are  good  things,  attractive 
things,  in  life,  meant  for  one  and  not 
for  another — not  meant  perhaps  for 
me ;  as  there  are  pretty  clothes  which 
are  not  suitable  for  every  one.  I  find 
a  certain  immobility  of  disposition  in 
me,  to  quicken  or  interfere  with  which 
is  like  physical  pain.  He,  so  brilliant, 
petulant,  mobile !  I  am  better  far 
beside  Jean-Baptiste — in  contact  with 
his  quiet,  even  labour,  and  manner  of 
being.  At  first  he  did  the  work  to 
which  he  had  set  himself,  sullenly  ;  but 
the  mechanical  labour  of  it  has  cleared 
his  mind  and  temper  at  last,  as  a 
sullen  day  turns  quite  clear  and  fine 
by  imperceptible  change.  With  the 
earliest  dawn  he  enters  his  atelier,  the 
Watteau  chamber,  where  he  remains 
at  work  all  day.  The  dark  evenings 
he  spends  in  industrious  preparation 
with  the  crayon  for  the  pictures  he  is 
to  finish  during  the  hours  of  daylight. 
His  toil  is  also  his  amusement ;  he 
goes  but  rarely  into  the  society 
whose  manners  he  has  to  reproduce. 
His  animals,  pet  animals,  (he  knows 
it !)  are  mere  toys.  But  he  finishes  a 
large  number  of  works,  dessus  de 
portes,  clavecin  cases,  and  the  like.  His 
happiest,  most  genial  moments,  he 
puts,  like  savings  of  fine  gold,  into  one 
particular  picture  (true  opus  magnum, 
as  he  hopes)  La  Ealan^oire.  He  has 
the  secret  of  surprising  effects  with  a 


certain  pearl-grey  silken  stuff  of  his 
predilection  ;  and  it  must  be  confessed 
that  he  paints  hands — which  a  draughts- 
man, of  course,  should  understand 
at  least  twice  as  well  as  all  other 
people — with  surpassing  expression. 

March,  1716. 

Is  it  the  depressing  result  of  this 
labour,  of  a  too-exacting  labour?  I 
know  not.  But  at  times  (it  is  his  one 
melancholy)  he  expresses  a  strange  ap- 
prehension of  poverty,  of  penury,  and 
mean  surroundings  in  old  age ;  remind- 
ing me  of  that  childish  disposition  to 
hoard,  which  I  noticed  in  him  of  old. 
And  then — inglorious  Watteau,  as  he 
is ! — at  times,  that  steadiness  in  which 
he  is  so  great  a  contrast  to  Antony,  as 
it  were  accumulates,  changes,  into  a 
ray  of  genius,  a  grace,  an  inexplicable 
touch  of  truth,  in  which  all  his  heavi- 
ness leaves  him  for  a  while,  and  he 
actually  goes  beyond  the  master ;  as 
himself  protests  to  me,  yet  modestly. 
And  still,  it  is  precisely  at  those  mo- 
ments that  he  feels  most  the  difference 
between  himself  and  Antony  Watteau. 
In  that  country,  all  the  pebbles  are 
golden  nuggets,  he  says ;  with  perfect 
good  humour. 

June,  1717. 

'Tis  truly  in  a  delightful  abode  that 
Antony  Watteau  is  just  now  lodged — 
the  hotel,  or  town-house  of  M.  de  Cro- 
zat,  which  is  not  only  a  comfortable 
dwelling-place,  but  also  a  precious 
museum  lucky  people  go  far  to  see. 
Jean-Baptiste,  too,  has  seen  the  place, 
and  describes  it.  The  antiquities, 
beautiful  curiosities  of  all  sorts — above 
all,  the  original  drawings  of  those  old 
masters  Antony  so  greatly  admires — 
are  arranged  all  around  one  there,  that 
the  influence,  the  genius  of  those 
things  may  imperceptibly  play  upon, 
and  enter  into  one,  and  form  what  one 
does.  The  house  is  situated  near  the 
Rue  Richelieu,  but  has  a  large  gard- 
en about  it.  M.  de  Crozat  gives  his 
musical  parties  there,  and  Antony 
Watteau  has  painted  the  walls  of  one 
of  the  apartments  with  the  Four 
Seasons,  after  the  manner  of  ours, 


410 


A  Prince  of  Court  Painters. 


but  doubtless  improved  by  second 
thoughts.  This  beautiful  place  is  now 
Antony's  home  for  a  while.  The  house 
has  but  one  story,  with  attics  in  its 
mansard  roof,  like  those  of  a  farm- 
house in  the  country.  I  fancy  Antony 
fled  thither  for  a  few  moments,  from 
the  visitors  who  weary  him  ;  breathing 
the  freshness  of  that  dewy  garden  in 
the  very  midst  of  Paris.  As  for  me,  I 
suffocate,  this  summer  afternoon  in 
this  pretty  Watteau  chamber  of  ours, 
where  Jean-Baptiste  is  working  so 
contentedly. 

May,  1717. 

In  spite  of  what  happened,  Jean- 
Baptiste  has  been  looking  forward  to 
a  visit  to  Valenciennes  which  Antony 
Watteau  proposes  to  make.  He  hopes 
always — has  a  patient  hope — that 
Antony's  former  patronage  of  him. 
may  be  revived.  And  now  he  is 
among  us,  actually  at  his  work — rest- 
less and  disquieting,  meagre,  like  a 
woman  with  some  nervous  malady.  Is 
it  pity,  then,  but  pity,  one  must  feel  for 
the  brilliant  one  1  He  has  been  criti- 
cising the  work  of  Jean-Baptiste,  who 
takes  his  judgments  generously,  grate- 
fully. Can  it  be  that,  after  all,  he 
despises,  and  is  no  true  lover  of  his  own 
art,  and  is  but  chilled  by  an  enthu- 
siasm for  it  in  another,  such  as  that 
of  Jean-Baptiste  1 — as  if  Jean-Baptiste 
over-valued  it,  or  as  if  some  ignoble- 
ness  or  blunder,  and  a  sign  that  he 
has  really  missed  his  aim,  started  out 
of  his  work  at  the  sound  of  praise — 
as  if  such  praise  could  hardly  be  alto- 
gether sincere. 

June,  1717. 

And  at  last  one  has  actual  sight  of 
his  work — what  it  is.  He  has  brought 
with  him  certain  long-cherished  de- 
signs to  finish  here  in  quiet,  as  he 
protests  he  has  never  finished  before. 
That  charming  noblesse — can  it  be 
really  so  distinguished  to  the  minutest 
point,  so  naturally  aristocratic  ?  Half 
in  masquerade,  playing  the  drawing- 
room  or  garden  comedy  of  life,  these 
persons  have  upon  them,  not  less  than 
the  landscape  he  composes,  and  among 
the  accidents  of  which  they  group 


themselves  with  such  a  perfect  fitting- 
ness — a  certain  light  we  should  seek 
for  in  vain,  upon  anything  real.  For 
their  framework  they  have  around 
them  a  veritable  architecture — a  tree- 
architecture — of  which  those  moss- 
grown  balusters,  termes,  statues,  foun- 
tains, are  really  but  members.  Only, 
as  I  gaze  upon  those  windless  after- 
noons, I  find  myself  always  saying  to 
myself  involuntarily,  "The  evening 
will  be  a  wet  one."  The  storm  is 
always  brooding  through  the  massy 
splendour  of  the  trees,  above  those 
sun-dried  glades  or  lawns,  where 
delicate  children  may  be  trusted  thinly 
clad  :  and  the  secular  trees  themselves 
will  hardly  outlast  another  generation. 

July,  1717. 

There  has  been  an  exhibition  of  his 
pictures  in  the  Hall  of  the  Academy 
of  Saint  Luke ;  and  all  the  world  has 
been  to  see. 

Yes !  Besides  that  unreal,  imagi- 
nary light  upon  these  scenes  and 
persons,  which  is  a  pure  gift  of  his, 
there  was  a  light,  a  poetry,  in  those 
persons  and  things  themselves,  close 
at  hand,  we  had  not  seen.  He  has 
enabled  us  to  see  it :  we  are  so  much 
the  better-off  thereby,  and  I,  for  one, 
the  better.  The  world  he  sets  before 
us  so  engagingly  has  its  care  for 
purity,  its  cleanly  preferences,  in  what 
one  is  to  see — in  the  outsides  of  things 
— and  there  is  something,  a  sign,  a 
memento,  at  the  least,  even  in  that. 
There,  is  my  simple  notion,  wholly 
womanly  perhaps,  but  which  I  may 
hold  by,  of  the  purpose  of  the  arts. 

August,  1717. 

And  yet !  (to  read  my  mind,  my 
experience,  in  somewhat  different 
terms)  methinks  Antony  Watteau 
reproduces  that  gallant  world,  those 
patched  and  powdered  ladies  and  fine 
cavaliers,  so  much  to  its  own  satisfac- 
tion, partly  because  he  despises  it :  if 
this  be  a  possible  condition  of  excellent 
artistic  production.  People  talk  of  a 
new  era  now  dawning  upon  the  world, 
of  fraternity,  liberty,  humanity,  of  a 


A  Prince  of  Court  Painters. 


411 


novel  sort  of  social  freedom  in  which 
men's  natural  goodness  of  heart  will 
blossom  at  a  thousand  points  hitherto 
repressed,  of  wars  disappearing  from 
the  world  in  an   infinite,  benevolent 
ease  of  life — yes  !   perhaps  of  infinite 
littleness  also.     And  it  is  the  outward 
manner    of    that,  which,    partly    by 
anticipation,   and  through  pure  intel- 
lectual power,  Antony   Watteau    has 
caught,    together    with     a    flattering 
something  of  his  own,  added  thereto. 
Himself  really  of  the  old  time — that 
serious  old  time  which  is  passing  away, 
the  impress  of  which  he  carries  on  his 
physiognomy — he  dignifies,  by  what  in 
him  is  neither  more  nor  less  than  a 
profound  melancholy,  the  essential  in- 
significance of  what  he  wills  to  touch 
in   all    that ;    transforming   its   mere 
pettiness    into   grace.      It   looks   cer- 
tainly very  graceful,  fresh,  animated, 
"  piquant,"  as  they  love  to  say — yes  ! 
and  withal,  I  repeat,  perfectly  pure ; 
and  may  well  congratulate  itself   on 
the  loan  of  a  fallacious  grace,  not  its 
own.     For  in  truth  Antony  Watteau 
is  still  the  mason's  boy,  and  deals  with 
that  world  under  a  fascination,  of  the 
nature  of  which  he   is  half-conscious 
methinks,  puzzled  at  "  the  queer  trick 
he  possesses,"  to  use  his  own  phrase. 
You  see  him  growing  ever  more  and 
more    meagre,  as    he    goes    through 
the  world  and  its  applause.     Yet   he 
reaches  with   wonderful   sagacity  the 
secret  of  an  adjustment  of  colours,  a 
coiffure,  a  toilette,  setting  I  know  not 
what  air  of  real  superiority  on  such 
things.     He  will  never  overcome  his 
early  training  ;  and  these  light  things 
will  possess  for  him  always  a  kind  of 
worth,  as  characterising   that   impos- 
sible  or   forbidden   world   which  the 
mason's  boy  saw  through  the  closed  gate- 
ways of  the  enchanted  garden.     Those 
trifling  and  petty  graces,  insignia  to 
him  of  that  nobler  world  of  aspiration 
and  idea,  even  now  that  he  is  aware, 
as  I  conceive,  of  their  true  littleness, 
bring  back  to  him,  by  the  power  of 
association,  all  the  old  magical  exhil- 
aration of  his  dream,  his  dream  of  a 
better  world  than  the  real  one.   There, 


is  the  formula,  as  I  apprehend,  of  his 
success — of  his  extraordinary  hold  on 
things  so  alien  from  himself.  And  I 
think  there  is  more  real  hilarity  in 
my  brother's  fetes  champetres — more 
truth  to  life,  and  therefore  less  dis- 
tinction. Yes !  the  world  profits  by 
such  reflection  of  its  poor,  coarse  self, 
in  one  who  renders  all  its  caprices 
from  the  height  of  a  Corneille.  That 
is  my  way  of  making  up  to  myself 
for  the  fact  that  I  think  his  days 
too,  would  have  been  really  happier, 
had  he  remained  obscure  at  Valen- 
ciennes. 

September,  1717. 

My  own  poor  likeness,  begun  so  long 
ago,  still  remains  unfinished  on  the 
easel,  at  his  departure  from  Valen- 
ciennes— perhaps  for  ever ;  since  the  old 
people  departed  this  life  in  the  hard 
winter  of  last  year,  at  no  distant  time 
from  each  other.  It  is  pleasanter  to 
him  to  sketch  and  plan  than  to  paint 
and  finish :  and  he  is  often  out  of 
humour  with  himself  because  he  can- 
not project  into  a  picture  the  life  and 
spirit  of  his  first  thought  with  the 
crayon.  He  would  fain  begin,  where 
that  famous  master,  Gerard  Dow,  left 
off,  and  snatch,  as  it  were,  with  a 
single  stroke,  what  in  him  was  the 
result  of  infinite  patience.  It  is  the 
sign  of  this  sort  of  promptitude  that  he 
values  solely  in  the  work  of  another. 
To  my  thinking  there  is  a  kind  of 
greed  or  grasping  in  that  humour ;  as 
if  things  were  not  to  last  very  long, 
and  one  must  snatch  opportunity. 
And  often  he  succeeds.  The  old  Dutch 
painter  cherished  with  a  kind  of  piety 
his  colours  and  pencils.  Antony 
Watteau,  on  the  contrary,  will  hardly 
make  any  preparations  for  his  work  at 
all,  or  even  clean  his  palette,  in  the 
dead-set  he  makes  at  improvisation. 
'Tis  the  contrast  perhaps  between  the 
staid  Dutch  genius  and  the  petulant, 
sparkling  French  temper  of  this  new 
era,  into  which  he  has  thrown  himself. 
Alas  !  it  is  already  apparent  that  the 
result  also  loses  something  of  longevity, 
of  durability — the  colours  fading  ex- 
changing, from  the  first,  somewhat 


412 


A  Prince  of  Court  Painters. 


rapidly,  as  Jean-Baptiste  notes.  'Tis 
true,  a  mere  trifle  alters  or  produces 
the  expression.  But  then,  on  the 
other  hand,  in  pictures  the  whole  effect 
of  which  lies  in  a  kind  of  harmony, 
the  treachery  of  a  single  colour  must 
needs  involve  the  failure  of  the  whole 
to  outlast  the  fleeting !  grace  of  those 
social  conjunctions  it  is  meant  to  per- 
petuate. This  is  what  has  happened, 
in  part,  to  that  portrait  on  the  easel. 
Meantime,  he  has  commanded  Jean- 
Baptiste  to  finish  it ;  and  so  it  must 
be. 

October,  1717. 

Antony  Watteau  is  an  excellent 
judge  of  literature,  and  I  have  been 
reading  (with  infinite  surprise ! )  in 
my  afternoon  walks  in  the  little  wood 
here,  a  new  book  he  left  behind  him — 
a  great  favourite  of  his ;  as  it  has 
been  a  favourite  with  large  numbers 
in  Paris.  Those  pathetic  shocks  of 
fortune,  those  sudden  alternations  of 
pleasure  and  remorse,  which  must 
always  lie  among  the  very  conditions 
of  an  irregular  and  guilty  love,  as  in 
sinful  games  of  chance ; — they  have  be- 
gun to  talk  of  these  things  in  Paris,  to 
amuse  themselves  with  the  spectacle  of 
them ;  set  forth  here,  in  the  story  of  poor 
Manon  Lescaut — for  whom  fidelity  is 
impossible ;  so  vulgarly  eager  for  the 
money  which  can  buy  pleasures  such 
as  hers — with  an  art  like  "Watteau's 
own,  for  lightness  and  grace.  In- 
capacity of  truth,  yet  with  such  ten- 
derness, such  a  gift  of  tears,  on  the 
one  side :  on  the  other,  a  faith  so 
absolute  as  to  give  to  an  illicit  love 
almost  the  regularity  of  marriage ! 
And  this  is  the  book  those  fine  ladies 
in  Watteau's  "  conversations,"  who 
look  so  exquisitely  pure,  lay  down  on 
the  cushion  when  the  children  run  up 
to  have  their  laces  righted.  Yet  the 
pity  of  it !  What  floods  of  tears  !  There 
is  a  tone  about  it  all  which  strikes 
me  as  going  well  with  the  grace  of  these 
leafless  birch-trees  against  the  sky, 
the  silver  of  their  bark,  and  a  certain 
delicate  odour  of  decay  which  rises 
from  the  soil.  It  is  all  one  half-light ; 
and  the  heroine  (nay  !  the  hero  himself 


also,  that  dainty  Chevalier  des  Grieux, 
with  all  his  fervour)  have,  I  think,  but 
a  half-life  in  them  truly,  from  the 
first.  And  I  could  fancy  myself  half  of 
their  condition  this  evening,  as  I  sit 
here  alone,  while  a  premature  touch 
of  winter  upon  it  makes  the  outer 
world  seem  so  inhospitable  an  enter- 
tainer of  one's  spirit.  With  so  little 
genial  warmth  to  keep  it  there,  one 
feels  that  an  accidental  touch  might 
shake  it  away  altogether :  so  chilled 
at  heart  it  seems  to  me,  as  I  gaze  on 
that  glacial  point  in  the  motionless 
sky,  like  some  mortal  spot  whence 
death  begins  to  creep  over  the  body. 

And  yet,  in  the  midst  of  this,  by 
mere  force  of  contrast,  comes  back  to 
me,  very  vividly,  the  true  colour, 
ruddy  with  flower  and  fruit,  of  the 
past  summer,  among  the  streets  and 
gardens  of  some  of  our  old  towns  we 
visited ;  when  the  thought  of  cold  was 
a  luxury,  and  the  earth  dry  enough  to 
sleep  upon.  The  summer  was  indeed 
a  fine  one ;  and  the  whole  country 
seemed  bewitched.  A  kind  of  infec- 
tious sentiment  passed  upon  one,  like 
an  efflux  from  its  flowers  and  flower- 
like  architecture — flower-like  to  me  at 
least,  but  of  which  I  never  felt  the 
beauty  befor-e. 

And  as  I  think  of  that,  certainly  I 
have  to  confess  that  there  is  a  wonder- 
ful reality  about  this  lovers'  story ;  an 
accordance  between  themselves  and 
the  conditions  of  things  around  them, 
so  deep  as  to  make  it  seem  that  the 
course  of  their  lives  could  hardly  have 
been  other  than  it  was.  That  comes, 
perhaps,  wholly  of  the  writer's  skill ; 
but  at  all  events,  I  must  read  the 
book  no  more. 

June,  1718. 

And  he  has  allowed  that  Made- 
moiselle Rosalba — ce  bel  esprit — who 
can  discourse  upon  the  arts  like  a  mas- 
ter, to  paint  his  portrait — has  painted 
hers  in  return  !  She  holds  a  lapful 
of  white  roses  with  her  two  hands. 
Rosa  Alba !  himself  has  inscribed  it ! 
It  will  be  engraved,  to  circulate  and 
perpetuate  it  the  better. 

One's  journal,  here  in  one's  solitude, 


A  Prince  of  Court  Painters. 


413 


is  of  service  at  least  in  this,  that  it 
affords  an  escape  for  vain  regrets, 
angers,  impatience.  One  puts  this 
and  that  angry  spasm  into  it,  and 
is  delivered  from  it  so. 

And  then,  it  was  at  the  desire  of 
M.  de  Crozat  that  the  thing  was  done. 
One  must  oblige  one's  patrons.  The 
lady  also,  they  tell  me,  is  poitrinaire, 
like  Antony  himself,  and  like  to  die. 
And  he  who  has  always  lacked  either 
the  money  or  the  spirits  to  make  that 
long-pondered,  much-desired  journey 
to  Italy,  has  found  in  her  work  the 
veritable  accent  and  colour  of  those 
old  Venetian  masters  he  would  so 
willingly  have  studied  under  the  sun- 
shine of  their  own  land.  Alas  !  How 
little  peace  have  his  great  successes 
given  him — how  little  of  that  quietude 
of  mind,  without  which,  methinks,  one 
fails  in  true  dignity  of  character. 

November,  1718. 

His  thirst  for  change  of  place  has 
actually  driven  him  to  England,  that 
veritable  home  of  the  consumptive. 
Ah,  me  !  I  feel  it  may  be  the  coup  de 
grdce.  To  have  run  into  the  native 
country  of  consumption  —  strange 
caprice  of  that  desire  to  travel,  which 
he  has  really  indulged  so  little  in  his 
life — of  the  restlessness  which,  they 
tell  me,  is  itself  a  symptom  of  this 
terrible  disease. 

January,  1720. 

As  once  before,  after  long  silence,  a 
token  has  reached  us — a  slight  token 
that  he  remembers — an  etched  plate, 
one  of  very  few  he  has  executed,  with 
that  old  subject — Soldiers  on  the 
March.  And  the  weary  soldier  him- 
self is  returning  once  more  to  Valen- 
ciennes, on  his  way  from  England  to 
Paris. 

February,  1720. 

Those  sharply-arched  brows,  those 
restless  eyes  which  seem  larger  than 
ever — something  that  seizes  on  one, 
and  is  almost  terrible  in  his  expres- 
sion— speak  clearly,  and  irresistibly 
set  one  on  the  thought  of  a  summing- 
up  of  his  life.  I  am  reminded  of  the 
day  when,  already  with  that  air  of 


le  bel  serieux,  he  was  found  sketching, 
with  so  much  truth  to  the  inmost 
mind  in  them,  those  picturesque  moun- 
tebanks at  the  Fair  in  the  Grande 
Place ;  and  I  find,  throughout  his 
course  of  life,  something  of  the  essen- 
tial melancholy  of  the  comedian.  He, 
so  fastidious  and  cold,  and  who  has 
never  "  ventured  the  representation  of 
passion,"  does  but  amuse  the  gay 
world;  and  is  aware  of  that,  though 
certainly  unamused  himself  all  the 
while.  Just  now,  however,  he  is 
finishing  a  very  different  picture — that 
too,  full  of  humour — an  English  family- 
group,  with  a  little  girl  riding  a 
wooden  horse ;  the  father,  and  the 
mother,  holding  his  tobacco-pipe,  stand 
in  the  centre. 

March,  1720. 

To-morrow  he  will  depart  finally. 
And  this  evening  the  Syndics  of  the 
Academy  of  Saint  Luke  came  with 
their  scarves  and  banners  to  conduct 
their  illustrious  fellow-citizen,  by  torch- 
light, to  supper  in  their  Guildhall, 
where  all  their  beautiful  old  corpora- 
tion plate  will  be  displayed.  The 
Watteau  salon  was  lighted  up  to 
receive  them.  There  is  something  in 
the  payment  of  great  honours  to  the 
living  which  fills  one  with  apprehen- 
sion, especially  when  the  recipient  of 
them  looks  so  like  a  dying  man.  God 
have  mercy  on  him  ! 

April,  1721. 

We  were  on  the  point  of  retiring  to 
rest  last  evening  when  a  messenger 
arrived  post-haste,  with  a  letter  on 
behalf  of  Antony  Watteau,  desiring 
Jean  -  Baptiste's  presence  at  Paris. 
We  did  not  go  to  bed  that  night ;  and 
my  brother  was  on  his  way  before 
daylight,  his  heart  full  of  a  strange 
conflict  of  joy  and  apprehension. 

May,  1721. 

A  letter  at  last  !  from  Jean- 
Bap  tiste,  occupied  with  cares  of  all 
sorts  at  the  bedside  of  the  sufferer. 
Antony  fancying  that  the  air  of  the 
country  might  do  him  good,  the  Abbe 
Haranger,  one  of  the  canons  of  the 
Church  of  Saint  Germain  1'Auxerrois, 


414 


A  Prince  of  Court  Painters. 


where  he  was  in  the  habit  of  hearing 
mass,  has  lent  him  a  house  at  Nogent- 
sur-Marne.  There  he  receives  a  few 
visitors.  But  in  truth  the  places  he 
once  liked  best,  the  people  !  nay,  the 
very  friends,  have  become  to  him 
nothing  less  than  insupportable. 
Though  he  stills  dreams  of  change, 
and  would  fain  try  his  native  air  once 
more,  he  is  at  work  constantly  upon 
his  art ;  but  solely  by  way  of  a  teacher, 
instructing  (with  a  kind  of  remorseful 
diligence,  it  would  seem)  Jean-Baptiste, 
who  will  be  heir  to  his  unfinished 
work,  and  take  up  many  of  his  pictures 
where  he  has  left  them.  He  seems 
now  anxious  for  one  thing  only,  to 
give  his  old  "  dismissed "  disciple 
what  remains  of  himself,  and  the  last 
secrets  of  his  genius.  His  property — 
9,000  livres  only—goes  to  his  relations. 
Jean-Baptiste  has  found  these  last 
weeks  immeasurably  useful. 

For  the  rest,  bodily  exhaustion, 
perhaps,  and  this  new  interest  in  an 
old  friend,  have  brought  him  tran- 
quillity at  last,  a  tranquillity  in  which 
he  is  much  occupied  with  matters  of 
religion.  Ah  !  it  was  ever  so  with  me. 
And  one  lives  also  most  reasonably  so. 


— With  women,  at  least,  it  is  so,  quite 
certainly.  Yet  I  know  not  what  there 
is  of  a  pity  which  strikes  deep,  at  the 
thought  of  a  man,  a  while  since  so 
strong,  turning  his  face  to  the  wall 
from  the  things  which  most  occupy 
men's  lives.  'Tis  that  homely,  but 
honest  cure  of  Nogent  he  has  cari- 
catured so  often,  who  attends  him. 

July,  1721. 

Our  incomparable  Watteau  is  no 
more  !  Jean-Baptiste  returned  unex- 
pectedly. I  heard  his  hasty  footstep 
on  the  stairs.  We  turned  together 
into  that  room  ;  and  he  told  his  story 
there.  Antony  Watteau  departed 
suddenly,  in  the  arms  of  M.  Gersaint, 
on  one  of  the  late  hot  days  of  July. 
At  the  last  moment  he  had  been  at 
work  upon  a  crucifix  for  the  good  cure 
of  Nogent,  liking  little  the  very  rude 
one  he  possessed.  He  died  with  all 
the  sentiments  of  religion. 

He  has  been  a  sick  man  all  his  life. 
He  was  always  a  seeker  after  some- 
thing in  the  world,  that  is  there  in  no 
satisfying  measure,  or  not  at  all. 

WALTER  PATER. 


415 


NOTES    IN  A  SWISS  VILLAGE. 


•"THESE   people,   when   you    come    to 
know  them,  are  as  much  worth  study 
as  their  Alps  and  lakes,"  wrote  a  once 
popular  author  in  his  preface  to  The 
Switzers ;  yet  the  Swiss  people  attract 
but    little    attention    in    comparison 
with    the    physical    features    of    the 
country,    the    comfort,    cookery,    and 
prices  at  hotels.     The   impending  re- 
organisation    of    English    and    Irish 
local  government  gives  a  special  in- 
terest   to    the    examination     of    the 
systems  which  prevail  in  other  parts 
of    Europe,    particularly    to    systems 
which   have    been   found   so    efficient 
and     satisfactory     that     no     radical 
change    in      them     is     contemplated. 
Swiss    arrangements    in    this    matter 
are  very  different  from  those  in  Eng- 
land— almost    the   reverse.      Govern- 
ment is  very  much  decentralised.    The 
lowest  local  governing  units  are  small, 
land  possess  very  great  independence, 
subject    to    some   few   general    laws ; 
they  are   symmetrically  grouped  into 
larger  districts,  so  that  the  overlapping 
areas,  conflicting  jurisdictions,  numer- 
ous taxing  authorities  levying  separate 
taxes  at  different  times  from  the  same 
individual,  with  which  Englishmen  are 
familar,  are  unknown ;  in  fact,  there 
is  order  instead  of  chaos. 

The  independence  of  the  Swiss  com- 
munes has  survived  from  the  days  of 
the  primitive  village  community,  re- 
spected by  the  State,  designedly  pre- 
served by  legislation,  and  jealously 
guarded  by  the  inhabitants. 

Valais  is  a  Catholic  canton,  there 
being  less  than  1,000  Protestants  in 
a  total  population  of  100,000.  Its 
constitution  declares  it  to  be  a  demo- 
cratic republic,  and  that  the  sove- 
reignty is  vested  in  the  people.  The 
State  religion  is  Catholic,  but  liberty 
of  belief,  conscience,  and  worship  is 


accorded  to  every  citizen.  All  are 
equal  before  the  law  ;  no  privileges  of 
birth  or  any  other  kind  may  exist. 
Inviolability  of  persons  and  property, 
and  the  freedom  of  the  press,  are 
fundamental  articles  of  the  constitu- 
tion. No  perpetual  and  irredeemable 
rent  can  be  placed  on  land.  Primary 
education  is  obligatory  on  all,  and 
gratuitous.  All  male  citizens  are 
subject  to  military  service,  but  the 
periods  of  service  are  short,  and  ar- 
ranged to  meet  the  convenience  of  the 
people.  Drill  begins  at  school.  From 
the  age  of  twenty  to  thirty-two  about 
a  month's  service  in  most  years  is 
required ;  from  thirty  to  forty-f our 
only  a  few  days  in  each  year ;  after 
forty-four  training  ceases,  and  service 
would  only  be  required  in  cases  of 
national  emergency.  Continual  rifle 
practice  is  encouraged  by  the  State  : 
a  range,  targets,  and  other  appliances 
are  found  in  almost  every  village. 

There  is  only  one  legislative  as- 
sembly, le  Grand  Conseil,  the  members 
of  which,  or  deputies,  are  elected  by 
manhood  suffrage  in  the  proportion  of 
one  to  every  1,000  of  the  population. 
This  assembly  appoints  the  execu- 
tive government,  or  Council  of  State, 
and  the  High  Court  of  Appeal.  Mem- 
bers of  the  executive  cannot  also  be 
deputies ;  they  sit  in  the  Assembly, 
take  part  in  debates,  but  cannot  vote, 
or  hold  any  other  public  office.  No 
member  of  the  executive  may  be  at 
the  same  time  director  of  a  bank  or 
railway  company.  Persons  related  in 
the  undei'mentioned  degrees  may  not 
be  members  at  the  same  time  of  the 
executive  government  of  the  State,  or 
of  any  other  local  governing  body  : — 
1.  Father  and  son.  2.  Father-in-law 
and  son-in-law.  3.  Brothers.  4.  Bro- 
thers-in-law. 5.  Uncle  and  nephew. 


416 


Notes  in  a  Swiss  Village. 


The  executive  makes  a  detailed  re- 
port each  year  of  all  its  operations  to 
the  Assembly. 

No  revision  of  the  constitution,  no 
law  conflicting  with  it,  no  measure 
involving  an  expenditure  in  excess  of 
the  ordinary  revenue  by  2,400?.  can 
take  effect  unless  submitted  to  the 
popular  vote,  and  approved  of  by  a 
majority  of  the  electors.  This  pro- 
vision makes  the  sovereignty  of  the 
people  real  and  effectual. 

The  canton  is  divided  into  thirteen 
districts,  and  these  into  165  communes 
or  townships.  The  commune  is  the 
division  of  the  most  importance.  Their 
average  population  is  665  ;  that  of  the 
smallest  is  only  22  ;  that  of  the  largest 
under  5,000. 

Each  commune  is  governed,  and  its 
revenues  administered,  by  a  council  of 
not  less  than  five  or  more  than  seven- 
teen members,  of  whom  one  is  the 
mayor,  or,  as  he  is  termed  in  Valais, 
"president."  The  council  is  chosen 
for  four  years,  the  president  for  two, 
every  male  citizen  over  twenty  years 
of  age  being  entitled  to  vote. 

This  council  is  charged  with  the 
care  of  roads,  bridges,  public  build- 
ings, markets,  water  supply,  schools, 
poor,  public  health  of  man  and  beast, 
fire  prevention,  police,  management  of 
the  common  lands,  and  communal  re- 
venues. To  supplement  the  produce 
of  the  common  lands  it  levies  a  direct 
tax  on  real  property  and  on  every 
household.  Nearly  every  householder 
is  also  a  proprietor ;  all  are  therefore 
interested  in  the  economical  and 
efficient  administration  of  the  public 
property  and  municipal  revenue. 

Every  commune  possesses  public 
lands,  often  of  great  extent ;  these 
are  chiefly  upland  pastures  used  in 
common,  forests,  and  occasionally 
farms  or  pastures  let  to  tenants. 

The  communal  council  cannot  im- 
pose more  than  a  certain  amount  of 
taxation,  nor  sell  or  mortgage  the  com- 
mon property  without  permission  of 
the  Council  of  State  ;  it  presents  each 
year  to  the  electors  a  statement  of 
accounts,  and  budget  for  the  ensuing 


year.  In  the  larger  communes  these 
are  printed  and  circulated  before  they 
are  formally  presented  ;  in  all  cases 
they  must  be  read  aloud  to  the 
assembled  electors. 

Owing  to  the  small  size  of  the 
communes,  the  frequent  elections,  the 
necessity  for  submitting  measures  to- 
the  popular  vote,  and  the  wide  distri- 
bution of  property,  the  citizens  are 
practically  acquainted  with  the  con- 
stitution, revenues,  and  management 
of  their  commune  ;  consequently  they 
take  an  intelligent  interest  and  part 
in  its  affairs. 

Numa  Droz,  member  of  the  Federal 
Council,  and  author  of  Instruction 
Civique,  one  of  the  text-books  in 
public  schools,  says  of  the  commune  : 

"  La  commune  est  presque  1'Etat 
en  petit ;  c'est,  pour  employer  une 
expression  empruntee  &  1'histoire 
naturelle,  une  des  cellules  dont  le 
corps  social  se  compose.  11  est  certain 
qu'une  vie  locale  tres  developpee  con- 
tribue  a  la  prosperite  et  a  la  force  de 
1'Etat.  Les  communes  doivent  avoir 
la  liberte  de  rivaliser  d'efforts  pour  la 
satisfaction,  des  interets  qu'elles  ont  a 
soigner.  II  faut  done  se  garder  de  les 
soumettre  a  un  niveau  uniforme  qui 
etouff erait  chez  elles  tout  esprit  d'initi- 
ative,  tout  desir  de  perfectionnement. 

"  Les  communes  ont  ete  les  premiers 
et  principaux  foyers  de  la  democratie, 
et  le  sont  encore  dans  bien  des  pays. 
C'est  dans  leur  sein  que  les  citoyens 
peuvent  le  mieux  se  former  a  la  vie 
publique,  se  familiariser  avec  les  ques- 
tions administratives,  et  apprendre  a 
les  traiter.  Elles  sont  les  pepinieres 
naturelles  dans  lesquelles  1'Etat  trouve 
ses  legislateurs,  et  ses  hommes  de  gou- 
vernement.  Un  citoyen  eleve  a  1'ecole 
pratique  de  la  vie  conimunale  connaitra 
tou  jours  mieux  les  besoins  populaires 
que  celui  dont  1'education  politique 
aura  ete  faite  exclusivement  dans  les 
bureaux  de  1'administration  gouvern- 
mentale  "  (Instruction  Civique.  p.  110). 

This  passage  expresses  well  a  radical 
distinction  between  the  Swiss  and  Eng- 
lish systems  of  government,  namely, 
the  encouragement  and  preservation 


Notes  in  a  Swiss  Village. 


417 


of  habits  of  self-government  in  vil- 
lages, both  as  nurseries  of  independ- 
ence and  as  training  schools  for  higher 
politics.  The  result  in  Switzerland  is 
almost  universal  political  contentment. 
Conservatives  may  be  discontented 
because  the  Liberals  are  in  power,  or 
vice  versd,,  but  there  is  nothing  in 
Valais,  or  in  any  part  of  Switzerland, 
like  the  deep  and  dangerous  discon- 
tent with  the  governing  classes  that  is 
known  in  England  as  well  as  in 
Ireland  and  even  in  France — demo- 
cratic republic  as  she  is  called — where 
government  is  so  much  more  central- 
ised, so  controlled  by  bureaucratic 
wire-pullers,  Paris  financiers,  and  the 
military  party. 

Some  details  of  the  population,  tax- 
ation, and  expenditure  in  a  commune 
of  average  size,  and  of  a  single  pro- 
prietor's possessions,  will  give  a  clearer 
idea  of  the  constitution  and  social 
organisation  of  a  Valaisan  commune 
than  any  general  statements. 

The  village  of  Champery  lies  about 
3,000  feet  above  sea  level,  the  terri- 
tory of  the  commune  occupying  some 
seven  miles  in  length  at  the  head  of  a 
narrow  valley,  between  two  ranges  of 
mountains  from  6,000  to  10,000  feet 
in  height.  As  yet  there  are  few  com- 
munal surveys  in  Valais,  and  the  area 
is  not  ascertainable.  The  resident 
population  is  590,  of  whom  500  are 
born  citizens,  with  a  right  of  settle- 
ment in,  and  a  right  to  a  share  in,  the 
common  property  belonging  to  the 
township. 

There  are  159  heads  of  households, 
and  162  proprietors,  so  that  the  pro- 
portion of  landowners  to  population  is 
as  one  to  three  and  a  half.  In  Ireland 
the  corresponding  proportion  is  about 
one  landowner  to  200  of  the  population. 

The  capital  value  for  taxation  of 
real  property  within  the  commune  is 
76,000?.,  but  as  this  is  admittedly 
from  one-fourth  to  one-third  below 
the  selling  value,  a  more  correct  esti- 
mate of  the  market  value  of  the  com- 
mune would  be  100,000?.,  giving  an 
average  of  about  600?.  as  the  value  of 
individual  properties. 

No.  312.  —VOL.  ni. 


The  communal  pastures  are  included 
in  this  estimate,  but  not  the  woods, 
which  are  extensive.  Every  citizen, 
who  is  also  a  householder,  has  a  right 
to  put  on  the  common  pastures — which 
are  available  from  June  to  September — 
fifteen  head  of  cattle  and  twenty-five 
sheep.  The  pastures  would  probably 
not  be  sufficient  if  every  one  put  on 
his  full  quota,  but  the  grazing  season 
being  short  and  the  winters  long,  the 
quantity  of  stock  that  can  be  kept  in 
the  commune  is  limited  to  what  can 
be  supported  in  winter.  Moreover,  some 
citizens  have  no  stock,  and  scarcely 
any  one  puts  on  his  full  allowance. 

For  each  head  of  cattle  depastured 
one  franc  must  be  paid  to  the  munici- 
pality, and  one  day's  work  given  re- 
pairing fences,  roads,  &c.  For  every 
sheep  ten  centimes  is  paid.  The  owner 
may  attend  to  his  own  cattle,  or  he 
may  hire  the  milch  cattle  to  others,  or 
he  may  put  them  under  the  charge  of 
the  communal  herd  for  a  small  pay- 
ment ;  but  no  citizen  can  let  or  sell 
his  right  to  pasture,  nor  can  cattle 
not  belonging  to  citizens  be  hired  and 
put  on  the  pastures.  The  communal 
forests  are  managed  by  the  council, 
who  employ  one  or  more  woodrangers, 
qualified  by  examination  or  training 
in  the  State  forestry  schools. 

After  a  provision  of  wood  has  been 
set  apart  for  such  public  purposes  as 
construction,  repairs,  and  heating  of 
schools,  church,  and  communal  build- 
ings, an  allotment  is  made  to  every 
citizen  householder.  Extra  timber,  to 
be  paid  for,  may  be  allotted  on  appli- 
cation for  any  special  purpose,  but  it 
must  be  used  within  a  fixed  time  for 
the  special  purpose,  and  no  other,  under 
a  heavy  penalty. 

Preservation  of  the  forests  being  a 
matter  of  national  importance,  the 
communal  management  is  subject  to 
State  inspection.  The  Forest  Depart- 
ment gives  advice,  and  points  out  the 
necessity  of  renewal,  replanting,  and 
maintenance  of  trees  necessary  for 
shelter,  or  protection  against  ava- 
lanches, earthslips,  and  falls  of  rock. 

Every  citizen,  therefore,  who  is  also 
E   E 


418 


Notes  in  a  Swiss  Village. 


a  householder,  has  besides  his  indivi- 
dual property  an  inalienable  right  to  the 
use  of  the  communal  pastures,  and  to 
at  least  as  much  wood  as  will  supply 
his  necessary  wants.  He  cannot  divest 
himself  of  these  rights  by  sale,  letting, 
or  mortgage,  and  so  far  as  these  are 
valuable  he  is  raised  above  the  possi- 
bility of  being  a  pauper. 

The  possession  of  this  common 
property  is  one  of  the  strongest  ties 
of  the  community ;  it  makes  it  im- 
portant that  evidence  of  citizenship 
should  be  preserved,  and  the  registra- 
tion of  marriages  and  births  is  care- 
fully attended  to  by  a  special  officer 
(I'officier  d'JZtat  civil)  whose  books  are 
annually  inspected  by  the  State. 

Taxation  in  Valais  may  be  best  ex- 
plained by  the  instance  of  a  single 
individual ;  the  village  blacksmith  is 
an  example  of  an  average  citizen 
neither  rich  nor  poor.  His  forge  is 
the  under  part  of  a  small  house  on 
the  confines  of  the  village.  He  is 
tenant  of  this,  paying  25s.  a  year  rent. 
His  house,  a  hundred  yards  distant, 
belongs  to  him  in  fee — no  other  form 
of  ownership  is  known  in  Valais — a 
solid,  wooden,  three-storied  building 
about  sixty  feet  square ;  the  eaves 
project  eight  feet  or  more,  and  under 
their  shelter  balconies  run  round  the 
front  and  sides  of  the  house  ;  in  the 
rear  there  is  but  one  story,  a  capacious 
hay  barn  open  to  the  roof.  In  winter 
the  cattle  occupy  part  of  the  lower 
story,  and  all  around  under  shelter  of 
eaves  and  balconies  are  ample  stores  of 
wood,  suggestive  of  warmth,  comfort, 
and  plenty.  Most  of  the  houses  in 
the  village  are  like  this,  and  owned  by 
their  occupants ;  there  are  no  really 
bad  or  ruinous  buildings ;  no  slums 
or  reeking  courts.  The  blacksmith 
owns  about  thirteen  acres  around  and 
near  the  house,  besides  an  unmeasured 
plot  five  miles  away  adjoining  the 
common  pasture.  On  this  latter  pro- 
perty he  has  another  dwelling-house 
which  he  lets  for  the  summer,  reserv- 
ing the  land  for  his  own  use.  The 
selling  value  of  the  blacksmith's  pro- 
perty is  600£.,  its  value  for  taxation 


360/.  or  9,000  francs,  houses  being 
taxed  on  two-thirds  only  of  their 
assessed  value. 

For  assessment  purposes  land  is 
divided  into  thirty-five  classes,  valued 
at  a  farthing  a  yard  for  the  worst,  up 
to  7s.  Qd.  a  yard  for  the  best  class. 
The  blacksmith's  best  land  is  meadow 
of  the  twentieth  class  assessed  at  1 30£. 
an  acre,  which  is  less  than  the  usual 
selling  price  of  the  best  meadow  and 
tillage  land  around  the  village.  His 
worst  land  is  a  stony  slope  valued  at 
51.  an  acre. 

The  assessment  is  made  by  a  local 
commission,  and  revised  by  three  ex- 
perts appointed  by  the  State. 

Two  taxes  are  levied  on  real  pro- 
perty in  Valais  : — 1.  A  cantonal  tax 
of  one  franc  fifty  centimes  on  each 
1000  francs  of  capital  value;  fifty 
centimes  of  this  tax  is  allocated  by 
the  constitution  to  the  extinction  of 
the  public  debt.  2.  A  communal  tax, 
varying  according  to  the  needs  of  each 
commune ;  in  Champery  it  is  one  franc 
per  1000  ;  this  latter  tax  may  be  paid 
in  work,  by  arrangement  with  the 
municipality. 

If  real  property  is  mortgaged  a 
reduction  is  made  from  the  assessed 
value  equal  to  one  half  the  amount  of 
the  mortgage.  The  cantonal  tax  on 
capital  values  is  levied  not  only  on 
real  property  but  on  all  securities,  on 
salaries  and  pensions  capitalised  at 
ten  times,  and  on  incomes  capitalised 
at  twenty  times  their  annual  value. 

A  register  of  all  these  taxable 
values  is  kept  in  each  commune,  and 
furnished  by  it  to  the  cantonal 
authorities. 

Besides  these  direct  taxes  licence 
duties  are  payable  to  the  State  on  the 
exercise  of  every  kind  of  industry, 
trade,  occupation  or  profession,  from 
that  of  a  banker  to  an  ordinary 
artisan.  For  each  occupation  there 
are  five  or  six  classes  with  a  maximum 
and  minimum  duty. 

A  banker  of  the  first  class  pays 
4:001.,  of  the  lowest  class  151. ;  the 
lowest  class  of  artisans  pays  Is.  8d. ; 
sawmills  pay  from  Is.  Sd.  up  to  20£.  ; 


Notes  in  a  Suriss  Village. 


419 


wholesale    timber     merchants     from 

4:1.      tO     401. 

Proprietors  selling  the  produce  of 
their  own  land  are  the  only  important 
exception  to  this  law. 

The  blacksmith  is  also  a  guide,  and 
in  both  these  capacities  he  pays  this 
taxe  industrielle. 

His  whole  taxation  is  as  follows  : — 

Frs.    Cen- 
times. 
On  real  property  to  the  State  at  1  "50 

per  1,000  on  9,000  francs 13  •  50 

To  the  commune  at  1  per  1,000  9  •  00 

License  as  blacksmith   10*00 

„        guide 10-00 

Total  taxation 42  •  50 

There  is  no  tax  on  tobacco,  which  he 
consumes  largely,  nor  on  Swiss  wines, 
beer,  or  spirits  ;  there  is  a  small  duty 
on  imported  alcoholic  drinks,  but  the 
blacksmith  is  a  teetotaller,  and  makes 
no  contribution  to  the  State  in  respect 
of  liquor.  His  entire  contribution, 
therefore,  to  local  and  State  taxation 
is  about  thirty-five  shillings  a  year — a 
very  small  amount  in  comparison  with 
what  a  man  in  similar  circumstances 
in  England  or  Ireland  would  pay. 

The  commune  is  economically  man- 
aged ;  its  income  amounted  in  1884  to 
380?.  ;  but  this  figure  does  not  repre- 
sent the  annual  value  of  its  property, 
as  the  common  pastures  and  forest 
produce  are  enjoyed  for  a  nominal 
payment.  The  management  expenses 
were  less  than  501.,  including  salaries 
of  police,  wood  rangers,  payments  to 
president,  councillors,  and  others. 

The  principle  on  which  most  of 
these  officials  are  paid  is  to  give  a 
small  salary  as  a  retainer,  and  daily 
wages  when  employed ;  for  example 
the  constable  (sergent  de  police)  receives 
31.  a  year,  and  is  paid  three  or  four 
francs  a  day  when  employed.  The 
president  and  councillors  get  three 
francs  for  each  sitting,  and  for  every 
day  when  attending  to  public  business. 
This  does  not,  of  course,  compensate 
them  for  their  loss  of  time,  but  it  is 
obligatory  on  those  elected  to  serve  in 
their  turn,  and  such  posts  of  honour- 
able service  are  willingly  accepted  in 


general.  Council  meetings  are  held 
on  Sunday,  except  in  cases  of  emer- 
gency. 

Pauperism  is  unknown  as  an  insti- 
tution ;  the  general  appearance  and 
dress  of  the  people  and  their  houses, 
show  no  indications  of  poverty  in  the 
English  or  Irish  sense  ;  but  poverty  is 
a  comparative  term,  and  there  are  poor 
who  are  recognised  as  such.  Improvi- 
dence, drunkenness,  debt,  and  want 
exist,  but  rarely  and  fitfully.  An 
habitual  drunkard  or  improvident 
citizen  may  be  made  a  ward  ;  the  sale 
of  drink  to  him  is  forbidden,  and  tJie 
control  of  his  property  taken  away  by 
a  commission  (la  chambre  pupillaire) 
appointed  by  the  municipality.  Wages 
of  unskilled  labour  are  three  and  a 
half  francs  a  day  in  summer  ;  work 
cannot  always  be  got  in  winter,  but 
this  is  not  of  vital  importance  where 
almost  every  head  of  a  family  is  also  a 
proprietor ;  the  burden  and  anxiety  of 
rent  to  be  met  weekly  or  half  yearly 
does  not  harass  the  population.  There 
is  no  poor-rate,  but  a  poor  fund  of 
900?.  value  exists,  and  is  managed  by 
the  council.  Paupers  and  criminals 
belonging  to  other  places  may  be  re- 
turned to  their  commune  d'origine.  In 
1884  305  vagrants  and  beggars  were 
arrested  in  Valais,  but  of  these  only 
sixty-one  were  citizens  of  the  canton. 

There  are  persons  to  whom  life  and 
society  in  a  Swiss  commune  appear  in 
some  respects  mean.  There  are  no  in- 
stances of  great  wealth  ;  no  household 
has  the  appearance  of  great  ease  and 
luxury  ;  there  is  no  "  rich,  refined,  and 
splendid  aristocracy."  In  England  the 
commune  would  be  an  estate  •  the 
landlord  of  an  estate  equivalent  to  the 
commune  of  Champery  would  have  a 
rental  of  3,000?.  or  4,000?.  a  year  ;  the 
150  householders  who  earned  and  paid 
this  rental  might  be  dispossessed  and 
left  homeless  at  the  caprice  of  a  single 
man ;  at  best  they  would  live  in  a 
state  of  continual  anxiety  as  to  the 
terms  upon  which  they  might  remain 
as  tenants  ;  the  labouring  class  would 
have  no  idea  of  what  a  home  meant, 
for  they  would  probably  have  lived  all 
E  E  2 


420 


Notes  in  a  Swiss  Village 


their  lives  in  tenements  or  single 
rooms  rented  by  the  week.  The 
landlord  would  be  charged  with 
certain  public  duties  as  magistrate, 
poor-law  guardian,  grand  juryman. 
He  might  attend  to  them  or  not,  as  he 
liked  ;  if  the  duties  were  performed,  it 
would  be  without  any  direct  remunera- 
tion, but  not  always  to  the  satisfaction 
or  advantage  of  the  community,  who 
would  have  no  power  of  expressing  its 
dissatisfaction  by  putting  some  one  else 
in  his  place. 

The  Swiss  peasant  gets  on  very  well 
without  a  squire  ;    it  seems  incredible 
to  him  that  such  a  state  of  affairs  as 
an  Irish  estate  of  100,000  acres  with 
4,000    tenants    should    exist   in   this 
century.      The  expulsion  of  the  baillis 
and  seignewrs  is  as  favourite  a  fireside 
theme  with   him  and   his  children  as 
William  Tell  and  the  oath  of  Griitli. 
Of  what  possible  use  would  a  landlord 
be  in  Champery  1    He  would  cost  the 
community  3,0001.  a  year  ;  every  duty 
that  he  would  be  expected  in  England 
to  perform  is  better  attended  to  by  the 
citizens  themselves,  at  a  trifling  ex- 
pense and  to  the  general  satisfaction. 
The   independent    commune  with   its 
numerous  proprietary,popularly-elected 
mayor,  magistrate,  and  council,  is  the 
Switzers  ideal  of  a  social  and  political 
system  ;    not  that    he  is  ignorant  of 
others,  for  a   comparison  of  different 
systems  is  part  of  the  ordinary  school 
instruction,    but    because    under   the 
commune  he    and    his  fellow-citizens 
are  independent  and  contented.     Such 
a  system  has  been  the  ideal  of  others 
than  peasants.      Victor  Hugo  looked 
forward    to     seeing     France     so    re- 
organised ;    his  ideal,  which  is  almost 
literally  realised  in  some  of  the  Swiss 
cantons,  is  this  : — 

"  La  commune  souveraine,  regie 
par  un  maire  elu  ;  le  suffrage 
universel  partout.  subordonne  seule- 
ment  en  ce  qui  touche  les  actes 
generaux,  a  1'unito  nationale,  voila  pour 
I'administration.  Les  syndicats  et  les 
prud'hommes  reglant  les  differends 
prives  des  associations  et  des  indus- 
tries ;  le  jure  magistrat  du  fait, 


eclairant  le  juge  magistrat  du  droit  ; 
le  juge  elu  ;  voila  pour  la  justice.  Le 
pretre  hors  de  tout,  excepte  de  1'eglise, 
etranger  au  budget,  ignore  de  1'Etat, 
connu  seulement  de  ses  croyants, 
n'ayant  plus  1'autorite,  mais  ayant  la 
liberte  :  voila  pour  la  religion.  La 
guerre  bornee  a  la  defense  du  terri- 
toire ;  la  nation  garde  nationale, 
divisee  en  trois  bans,  et  pouvant  se 
lever  comme  un  seul  homme.  La  loi 
toujours,  le  droit  toujours,  le  vote 
tou jours,  le  sabre  nulle  part."  l 

Immediately  the  frontier  is  crossed 
from  France  into  Switzerland,  the 
absence  of  soldiers,  police,  and  uni- 
formed officials  of  all  kinds,  who  abound 
in  every  French  town,  is  perceived. 
There  are  only  fifty-five  cantonal  police 
in  the  whole  of  Valais  ;  the  communal 
police  wear  no  dress  distinguishing 
them  from  their  fellow  citizens,  but 
have  a  small  badge  which  is  produced 
when  necessary. 

The  attention  of  a  stranger  is  apt  to 
be  drawn    to   the    excellences  rather 
than  the  defects  of  a  system  new  to 
him,  which  are  naturally  not  so  obvious. 
The  annual   report    of   the   Valaisan 
Council  of  State  to  the  Assembly  of 
Deputies  exhibits   some  of  the  defects 
and    shortcomings   of  the   communal 
system.      The  State,   even   where   it 
cannot  control,  inspects  and  suggests  ; 
its  business  is  to  find  fault  and  propose 
amendment.     There  are  complaints  of 
badly-kept  accounts  ;  negligent  man- 
agement and  deterioration   of  public 
property  ;    of  government  inspectors' 
remarks    not  attended  to,   of  sugges- 
tions  not   complied    with.       Some   of 
these    complaints  are   due   rather   to 
State  interference  being  resented  by 
the  communes,    some  to    the  imprac- 
ticable nature  of  official  suggestions ; 
but  no  change  in  the  system  or  in  the 
relations  between  the    commune   and 
the  State  appear  to  be  contemplated 
or  desired.       The  adjoining  canton  of 
Yaud    has    got    over    one    of    these 
difficulties  by  prescribing  a  fixed  form 
on  which  all  communal    accounts  are 
kept. 

1  Napoleon  le  Petit,  p.  224. 


Notes  in  a  Swiss  Village. 


4-21 


The  chief  differences  to  be  remarked 
in  Valais,  as  contrasted  with  England 
or  Ireland  are  : — 

The  orderly  and  systematic  arrange- 
ment of  the  governing  bodies  and 
areas ;  communes  grouped  into  dis- 
tricts, districts  into  cantons,  cantons 
into  the  confederation. 

The  small  size,  great  independence, 
and  many  functions  of  the  commune  : 
and  the  good  results  in  contentment, 
order,  economical  administration,  and 
light  taxation. 

The  general  feeling  of  responsible 
citizenship,  due  to  universal  suffrage, 
and  the  right  of  all  to  take  part  in 
local  government. 

The  wide  distribution  of  landowner- 
ship,  the  absence  of  any  rich  leisured 
class  and  of  their  amusements,  which 
are  such  a  prominent  feature  in  Eng- 
land. 

Absence  of  pauperism,  as  an 
institution,  and  of  that  inequality 
which  in  England,  as  Mr.  Matthew 
Arnold  says,  "  materialises  the  upper 
class,  vulgarises  the  middle  class,  and 
brutalises  the  lower." 

Above  all,  the  possession  by  almost 
every  head  of  a  family,  however 
humble  his  circumstances,  of  a  home 
belonging  to  him  in  fee,  with  its 
civilising  influence.  Such  an  influence 
is  unknown  to  the  labouring  classes 
and  artisans  in  Ireland.  In  my  neigh- 
bourhood— and  it  is  the  same  almost 
everywhere — they  live  during  their 
whole  lives  in  rooms  or  tenements 
rented  by  the  week,  in  cabins  often 
ruinous  and  unwholesome  in  the  ex- 
treme. There  is  no  escape  from  this 
life,  no  possibility  of  buying  the  site 
of  a  house,  in  building  on  which  they 
might  invest  their  savings  of  money 
and  time,  and  make  comfortable 
homes.  They  have  no  inducement  to 
accumulate  household  furniture,  books, 
or  any  objects  of  a  durable  nature.  In 
fact,  it  is  a  disadvantage  to  a  person, 
whose  lodging  is  rented  from  week  to 
week,  to  have  a  store  of  such  things. 


Some    of    my    acquaintances    earning 
weekly  wages  have  saved  from  100Z.  to 
200/.  They  may  put  it  in  a  savings  bank 
at  2  or  3  per  cent,  interest,  or  place  it 
on  deposit  with  a  friendly  society — and 
probably  lose  it,  as   some  have  done. 
Land    cannot  be  obtained     in    small 
parcels,   either   on   lease   or   to   buy. 
This  is  not  the  fault  of  the  landowners 
— except  so  far  as  they  have  resisted 
reform — but  of  the  law,  with  its  heavy 
costs,  complicated  deeds,  and  doubtful 
titles.      The  prices  obtained  for  land 
in  Switzerland,  where  it  can  be  sold 
by  the  yard,  are  amazing  ;  and  no  one 
would   benefit  so  much  as  owners  by 
any  change  which  made  land  easily 
saleable    with   a    secure   title   in   the 
United   Kingdom.       Lord    Salisbury 
lately  said  that  the  costs  of  land  trans- 
fer could  not  be  reduced  below  7  per 
cent,    of    the    price.       But    for    the 
purchase    of   small  plots  suitable  for 
building  sites,   the  costs    of  transfer 
at  present  would  probably  be  nearer 
700  per  cent ;    if  it  were  only  7  per 
cent,  on  small  lots,  such  an  expense 
would  be  no  obstacle  whatever  to  the 
sale.       Where     a    good     system     of 
registration    of    titles    prevails,    the 
expenses  of  transfer  of  land   do  not 
reach    1    per   cent,   exclusive   of  the 
duty  which  is  imposed  in  some  cantons. 
In  canton  Vaud,  where  registration  of 
titles  prevails  and  good  surveys  exist, 
a  duty  of  3  per  cent,  is  charged  by  the 
State   on  transfers,  and  inclusive  of 
this  I  have  found  the  total  expense  of 
transfer  in  many  instances  to  be  under 
4  per  cent.      In  the  report  of  H.M.'s 
representatives  abroad  on  the  tenure 
of  dwelling-houses  in  the  countries  in 
which  they  reside,  Mr.  C.  C.  Thornton 
says,  "  Absolute  ownership  is  the  only 
condition  known    to  the    Swiss,  and 
they  possess  no  idea  of  such  tenures 
as    exist   in    England,   viz.,    building 
leases  for  ninety-nine  years,  copyhold, 
estate  in  tail,  and  so  forth."  Happy  are 
the  people  in  such  a  case  ! 

MURROUGH    O'BRIEN. 


422 


MACAULAY   AND   SIR   ELIJAH    IMPEY. 


THE  essay  on  Warren  Hastings  is 
perhaps  the  most  brilliant,  as  it  is 
certainly  the  most  captivating,  of  all 
Macaulay's  historical  and  biographical 
studies.  In  the  hands  even  of  a  far 
inferior  writer  the  subject  could  hardly 
have  been  made  uninteresting.  The 
high  dramatic  interest  of  the  events 
with  which  it  deals,  the  singular  fas- 
cination of  the  character  and  career 
which  it  describes  might  avail  of  them- 
selves to  hold  the  reader  as  complete 
a  prisoner  as  the  wedding  guest  until 
the  story  has  been  told.  But  in  the 
hands  of  such  an  artist  as  Macaulay 
the  dramatic  element  in  such  a  narra- 
tive was  certain  to  be  indefinitely 
strengthened,  and  the  interest  of  its 
hero's  exploits  and  personality  inde- 
finitely heightened  by  a  thousand  of 
those  pictorial  touches,  legitimate  and 
illegitimate,  which  he  had  the  secret 
of  adding.  In  his  hands  accordingly 
the  story  of  Warren  Hastings  becomes 
a  veritable  epic  :  in  which  the  master- 
ful, resourceful,  unscrupulous,  inde- 
fatigable, undaunted  proconsul  figures 
as  a  sort  of  administrative  Ulysses, 
with  Nuncomar  for  his  Polyphemus, 
his  English  political  enemies  for  the 
suitors  over  whom  he  obtains  the 
long-delayed  triumph,  and  Dayles- 
ford  for  the  Ithaca  of  his  restful  old 
age.  Certainly  there  is  ho  essay  of 
Macaulay's— not  even  that  on  Clive 
— which  is  calculated  to  impress  more 
powerfully  the  imagination  of  the 
young ;  and  the  experience  of  Sir 
James  Stephen,1  who  says  that  these 
two  essays  gave  him  in  his  youth  "  a 
feeling  about  India  not  unlike  that 
which  Marryat's  novels  are  said  to 
have  given  to  many  lads  about  the 
sea,"  could  doubtless  be  easily  matched. 

1  The  Story  of  Nuncomar  and  the  Impeach- 
ment of  Sir  Elijah  Impey.  By  Sir  James 
Fitzjames  Stephen,  K. C.S.I.  In  two  vols. 


But  if  the  essay  on  Hastings  makes 
the  strongest  appeal  of  all  Macaulay's 
writings  to  the  imagination  of  the 
boy,  it  is  also,  perhaps,  the  first  to 
arouse  the  critical  suspicions  of  the 
adult.  As  his  knowledge  of  men  and 
things  increases,  and  the  range  of  his 
first-hand  historical  study  is  enlarged, 
he  begins  to  be  sadly  conscious  that 
the  events  of  real  life  do  not  arrange 
themselves  in  so  delightfully  dramatic 
a  fashion,  or  its  personages  group 
themselves  in  such  picturesque  atti- 
tudes of  contrast.  Above  all  he  begins 
to  doubt  the  full  villainy  of  Macaulay's 
villains ;  and  as  no  such  villain  is 
anywhere  described  by  him  as  Sir 
Elijah  Impey,  nor  any  such  villainy  as 
Impey 's  dealings  with  Nuncomar,  it 
is  on  the  sketch  of  this  personage  and 
of  his  conduct  that  the  nascent  critical 
faculty  of  the  reader  is  likely  first  to 
exercise  itself.  If  he  should  then 
have  chanced  to  come  across  Mr. 
Elijah  Impey's  transparently  honest, 
but  pathetically  ineffective,  attempt  to 
vindicate  his  father's  memory,  and 
should  by  that  time  have  learned  not 
to  mistake  a  feeble  advocate  for  a 
weak  case,  he  will  probably  have  long 
ere  this  rejected  Macaulay's  account 
of  the  Chief  Justice  and  his  relations 
with  Hastings  as  a  tissue  of  cruelly 
calumnious  fiction.  None  the  less 
warmly,  however,  should  he  be  dis- 
posed to  welcome  the  elaborate  and 
exhaustive  vindication  of  Sir  Elijah 
Impey  which  a  far  abler  hand  than 
his  son's  has  just  given  to  the  world. 

With  all  his  admiration,  which  is 
great,  for  Macaulay,  Sir  James 
Stephen  starts  from  a  well-founded 
distrust  of  his  biographical  methods. 
"  I  have  not,"  he  says,  "  in  my  own 
experience  of  persons  holding  a  con- 
spicuous position  in  life  met  with  any 
of  the  fiends  in  human  shape,  or 


Macaulay  and  Sir  Elijah  Impey. 


423 


even  with  any  of  those  parti -coloured 
monsters  with  characters  like  the 
pattern  of  a  shepherd's  plaid,  half 
black,  half  white,  which  abound  in 
Macaulay's  histories,  and  form  one  of 
the  principal  defects  in  those  most 
delightful  books."  Nor  is  Sir  James 
Stephen's  experience  in  this  matter  by 
any  means  singular.  To  most  men 
indeed  in  whom  a  love  of  the  curious 
is  chastened  by  any  faculty  of  dis- 
passionate observation  the  generally 
neutral  tint  of  humanity,  whether  "  in 
conspicuous  positions  in  life "  or  else- 
where, must  appear  one  of  the  most 
disappointing  things  about  it.  Men 
differ  from  each  other  very  widely, 
indeed,  in  mental  capacity,  and  still 
more  widely  perhaps  in  the  half 
physical,  half  moral  attributes  of 
ecergy,  perseverance,  and  firmness  of 
resolve ;  and  Fate,  acting  upon  these 
very  commonplace  and  unromantic 
distinctions  of  character,  is  able  to 
lead  two  men  quite  as  far  apart  from 
each  other  as  regards  the  quality  and 
effect  of  their  acts  as  if  they  respec- 
tively started  from  the  standpoint  of 
saint  and  devil.  The  stupid  man 
blunders  into  misdeeds  ;  the  lazy  man 
drifts  into  them ;  the  weak  man  is 
thrust  into  them  ;  and  though  all  mis- 
deeds, no  doubt,  react  upon  the  doer, 
adding  at  each  repetition  a  slightly 
darker  shade  to  his  character,  they 
never  succeed  in  reducing  it  to  that 
deep  rich  black  which  is  frequently 
required  to  made  him  useful  for  the 
pictorial  purposes  of  a  Macaulay. 
The  historian  has  to  add  the  deepen- 
ing touches  for  himself,  and  then  it  is 
a  mere  accident  of  the  position  and 
circumstances  of  the  individual  per- 
sonage under  delineation  whether  he 
becomes  the  "  fiend  in  human  shape  " 
or  the  "parti-coloured  monster."  If 
the  historian  is  only  concerned  with 
one  episode  in  his  life,  and  that  of  a 
nature  which  places  or  is  supposed  to 
place  him  in  an  unfavourable  light, 
he  appears,  of  course,  in  the  former 
guise ;  if  on  the  other  hand  his  whole 
career  or  a  considerable  proportion  of 
it  comes  under  review,  and  it  becomes 


impossible  to  ignore  the  fact  that 
some  of  his  actions  had  at  least  a 
virtuous  appearance,  the  "  shepherd's 
plaid  "  pattern  has,  in  that  case,  to  be 
adopted.  The  latter,  it  is  unnecessary 
to  say,  is,  though  an  equally  unnatural, 
a  less  unjust  mode  of  treatment. 
Fiends  in  human  shape  are  rare 
indeed ;  but  most  of  us  have  the 
makings  of  "  parti-coloured  monsters  " 
about  us.  That  is  to  say,  we  are  com- 
posed of  black  and  white,  and  in,  per- 
haps, toleraby  equal  proportions ;  only 
the  two  colours  are  not  distributed  in 
squares  over  our  characters,  but  are 
agreeably  blended  together  into  a 
becoming  grey. 

Sir  Elijah  Impey,  unfortunately  for 
his  posthumous  reputation,  was  one 
of  those  biographical  subjects  with 
whom  Macaulay  was  concerned  in 
respect  of  only  a  single  episode  in  their 
lives  ;  and  this  was,  in  his  case,  an 
episode  which  Macaulay's  political 
sympathies  prompted  him  to  view  in 
the  light  in  which  it  was  generally 
regarded  by  the  Whig  party.  Such  a 
circumstance,  however,  would  only 
have  sufficed  to  expose  Impey's  con- 
duct to  the  general  condemnation  of 
a  Whig  biographer  of  Hastings,  and 
it  is  probable  that  nothing  worse 
would  have  befallen  it  had  the  bio- 
grapher of  Hastings  been  any  one  else 
but  Macaulay.  The  "  fiend  in  human 
shape "  was  an  idiosyncratic  addi- 
tion of  the  pictorial  essayist,  who 
required  a  villain  of  the  all-black 
description,  in  order  to  throw  up  the 
white  in  Hastings's  shepherd's  plaid 
character.  Impey  accordingly  appears, 
to  quote  Sir  James  Stephen  on  Macau- 
lay's  famous  essay,  as  "  one  of  the 
most  odious  and  contemptible  of  human 
beings,  committing  the  most  abomin- 
able crimes  from  the  basest  of  motives, 
or  even  without  any  motive  at  all. 
For,  if  Macaulay's  account  of  him  is  to 
be  believed,  he  began  by  committing 
the  most  execrable  of  all  murders — a 
judicial  murder  under  the  forms  of 
law — simply  out  of  gratuitous  subserv- 
iency to  Hastings.  He  proceeded  for 
no  obvious  reason  to  erect  a  system  of 


424 


Macaulay  and  Sir  Elijah  Impey. 


tyranny  and  oppression  all  over  Ben- 
gal, attempting  with  his  colleagues  to 
usurp     'supreme    authority    through 
the  whole  of  the  vast  territory  subject 
to  the  presidency  of  Fort  William.'  He 
gave  up  this  monstrous  pretension  in 
consideration  of  an  enormous  bribe,  and 
he  abetted  crimes  said  to  have  been  per- 
petrated in  Oudh  under  the  authority 
of    Hastings,    simply    '  because    there 
was  something  inexpressibly  alluring, 
we  must  suppose,  in  the  peculiar  rank- 
ness  of  the  infamy  which  was  to  be 
got  at  Lucknow.'     In  short,  he  was  a 
fiend  in  human  shape,  and  a  very  con- 
temptible  one."     And    a   very   unin- 
telligible one  too,  we  should  be  disposed 
to     add.       "Gratuitous"     indeed     is 
the   subserviency  to   Hastings,  which 
Macaulay  attributes  to  him  :  so  gratui- 
tous as  to  have  struck  all  readers,  we 
should  imagine,  of  the  incredible  story. 
Even    the  least  critical  among  them 
must  have  noticed  the  singular  break 
in   the   logical    concatenation   of   the 
narrative  at  the  point  at  which  Impey 
appears  upon  the  scene  as  the  deus,  or 
rather  the  diabolus  ex  mashind  who  is 
to  rid   the  Governor-General    of   the 
obnoxious   Nuncomar.      Excellent   no 
doubt   were    Hastings's   reasons  —  at 
least,    on    Macaulay's    theory   of    his 
character  and  the  situation — for  de- 
siring   (and  with   him   desire    meant 
determination)   to    crush    the    Maha- 
rajah.    Nor   could  there   be   a   more 
effectual  or  impressive  way  of  dispos- 
ing of  him  than  by  a  judicial  murder. 
But  what  interest  Impey  had  in  con- 
senting to  play  the  part   of   judicial 
murderer  is  a  question  which  we  may 
search   Macaulay's   pages   in  vain  to 
answer.      Of  course,  if  you  start  by 
assuming  that  no  Chief  Justice  would 
hesitate   to    do   an   innocent   man  to 
death  in  order  to  stand  well  with  a 
Governor -General,  the  process  of  proof 
is  easy  ;    and  equally  easy,  of  course, 
is  it  if  you  start  as  Macaulay  appar- 
ently does,  by  assuming  that  no  such 
hesitation  was  to  be  looked  for  from  the 
particular  Chief   Justice  in  question. 
But,  in  default  of   such  assumptions, 
we  ought  at  least  to  be  favoured  with 


some  specific  ground  for  believing — 
or  at  least  with  some  suspicious  cir- 
cumstance tending  to  suggest — that 
the  governor  did,  in  fact,  stand  to  the 
judge  in  the  relation  of  suborner  to 
suborned. 

Now  this,  Macaulay  nowhere  offers 
us — neither  this  nor  anything  resembl- 
ing  it.      Prior   to    the    point    above 
referred   to,  the  name  of  Impey  only 
occurs  in  two  passages  in  the  narrative : 
one,  a  reference  to  his  schoolfellowship 
with     Hastings,    the     other,     merely 
recording   his   arrival  at  Calcutta   as 
Chief  Justice  of  the  Supreme   Court. 
"  Hastings,"   runs    the   first    passage, 
"  had      another      associate       [besides 
Cowper]  at  Westminster,  of  whom  we 
shall  have  occasion  to  make  frequent 
mention,    Elijah    Impey.     We    know 
little   about    their    school    days,    but 
we  think  we  may  safely  venture   to 
guess      that,       whenever       Hastings 
wished  to   play  any  trick  more  than 
usually  naughty,  he  hired  Impey  with 
a  tart  or  a  ball  to  act  as  fag  in  the 
worst    part   of   the   prank."     This  is 
amusingly  characteristic  of  Macaulay's 
method.     He  first  unjustly  represents 
a  particular  person  as  a  wicked  man, 
and  then  "safely  ventures  to  guess" 
therefrom   that    he   was   a   bad    boy. 
From    his     adult    aptitude    for     the 
prank  of    judicial   murder,  he  infers 
his  juvenile  readiness  to  lend  himself, 
for  a  consideration,  to  the  setting  of 
a   booby   trap   for   his    schoolmaster. 
It    is    not    suggested    however    that 
Impey  would  have  assisted  Hastings 
in  his   schoolboy  pranks  except  for  a 
consideration,  and  we  have  therefore 
all   the    more   right    to  inquire    with 
what    particular  tart  or  ball  he  was 
tempted  to  make   away  with  Nunco- 
mar.    The  second  reference  to  Impey 
is  as  follows  : — "  With  the  three  new 
councillors  came  out  the  judges  of  the 
Supreme  Court.  The  Chief  Justice  was 
Sir  Elijah  Impey.     He  was  an  old  ac- 
quaintance "  (something  more  than  an 
old  acquaintance  surely  if  he  had  been 
his  dme  damnee  as  a  schoolboy)  "  of 
Hastings  ;  and  it  is  probable  that  the 
Governor-General,  if  he  had  searched 


Macaulay  and  Sir  Elijah  Impey. 


425 


through  all  the  Inns  of  Court,  could 
not  have  found  an  equally  serviceable 
tool."  It  was  "probable,"  we  suppose, 
in  just  the  same  sense  in  which  it  was 
probable  that  Impey  was  Hastings' 
serviceable  tool  at  Westminster  ;  that 
is  to  say.  with  a  probability  founded 
exclusively  on  Macaulay's  own  theory 
of  their  subsequent  relations.  No 
other  ground  of  probability  is,  at  any 
rate,  alleged.  Neither  Impey  nor  his 
colleagues  are  again  referred  to  until 
we  come  to  the  moment  when  Nunco- 
mar,  encouraged  by  the  support  of  a 
majority  of  the  Council  in  his  accu- 
sations of  corruption  against  Hastings, 
had  proceeded  to  convert  his  house 
into  what  Macaulay  describes  as  "  an 
office  for  the  purpose  of  receiving 
charges  against  the  Governor-General ; ' ' 
who,  according  to  the  essayist's  theory, 
thereupon  determined  to  destroy  him. 
All  that  is  said  here,  however,  about 
the  judges,  is  that  "the  Supreme 
Court  was,  within  the  sphere  of  its 
own  duties,  altogether  independent  of 
the  Government;"  that  "Hastings, 
with  his  usual  sagacity,  had  seen 
how  much  advantage  he  might  derive 
from  possessing  himself  of  this  strong- 
hold and  had  acted  accordingly ; " 
that  "  the  judges,  especially  the  Chief 
Justice,  were  hostile  to  the  majority  of 
the  Council,"  and  that  "  the  time  had 
now  come  for  putting  this  formidable 
machinery  in  motion."  This  is  liter- 
ally all.  Not  a  word  more  is  offered 
to  explain  the  fact  that  an  English 
lawyer  of  repute,  abetted  we  must 
assume  by  three  other  equally  respect- 
able colleagues,  is  found  on  his  next 
appearance  in  the  narrative  "  dis- 
honouring the  ermine  as  no  other  judge 
had  done  since  Jeffries  drank  himself 
to  death  in  the  Tower" — an  act,  by 
the  by,  which  was  rather  in  the 
nature  of  a  tardy  reparation  to  the 
ermine  and  is  therefore  somewhat  ill- 
chosen  for  its  rhetorical  purpose.  There 
is  no  evidence  to  our  knowledge,  there 
seems  to  be  none  even  to  Sir  James 
Stephen's  much  wider  knowledge,  that 
"  the  judges,  especially  the  Chief  Jus- 
tice, were  at  this  date  hostile  to  the 


majority  of  the  Council ; "  and  though 
perhaps  "  the  time  had  now  come  for 
putting  this  formidable  machinery  into 
action,"  the  question  is  not  one  of 
time  but  of  means.  The  utmost  oppor- 
tuneness of  the  moment  for  starting  a 
locomotive  engine  will  not  of  itself 
supply  the  boiler  with  water  and  the 
furnace  with  coal.  Where,  we  want 
to  know,  was  the  steam  of  motive  and 
the  fire  of  incitement  which  set  this 
particular  machine  in  motion  for  the 
purposes  for  which  Hastings  is  assumed 
to  have  needed  it  ? 

Let  us,  however,  waive  the  question 
of  motive,  and  pass  on  to  Macaulay's 
account  of  the  facts.  His  narrative 
of  the  actual  arrest,  trial,  .and  convic- 
tion of  Nuncomar  is  remarkably  con- 
densed, the  whole  business  being  dis- 
posed of  in  a  couple  of  short  para- 
graphs. "  On  a  sudden,"  he  says, 
"  Calcutta  was  astounded  by  the  news 
that  Nuncomar  had  been  taken  up  on 
a  charge  of  felony,  committed  for  trial, 
and  thrown  into  the  common  gaol." 
It  is  curious  that  no  mention  what- 
ever should  have  been  made  of  the 
previous  prosecution  instituted  some 
three  weeks  earlier  by  Hastings  and 
Barwell  (his  sole  supporter  on  the  Coun- 
cil) against  Nuncomar  for  conspiracy. 
"  The  crime  imputed  to  him  was  that 
six  years  before  he  had  forged  a  bond. 
The  ostensible  prosecutor  was  a  native. 
But  it  was  then,  and  still  is,  the  opin- 
ion of  everybody,  idiots  and  biogra- 
phers excepted,  that  Hastings  was  the 
real  mover  in  the  business."  Among 
the  idiots  and  biographers  we  have 
now  to  include  a  judge  of  the  High 
Court  of  Justice,  a  man  of  the  keenest 
judicial  intellect,  and  the  most  learned 
criminal  lawyer  of  the  day.  Sir 
James  Stephen  has  no  belief  at  all 
in  Hastings  having  been  the  real 
mover  in  Nuncomar's  prosecution, 
and  has  furnished  the  strongest  rea- 
sons for  believing  that  "  the  idiots  and 
biographers "  were  justified  in  their 
doubts.  The  civil  cause  out  of  which 
the  prosecution  arose  had  been  pend- 
ing in  the  Diwani  Adalat  for  two 
years  previously  ;  the  plea  imputing 


426 


Macaulay  and  Sir  Elijah  Impey. 


forgery  to  Nuncomar  had  been  on 
the  record  for  more  than  a  year.  In 
March,  1774,  the  attorney  for  the 
plaintiff,  and  afterwards  prosecutor, 
Mohun  Persaud,  had  moved  in  the 
Mayor's  Court,  which  then  had  the 
custody  of  the  papers  alleged  to  be 
forged,  for  their  production  and  de- 
livery to  the  plaintiff  for  the  purpose 
of  founding  an  indictment  upon  them  ; 
but  the  application,  by  reason,  as  was 
alleged  by  the  plaintiff's  attorney,  of 
the  Mayor's  Court  being  subject  to 
undue  influence,  was  rejected.  In 
October  of  that  year  the  Supreme 
Court  of  Judicature  arrived  in  Bengal, 
and  Mr.  Driver,  Mohun  Persaud's  attor- 
ney, advised  his  client  to  renew  his  ap- 
plication before  that  more  independent 
tribunal.  Motions  to  this  effect  were 
accordingly  made  on  the  25th  and  30th 
of  January,  1775  ;  and  on  the  24th  of 
March  in  that  year  it  was  peremp- 
torily ordered  that  the  papers  should 
be  delivered  up  to  the  proper  parties 
within  one  month.  Supposing  the  de- 
lay in  producing  them  to  have  been 
prolonged,  as  probably  enough  it  was, 
till  the  latest  day  possible,  this  would 
bring  us  to  the  24th  April ;  the  com- 
mittal of  Nuncomar  for  trial  on  the 
charge  of  forgery  took  place  on  the 
6th  of  May.  In  other  words,  the 
first  proceedings  in  the  Supreme  Court 
to  obtain  the  materials  necessary  for 
the  prosecution  of  Nuncomar  took 
place  some  seven  weeks  before  Nun- 
comar had  given  Hastings  any  injury 
to  avenge,  and  still  longer  before  he 
had  begun  to  menace  him  with  any 
danger  to  be  averted  ;  and  these  pro- 
ceedings were  prosecuted  in  a  regular 
and  perfectly  normal  fashion  to  their 
natural  issue.  Of  course  it  is  conceiv- 
able that  Hastings  may  have  inter- 
vened in  the  case  after  the  committal 
of  Nuncomar,  or  even  between  the 
date  of  the  delivery  of  the  papers 
and  the  application  for  Nuncomar's 
committal.  But  why  conceive  so 
when  the  facts  do  not  require  it  ? 
This  is  surely  a  case  within  the 
philosophical  maxim  which  enjoins 
the  economy  of  hypotheses.  If  every- 


thing which  did  happen  in  Nuncomar's 
case  could  have  happened  without 
the  interference  of  any  executive 
officer,  why  assume  any  such  inter- 
ference at  all  ?  But  to  proceed  with 
Macaulay's  account.  "  In  the  mean- 
time," he  continues,  "  the  assizes 
commenced ;  a  true  bill  was  found  ; 
and  Nuncomar  was  brought  before  a 
jury  composed  of  Englishmen.  A 
great  quantity  of  contradictory  swear- 
ing, and  the  necessity  of  having  every 
word  of  the  evidence  interpreted,  pro- 
tracted the  trial  to  a  most  unusual 
length.  At  last  a  verdict  of  guilty 
was  returned,  and  the  Chief  Justice 
pronounced  sentence  of  death  upon 
the  prisoner." 

Sir  James  Stephen — as  indeed  was 
necessary  in  order  to  meet  one  of  the 
charges  in  the  projected  impeachment 
of  Impey  by  the  House  of  Commons — 
has  collected  elaborate  and  most  con- 
vincing proofs  that  Nuncomar  had  a 
scrupulously  fair  trial ;  but  we  do  not 
understand  Macaulay  to  have  either 
here  or  elsewhere  alleged  the  contrary. 
His  charge  against  Impey  is  not  that 
of  pressing  unfairly  upon  the  prisoner 
in  the  matter  of  admitting  or  inter- 
preting evidence,  or  in  determining 
incidental  points  of  law  ;  it  is  a  charge 
of  oppressively  refraining  from  the 
employment  of  his  judicial  discretion 
in  the  matter  of  passing  sentence. 
Macaulay  might  even,  from  his  own 
point  of  view,  have  admitted,  though 
we  do  not  observe  that  he  does  any 
where  directly  admit,  the  justice  of 
Nuncomar's  conviction  on  the  facts  ; 
for  he  could  still  accuse  the  judge  of 
straining  the  letter  of  the  law  to  visit 
the  offence  with  an  inapplicable  and 
excessive  punishment.  Although  the 
unfairness  of  the  trial  had  not  been 
alleged  by  Macaulay,  it  was  of  course 
open  to  Sir  James  Stephen,  and  judi- 
cious also  from  the  dialectical  point 
of  view,  to  show  that  the  judge  who 
has  been  charged  with  putting  a  man 
unjustly  to  death  to  serve  a  political 
purpose,  displayed  at  any  rate  no  undue 
solicitude  to  obtain  a  verdict  against 
him  ;  but,  on  the  contrary  (it  may  sur- 


Macaulay  and  Sir  Elijah  Impey. 


427 


prise  many  people  to  learn),  an  excep- 
tional anxiety  to  bring  before  the 
minds  of  the  jury  every  point  in  his 
favour.  The  court  consisting  of 
Impey,  with  his  three  puisnes,  Hyde, 
Le  Maistre,  and  Chambers,  sat  con- 
tinuously through  the  whole  seven 
days  of  the  trial,  Sunday  included, 
from  8  A.M.  till  late  at  night,  and  on 
the  last  day  till  4  A.M.  The  month 
was  June.  "  The  judges  then  wore 
heavy  wigs,  and  (tradition  says)  re- 
tired three  or  four  times  daily  to 
change  their  linen.  One  of  the  judges 
was  always  in  court  or  in  an  adjacent 
room  open  to  it.  The  jury  from  time 
to  time  retired  to  another  adjacent 
room  to  take  refreshment  or  sleep.  It 
must  he  remembered  that  in  those 
days  punkahs  were  not  invented,  nor 
had  the  importation  or  manufacture  of 
ice  been  thought  of."  Sir  James 
Stephen  devotes  a  whole  chapter  to 
an  analysis  of  the  evidence,  and  sets 
out  Irnpey's  charge  in  full.  Its  pa- 
tient and  even  laborious  effort  to  hold 
the  balance  fairly  between  the  prisoner 
and  the  prosecution  is  visible  in  every 
line.  If  Macaulay  ever  read  it,  he 
must  have  persuaded  himself  that 
Impey  felt  so  sure  of  a  conviction 
that  he  could  afford  to  give  Nuncomar 
every  chance  that  the  evidence  allowed 
him,  and  had  concluded  that  so  lucrative 
a  quality  as  judicial  dishonesty  might 
with  safety  be  economised  until  after 
the  verdict  had  been  rendered.  Be 
that  as  it  may,  however,  Impey's 
charge  to  the  jury  was  equity  itself. 
The  friends  of  no  prisoner  convicted  in 
England  after  such  a  trial  and  sum- 
ming up  would  think  for  a  moment 
of  impugning  the  uprightness  of  the 
judge.  To  quote  Sir  James  Stephen's 
own  summing  up  of  this  part  of  his 


"  Putting  _  all  these  matters  together,  my 
own  opinion  is,  that  no  man  ever  had  or  could 
have  a  fairer  trial  than  Nuncomar,  and  that 
Impey  in  particular  behaved  with  absolute 
fairness  and  as  much  indulgence  as  was  com- 
patible with  his  duty.  In  his  defence  at  the 
bar  of  the  House  of  Commons  he  said,  '  Con- 
scious as  I  am  how  much  it  was  my  intention 
to  favour  the  prisoner  in  everything  that  was 


consistent  with  justice,  wishing  as  I  did  that 
the  facts  might  turn  out  favourable  for  an  ac- 
quittal, it  has  appeared  most  wonderful  to  me 
that  the  execution  of  my  purpose  has  so  far 
differed  from  my  intentions  that  any  ingenuity 
could  form  an  objection  to  my  personal  con- 
duct as  bearing  hard  on  the  prisoner.'  My 
own  earnest  study  of  the  trial  has  led  me  to 
the  conclusion  that  every  word  of  this  is  abso- 
lutely true  and  just.  Indeed,  the  first  matter 
which  directed  my  attention  to  the  subject 
was  the  glaring  contrast  between  Impey's  con- 
duct as  described  in  the  State  Trials  and  his 
character  as  described  by  Macaulay.  There  is 
not  a  word  in  the  ^summing-up  of  which  I 
should  have  been  ashamed  had  I  said  it  myself, 
and  all  my  study  of  the  case  has  not  suggested 
to  me  a  single  observation  in  Nuncomar's  favour 
which  is  not  noticed  by  Impey.  As  to  the 
verdict  I  think  there  was  ample  evidence  to 
support  it." 

"Whether,  however,  it  was  in  fact 
correct  is  a  point  on  which,  Sir  James 
Stephen  adds,  it  is  impossible  for  him 
to  give  an  unqualified  opinion;  "as  it 
is,  of  course,  impossible  now  to  judge 
of  the  credit  due  to  the  witnesses, 
and  some  of  the  exhibits  are  un- 
intelligible." 

But,  of  course,  the  correctness  or  in- 
correctness of  the  verdict  is  not  the 
question.  The  question  is  as  to 
the  good  faith  of  the  judge ;  and  this, 
so  far  as  the  trial  itself  is  concerned, 
Sir  James  Stephen  must  be  held  to 
have  amply  proved.  But  the  real  gist 
of  Macaulay's  indictment  relates  to 
Impey's  conduct  subsequent  to  the 
trial,  and  this  has  still  to  be  con- 
sidered : — 

"That  Tmpey,"  he  says,  "ought  to  have 
respited  Nuncomar  we  hold  to  be  perfectly 
clear.  Whether  the  whole  proceeding  was 
not  illegal  is  a  question.  But  it  is  certain 
that,  whatever  may  have  been,  according  to 
technical  rules  of  construction,  the  effect  of 
the  statute  under  which  the  trial  took  place, 
it  was  most  unjust  to  hang  a  Hindoo  for  for- 
gery. The  law  which  made  forgery  capital 
in  England  was  passed  without  the  smallest 
reference  to  the  state  of  society  in  India.  It 
was  unknown  to  the  natives  of  India.  It  had 
never  been  put  in  execution  among  them,  cer- 
tainly not  for  want  of  delinquents.  It  was  in 
the  highest  degree  shocking  to  all  their 
notions.  They  are  not  accustomed  to  the 
distinction  which  many  circumstances  peculiar 
to  our  own  state  of  society  have  led  us  to 
make  between  forgery  and  other  kinds  of 
cheating.  ...  A  just  judge  would  beyond 


428 


Macaulay  and  Sir  Elijah  Impey. 


doubt  have  reserved  the  case  for  the  considera- 
tion of  the  Sovereign.  But  Impey  would  not 
hear  of  mercy  or  delay. " 

No  more  characteristic  example  of 
Macaulay's  intrepid  method  of  defend- 
ing any  untenable  position  to  which 
he  had  once  committed  himself  could 
perhaps  be  cited  than  the  foregoing 
passage.  It  consists  of  ten  sentences, 
every  one  of  which  contains  either 
a  positive  misstatement  or  a  ground- 
less assumption  or  a  dialectical 
sophism.  For  combined  inaccuracy 
and  irrelevancy  it  is  probably  not  to 
be  matched  in  the  whole  wide  range 
of  its  author's  writings ;  and  it  might 
confidently  be  recommended  for  a 
place  in  an  examination  paper  set  for 
the  purpose  of  testing  the  analytic 
capacity  of  a  candidate  in  the  school 
of  logic.  The  first  sentence  which 
affirms  that  Impey  ought  to  have 
respited  Nuncomar  conveys  a  false 
implication.  The  second  sentence  is, 
in  this  connection  and  in  the  absence 
of  the  averment  necessary  to  make  it 
material,  a  mere  irrelevance.  The 
third  conveys  a  false  implication  in 
its  dependent  clause,  and  is  either 
meaningless  or  an  abuse  of  terms  in 
its  main  allegation.  The  fourth  rests 
upon  an  implied  syllogism  which  does 
not  bear  its  weight,  and,  if  it  did, 
would  be  bad  for  having  "  four 
terms  "  ;  and  the  same  criticism  ap- 
plies to  the  sentence  which  follows 
it.  The  sixth  is  an  irrelevance  ren- 
dered colourably  relevant  by  a  sug- 
gestio  falsi.  The  seventh  is  an  irre- 
levancy left  uncoloured.  The  eighth 
is  a  misstatement  of  fact ;  the  ninth 
conveys  another  false  implication  ;  and 
the  tenth  is  once  more  a  misstatement 
of  fact. 

As  to  the  first  allegation'  that 
Impey  "  ought  to  have  respited  Nun- 
comar," it  implies,  of  course,  that  Impey 
could  have  respited  him ;  and  this 
Macaulay  must,  or,  at  any  rate,  ought 
to  have  known  was  not  the  case. 
The  trial,  which  is  absurdly  spoken  of 
throughout  as  if  the  Chief  Justice 
had  been  the  sole  judge  presiding  at 
it,  was  held  before  the  whole  court, 


and  to  separate  the  chief  from  his  col- 
leagues in  respect  not  merely  of  the 
purely  judicial  function  of  conducting 
its  proceedings,  but  also  of  the  execu- 
tive function  of  granting  or  withhold- 
ing a  respite  is  even  more  preposter- 
ously unjust.    Impey  had  precisely  the 
same  power  in  this  matter  as  Hyde, 
Chambers,    and    Le   Maistre,    neither 
more   nor   less  ;  and  though  it  is,  of 
course,  possible  that,  had  he  seen  cause 
to  interest  himself  on  Nuncomar' s  be- 
half, he  might  have  persuaded  one  or 
more  of  his  colleagues  to  join  him  in 
granting  the    prisoner   a  reprieve,  it 
cannot   be   for   a   moment    contended 
that  the  bare  existence  of  this  possi- 
bility is  a  justification  for  Macaulay's 
words.     They  must  imply,  according 
to  their  natural  meaning,  that  Impey 
had  an  absolute  and  not  a  conditional 
power  of  respiting  Nuncomar,  and  that 
for  reasons  of  his  own  he  declined  to 
exercise   it.       "  Whether    the    whole 
proceeding  was  not  illegal  is  a  ques- 
tion."    Perhaps  ;  but  it  is  a  question 
which   has    no    connection    whatever 
with  the  proposition  just  laid   down. 
Assuming  that   the  whole  proceeding 
was  illegal,  its  illegality  does  not  in 
any  way  affect  the  question  of  Impey's 
good  faith,  unless  it  was  illegal  to  his 
knowledge;  and  if  it  were  illegal  to 
his  knowledge  it  becomes  a  ridiculous 
understatement  of  the  case  to  say  that 
Impey  "  ought  to  have  respited  "  Nun- 
comar.    He  ought  to  have  quashed  the 
indictment.     "  But  it  is  certain  that, 
whatever  may  have  been,  according  to 
technical   rules    of    construction,    the 
effect  of  the  statute  under  which  the 
trial  took  place,  it  was  most  unjust  to 
hang   a    Hindoo   for  forgery."      Two 
offences  against    controversial    ethics 
are  committed  in  this  sentence.     First 
it    suggests  that    the    doubts    subse- 
quently (and  only  subsequently)  raised 
with  regard  to  the  application  of  the 
statute  under   which   Nuncomar  was 
tried  were   doubts   arising  as  to    the 
construction  of  its  terms,  whereas  they 
had  no  such  origin,  as,  again,  it  seems 
impossible  that  Macaulay  should  not 
have  known.  Secondly,  it  asserts  broadly 


Macaulay  and  Sir  Elijah  Impey. 


429 


that,  however  this  may  be — that  is  to 
say,  whether  the  statute  was  applicable 
and  the  trial  legal  or  not — it  was  un- 
just to  hang  a  Hindoo    for   forgery. 
Now,  to  say  of  a  judge  that  he  acts 
unjustly  in  permitting  the    execution 
of    a   legal   sentence   following    upon 
legally    held    judicial    proceedings,   is 
either  to  use  language  which  has  no 
meaning   or  to  substitute  a  question- 
begging  word  for  the  one  which  ought 
to   be  employed.     In  the  strict  sense 
of  the  word  "injustice,"  the  assertion 
that  a  judge  acting  as  above  described 
has    acted    unjustly   is    meaningless ; 
whereas,  if  what  Macaulay  intended  to 
convey  was  that,  not  justice,  but  hu- 
manity, clemency,  policy,  or  what  not, 
was    opposed    to    the   hanging    of    a 
Hindoo  for  forgery,  he  was  bound  to 
use  one  of  these  words,  and  not  to  ap- 
propriate   the   benefit    of   one    which 
stands  for  a  duty  of  far  more  authori- 
tative obligation  upon  a  judge.     "The 
law  which  made  forgery  capital  in  Eng- 
land was  passed  without  the  smallest 
reference  to  the  state  of  society  in  In- 
dia." What  then  ?  The  question — even 
the  political  question — governing  the 
applicability    of     the    law     was    not 
whether   it .  was   passed  with  any   or 
how  much  reference  to  the  state   of 
society  in   India,  but  whether  it  had 
any  or  how  much  appropriateness  to 
the  state  of  society  in  Calcutta.     The 
argument,  therefore,  involves  the  illicit 
assumptions,  first,  that  laws  not  speci- 
ally passed  for  a  community  cannot  be 
properly  applied  to  it  ;   and  secondly, 
that   laws    inapplicable  to    the   great 
mass  of  a  vast  community,  cannot  be 
properly  applied  to  a  limited  class  of 
that  community  living  under  certain 
special  and  artificial  condition  of  life. 
"  It  was  unknown   to  the  natives  of 
India."     Possibly   to   the   natives    of 
India  at  large ;  but  it  was  known  to 
as  many  of  them  as  it  was  proposed  to 
apply  it  to.     "It  had  never  been  put 
in     execution     among     them."       No : 
because  a  sentence  previously  passed 
under   it  was   not    carried    out ;    but 
this   fact    alone,    and,    as    Sir   James 
Stephen   observes    "  the    turn    of    his 


phrase  shows  that  Macaulay  knew  it," 
deprives  the  sentence  entirely  of  its 
fictitious  semblance  of  value.  Obviously 
it  has  been    added  as   in    pretended 
confirmation   of   the    preceding  state- 
ment, that  the  law  was  "  unknown  to 
the    people    of    India " — a    pretence 
which  could  only  be  kept  up  by  en- 
couraging   an    incurious    reader    to 
interpret  "  never  put  into  execution  " 
as  equivalent  to    "  never  enforced  by 
criminal  proceedings."     Otherwise,  of 
course,    its    direct    conflict   with    the 
sentence  which  it  follows  would  have 
been  at  once  perceived  :  since  all  that  is 
necessary  to  render  a  law  "  known  "  to 
the  people  governed  by  it  is  that  people 
who  break  it  should  be  prosecuted  to 
conviction,   whatever  punishment,   or 
whether  any  or  none,  be  inflicted 'upon 
them.     That    "  the   law    was   in   the  . 
highest   degree  shocking  to  all  their 
notions,"  was  equally  true  of  the  law 
against  suttee — a  practice  which,  as  Sir 
James  Stephen  felicitously  points  out, 
was  first  made  penal  all  over  India  by 
Lord  William  Bentinck,  under  whom 
Macaulay,   not  long  afterwards,   held 
the  office  of  legal  member  of  council. 
"They  were  not  acquainted  with  the 
distinction  which  circumstances  peculiar 
to  our  own  state  of  society  have  led  us 
to  make   between  forgery  and    other 
kinds  of  cheating."     The  inhabitants 
of    Calcutta,    on    the   contrary,    were 
distinctly  proved  to  be  well  acquainted 
with  them,  and    Parliament   on   two 
occasions — namely,  in  1813  and  after- 
wards in  1827 — made  forgery  in  the 
Presidency     towns     punishable     with 
transportation   for   life.     "  Macaulay, 
himself,  legislating  for  the  whole  of 
India,  makes  this  very  distinction.    By 
Article  444  of  the  draft  penal  code  the 
maximum    punishment   for   forging  a 
valuable   security   is    fourteen    years' 
imprisonment  with  a  minimum  of  two 
years.     By  Article  394,  the  maximum 
punishment  for   common    cheating    is 
one  year's  imprisonment.     If  Parlia- 
ment thought  it  necessary  to  punish 
forgery  at  the  great  commercial  towns 
by    the    severest    secondary    punish- 
ment, if  Macaulay  himself  thought  it 


430 


Macaulay  and  Sir  Elijah  Impey. 


right  to  extend  a  similar  rule  to  all 
India,  how  can  it  be  said  that  the 
judges  of  the  Supreme  Court  must 
have  been,  not  only  unjust,  but  corrupt 
when  they  considered  that  the  English 
law  on  this  subject  was  not  unsuitable 
for  Calcutta?"  To  say  that  "a  just 
judge  would,  beyond  all  doubt,  have 
reserved  the  case  for  the  consideration 
of  the  Sovereign  "  is  again  to  imply 
falsely  that  the  sole  discretion  as  to 
reserving  the  case  was  vested  in  the 
Chief  Justice.  To  say  that  Impey 
would  not  hear  of  mercy  or  delay,  is  to 
carry  suggestio  falsi  to  the  verge  of 
positive  misstatement  of  fact.  A  man 
who  "  will  not  hear "  of  mercy  must 
be  a  man  who  has  been  solicited  to 
extend  mercy.  No  such  solicitation 
had  been  addressed  to  the  Court  from 
any  quarter.  A  man  who  will  not 
hear  of  delay  in  the  execution  of  a 
capital  sentence,  must  be  a  man  who 
has  been  urged  to  respite  a  prisoner 
and  who  has  nevertheless  hurried  him 
to  his  death  with  indecent  haste.  No 
petition  or  application  in  any  form  was 
made  to  the  Court,  as  has  been  said,  for 
a  reprieve.  As  to  haste,  the  sentence 
was  passed  on  the  24th  of  June,  the 
prisoner  was  executed  on  the  5th  of 
August.  That  Nuncomar  was,  in  the 
lawyer's  sense  of  the  word,  "  well " 
convicted,  sentenced  and  hanged,  is, 
indeed,  open  to  doubt ;  as  Sir  Jarues 
Stephen  candidly  admits,  though  he 
himself  seems  to  lean  slightly  to  the 
opinion  that  the  conviction  -was  good. 
The  question  as  to  whether  the  statute 
under  which  Nuncomar  was  tried — the 
Act  of  George  II.  making  forgery 
capital — was  "  a  part  of  that  part  of 
the  English  law  "  which  was  in  force 
in  Calcutta  in  1775,  is  of  too  much 
technicality  and  intricacy  to  be  entered 
upon  here,  and  as  between  Macaulay 
and  Impey  the  question  does  not 
arise.  For  it  is  quite  certain  that 
the  point  upon  which  alone  the  pro- 
ceedings could  have  been  invalidated 
was  never  formally  raised  at  the 
trial.  "There  is  not,"  says  Sir  James 
Stephen,  "the  smallest  trace  in  any 
part  of  the  argument  on  this  subject, 


or  in  any  of  the  speeches  on  the 
impeachment  of  Impey,  that  any  one 
took  the  point  about  the  date  at  which 
English  law  was  introduced  into  Cal- 
cutta." The  doubt  momentarily,  but 
only  momentarily,  expressed  by  Mr. 
Justice  Chambers  was  simply  "as  to 
the  suitability  of  the  English  law  of 
forgery  for  Calcutta."  Consequently, 
whether  the  trial  was  or  was  not  bad 
in  law,  there  is  no  pretence  for  saying 
that  Impey  and  his  brethren  acted 
otherwise  than  in  good  faith. 

The  trial  of  Nuncomar,  however,  is, 
as  is  well  known,  only  one  count  in 
Macaulay's  tremendous  indictment 
against  Sir  Elijah  Impey.  He  also 
violently  attacks  his  conduct  with 
regard  to  the  alleged  undue  extension 
of  the  jurisdiction  of  the  Supreme 
Court.  Here  Macaulay's  case  against 
the  Chief  Justice  stood  in  less  need  of 
the  assistance  of  actual  misrepresenta- 
tion, and,  except  in  the  wholly  per- 
verted description  of  the  merits  of  the 
quarrel  between  the  Court  and  the 
Council,  mere  exaggeration  serves  the 
great  rhetorician's  turn.  There  was 
in  reality,  of  course,  no  attempt  on 
the  part  of  the  judges  to  "  draw 
to  themselves  supreme  authority,  not 
only  within  Calcutta,  but  through 
the  whole  of  the  great  territory 
subject  to  the  presidency  of  Fort 
William."  It  was  common  ground 
between  the  Executive  and  the  Judici- 
ary that  beyond  the  limits  of  Calcutta 
no  native  not  in  the  employment, 
direct  or  indirect,  of  the  East  India 
Company  was  subject  to  the  jurisdic- 
tion of  the  Court.  The  sole  question 
in  dispute  was  whether  any  native 
claiming  exemption  from  its  authority 
was  or  was  not  entitled  to  decide  for 
himself  upon  the  validity  of  that 
claim,  and — instead  of  appearing  in 
answer  to  the  summons  of  the  Court 
to  plead  to  the  jurisdiction— to  ignore 
and  contemn  the  process  altogether. 
The  affirmative  of  this  proposition  was 
maintained  by  the  Council,  the  nega- 
tive by  the  Court,  and  whatever  may 
have  been  the  political  inexpediency 
or  inconvenience  of  their  insistence 


Macaulay  and  Sir  Elijah  Impey. 


431 


on   their    opinion,    it    is    difficult    to 
contend  that  any  judicial  body  could, 
consistently   with    their    duty,    have 
taken  any  other  view  of  their  rights. 
The  results  of  the  quarrel,  however,  as 
illustrated  in  the  persons  of  the  natives 
of  India,  have,  as  is  well  known,  been 
depicted    by   Macaulay   in    his    most 
lurid  colours.     The  famous  passage  in 
the  essay  on  Warren  Hastings  com- 
mencing  with    "  A   reign    of    terror 
began,  of  terror  heightened  by  mys- 
tery," and  closing  with  the  monstrous 
assertion   that    "all   the  injustice  of 
former  oppressors,  Asiatic  and  Euro- 
pean,  appeared   as   a    blessing   when 
compared    with    the    justice    of    the 
Supreme  Court,"   is  a  truly  marvel- 
lous example  of  disproportion  between 
amount   of    material   and   height    of 
scenic   effect.     A  comparison   of  the 
sensational  periods  of  Macaulay  with 
Sir   James   Stephen's   cold   and   bare 
enumeration  of  the  few  facts  which 
have  sufficed  to  furnish  forth  this  feast 
of  horrors  is  almost  too  much  for  a 
reader's   gravity.      "There    were    in- 
stances,"  said  Macaulay,   "in   which 
men  of  the  most   venerable   dignity, 
persecuted  without  a  cause  by  extor- 
tioners, died  of  rage  and  shame  in  the 
grasp    of    the    alguazils    of   Impey." 
This  is  the  essayist's  way  of  recording 
the   fact  that    a   cazi,    a   native   law 
officer,  who  had  been  sued  for  gross 
oppression     and     corruption     in     the 
Supreme  Court,  and  judgment  given 
against  him,  died  on  board  a  boat  on 
the  Ganges  while  being  conveyed  to 
Calcutta  in  execution  of  the  judgment. 
' 'The  vile  alguazils  of  Impey"  were 
not  officers  of  the  Supreme  Court  at 
all ;  they  were  a  guard  of  sepoys  set 
over  him  by  the    provincial   council, 
which   had   given    bail   for  him,   and 
with  special    directions  to    treat  him 
as  kindly  as  might  be.     "  There  were 
instances"  in  which  "noble  Moham- 
medans shed  their  blood  in  the  door- 
way  of  the   harem   while   defending, 
sword  in  hand,  the  sacred  apartments 
of  their  women."    There  was,  it  seems, 
one  instance  in  which  a  Mohammedan 
of   some   rank   took  up  his  position, 


sword  in  hand,  before  the  door  of  a 
friend's  zenana.  "  He  shed  his  blood," 
but  not  in  defending  the  zenana,  which 
was  not  attacked,  but  in  a  fray  which 
took  place  in  another  part  of  the 
house.  There  were  two  other  cases  in 
which  a  zenana  was  either  forced  or 
reported  to  have  been  so,  and  in  one 
of  them  a  slave  girl  was  wounded ; 
and  it  is  on  the  strength  of  these 
three  cases  that  Macaulay  invites  his 
readers  to  imagine  "  what  the  state 
of  our  country  would  be  if  it  were 
enacted  that  any  man  by  merely 
swearing  that  a  debt  was  due  to  him 
should  acquire  a  right  to  insult  the 
persons  of  women  of  the  most  shrink- 
ing delicacy,"  and  "to  treat  ladies  in 
the  way  which  called  forth  the  blow 
of  Wat  Tyler." 

So  far,  however,  there  was,  even  in 
Macaulay's  theory  of  the  case,  no 
worse  charge  to  be  brought  against 
Impey  than  that  of  a  high-handed 
attempt  to  enforce  a  mistaken  view 
of  his  judicial  powers.  The  necessary 
touch  of  depravity  was  wanting  to  the 
picture,  and  Macaulay  adds  this  in 
his  singularly  unscrupulous  perver- 
sion of  the  circumstances  attending 
Impey's  appointment  as  judge  of  the 
Sudder  Diwani  Adalat — an  unsatis- 
factory transaction,  as  we  still  think, 
even  after  Sir  James  Stephen's  qualified 
defence  of  it,  but  utterly  unsusceptible 
of  the  colour  which  Macaulay  endea- 
vours to  put  upon  it.  This  appoint- 
ment is  described  by  him  in  terms 
which  distinctly  imply  that  it  was 
made  at  the  crisis  of  the  dispute  be- 
tween the  Court  and  the  Council,  and 
with  a  view  to  avoiding  a  physical 
collision  between  the  two.  According 
to  him  it  was  a  device  adopted  to  pre- 
vent the  necessity  of  an  appeal  to 
arms.  "  Hastings  was  seldom  at  a 
loss  for  an  expedient,  and  he  knew 
Impey  well.  The  expedient  in  this 
case  was  a  very  simple  one — neither 
more  nor  less  than  a  bribe.  Impey 
was  by  Act  of  Parliament  a  judge 
independent  of  the  Government  of 
Bengal,  and  entitled  to  a  salary  of 
8,OOOZ.  per  year.  Hastings  proposed 


432 


Macaulay  a'fid  Sir  Elijah  Impey. 


to  make  him  also  a  judge  of  the  Com- 
pany's service,  and  to  give  him  in  that 
capacity  about  8,000^.  a  year  more. 
It  was  understood  that  in  consequence 
of  this  new  salary  Impey  would  desist 
from  urging  the  high  pretensions  of 
his  Court.  If  he  did  urge  those  pre- 
tensions the  Government  could  at  a 
moment's  notice  eject  him  from  the 
office  which  had  been  created  for  him. 
The  bargain  was  struck ;  Bengal  was 
saved  ;  an  appeal  to  force  was  averted. 
The  Chief  Justice  was  rich,  quiet,  and 
infamous."  Who  would  suppose  from 
this  that  an  "  appeal  to  force  "  had  al- 
ready taken  place,  and  that  the  Coun- 
cil had  restrained  the  jurisdiction  of 
the  Court  by  military  violence ;  that 
sheriff's  officers  executing  the  process  of 
the  Court  had  been  taken  prisoners  by 
two  companies  of  sepoys  ;  that  natives 
had  been  informed  by  proclamation 
that  they  were  at  liberty  to  set  its 
orders  at  defiance ;  and  that  all  this 
had  taken  place  at  least  nine  months 
before  any  proposal  was  or  would  be 
made  to  Impey  ?  Such,  however,  are 
the  facts,  and  no  doubt  they  amply 
suffice  to  refute  the  particular  charge 
which  Macaulay  brings  against  the 
Chief  Justice,  which  is  in  substance 
a  charge  of  having  corruptly  waived 
the  claim  of  jurisdiction  previously 
advanced  by  him  on  behalf  of  the 
Supreme  Court  in  consideration  of  an 
appointment  to  another  highly  salaried 
judicial  office  under  the  East  India  Com- 
pany. But  whether  these  facts  entirely 
bear  out  Sir  James  Stephen's  larger 
contention  that  there  was  nothing  in 
the  nature  of  a  "  bargain  "  between 
Hastings  and  Impey  in  respect  of  this 
second  appointment,  we  venture,  with 
submission,  to  doubt.  We  do  not  at 
any  rate  see  our  way  to  his  apparent 
conclusion  that  this  appointment  stood 
in  no  consequential  relation  to  the 
previous  conflict  between  the  Supreme 
Court  and  the  Council.  Sir  James 
Stephen's  argument  on  this  point  is 
that  in  that  conflict  the  Council  had 
got  so  signally  the  best  of  it  that  they 
might  well  be  content  to  leave  matters 
as  they  stood.  They  had  succeeded  in 


effectually  restraining  the  judges  from 
enforcing  their  own  views  of  their 
jurisdiction ;  and  in  that  state  of 
things  "  it  is  difficult  to  see  what  the 
Court  had  to  give  for  which  it  was 
worth  the  Council's  while  to  offer  a 
bribe."  But  it  seems  to  us  that 
Hastings's  own  minute  of  September 
29,  1780,  shows  what  the  Court  "had 
to  give,"  and  also  at  the  same  time 
indicates  that  Hastings  thought  it  to 
be  something  worth  the  Council's  while 
to  purchase.  Among  his  reasons  for 
recommending  that  Impey  should  be 
requested  to  "  accept  of  the  charge  and 
superintendency  of  the  office  of  Sudder 
Diwani  Adalat  under  its  present 
regulations "  he  adduces  the  follow- 
ing :  "It  will  be  the  means  of  lessen- 
ing the  distance  between  the  Board 
and  the  Supreme  Court,  which  has 
perhaps,  been,  more  than  the  undefined 
powers  assumed  to  each,  the  cause  of 
the  want  of  that  accommodating 
temper  which  ought  to  have  influenced 
their  intercourse  with  each  other.  The 
contest  in  which  we  have  been  engaged 
with  the  Court  bore  at  one  time  so 
alarming  a  tendency  that  I  believe 
every  member  of  the  Board  foreboded 
the  most  dangerous  consequences  to 
the  peace  and  resources  of  the  Govern- 
ment from  them."  And  then  follows 
this  very  significant  passage  :  "  They 
are  at  present  composed,  but  we  can- 
not be  certain  that  the  calm  will  last 
beyond  the  actual  vacation,  since  the 
same  grounds  and  materials  of  dis- 
cussion subsist  and  the  revival  of  it 
at  a  time  like  this,  added  to  our 
other  troubles,  might,  if  carried  to 
extremities,  prove  fatal." 

Surely  these  observations  indicate 
that,  however  physically  complete  may 
have  been  the  victory  of  the  Executive 
over  the  Judicature,  it  was  not  regarded 
as  morally  satisfactory  by  the  chief  of 
the  Executive,  and  that  the  mere  possi- 
bility of  a  renewal  of  the  strife  was 
more  than  sufficient  to  qualify  the 
complacency  with  which  he  might 
otherwise  have  been  disposed  to  re- 
gard his  triumph.  "  Who,"  asks  Sir 
James  Stephen,  "  would  venture 


Macaulay  and  Sir  Elijah  Impey. 


433 


[after  the  course  taken  in  the  Cossi- 
iurah  cause]  to  sue  any  one  whom  the 
Council  had  taken  under  its  protection  1 
The  plaintiff  could  not  serve  his  writ. 
He  could  not  execute  his  judgment  if 
he  got  one."     It  is   clear   that    such 
il  priori  arguments  to  prove  the  im- 
possibility of  a  fresh  collision  between 
she   Court   and  the   Council  had    not 
convinced  Hastings,  or  he  would  not 
have  said  that  "  we  cannot  be  certain 
that  the  calm   will   last   beyond   the 
actual  vacation."    Evidently  he  feared 
that,  as  soon  as  the  Court  re-opened  for 
business,  suitors  would  be  found  to  set 
its  processes  in  motion  again,  as  Sir 
James  Stephen  thinks  no  one   would 
venture  to  do  ;  and  in  considering  his 
motives  to  action,  the  question  is  not 
whether  this  fear  was  reasonable,  but 
whether  it   existed.      His    language, 
already  cited,  seems  to  us  to  indicate 
plainly  that  it  did  exist,  and  what  fol- 
lows makes  his  meaning,  we  think,  un- 
mistakable ;  "  The  proposition   which 
I  have  submitted  to  the  Board  may, 
nor    have    I   any  doubt  that  it  will, 
prove    an    instrument    of   conciliation 
with  the  Court ;  and  it  will  preclude 
the  necessity"    [that   is,   will   relieve 
the  Court  of  the  necessity]  "  of  assum- 
ing   a    jurisdiction    over    persons    ex- 
empted   by   our   construction    of   the 
Act  of  Parliament."     Surely  the  Go- 
vernor-General must   be   here  under- 
stood   as    saying     in     effect     to    his 
colleagues  :   "  It  is  a  matter  of   high 
public    importance     to     prevent     the 
renewal   of  the  struggle  between  the 
Supreme  Court  and  the  Executive.    It 
is  true  that  we  have  had,  and  should 
again  have,  physically  the  best  of  that 
struggle  ;  but  what  then  1    We  cannot 
be  always  sending  companies  of  sepoys 
to    make   prisoners   of    sheriff's.     We 
should  endeavour,  if  possible,  to  avert 
a  fresh  collision ;   but  so  long  as  the 
Supreme  Court  is  known  to  insist  on 
its  present  views  of  its  jurisdiction, 
we  cannot  prevent  suitors  aggrieved 
by  the  action  of  the  inferior  tribunals 
from  having   recourse  to  its  process, 
nor  can  we  prevent  the  Court  itself 
from  bringing  about  a  fresh  collision 
No.  312.— VOL.  LIT. 


by   an  attempt  to  put  its  process  in 
force.     We  can,  however,  largely  re- 
duce, if  not  altogether  extinguish,  the 
risk    of   this    by  giving   to   the  Chief 
Justice  of  the  Supreme  Court  an  ap- 
pellate jurisdiction  over  these  inferior 
tribunals.     We  may  then  expect  that 
suitors  aggrieved   by   their    decisions 
will    cease     from     resorting     to    the 
Supreme   Court,  and   will  take   their 
cases  before  the  chief  of  that  court, 
sitting  in  his  capacity  as  judge  of  the 
Sudder  Diwani  Adalat."     That  these 
were  Hastings's  main  motives  for  the 
appointment     is,     moreover,     to      be 
gathered    from    the    very    objections 
raised    to    it    by    Francis.       Francis 
argued  that  it  would  be  everywhere 
understood  by  the  natives  as  a  "  re- 
instatement    of     the    Court     in     the 
exercise  of  the  jurisdiction  which  it 
had  claimed,"    even   if   they  did   not 
draw  the  inference  that  "  some  greater 
evil  was  to  befall  them."     He  further 
urged    that    the   appointment    would 
place  the   Chief  Justice  in  an  incon- 
sistent  position ;    as    "he   might   do 
some  act  as  judge  of  the  Diwani  Court 
which  would  subject  him  to  an  action 
before  the  Supreme  Court,  or  he  might, 
as  Chief  Justice  of  the  Supreme  Court, 
be  called  on  to  issue  a  habeas  corpus 
for  the  release  of  some  one  whom  he 
had  committed  as  judge  of  the  Diwani 
Court."     That    in   the   face   of   these 
objections  the  appointment  was  never- 
theless   made,  appears    to   us    a  good 
reason  for  concluding  that  Hastings 
succeeded    in  convincing   the  Council 
that,  though  formidable  in  theory,  they 
would  not  be  likely  to  arise  in  prac- 
tice ;  and  as  no  one  but  Impey  could 
have    previously   convinced   Hastings 
himself     of     this,    there    must    have 
been    something    like    a    "  bargain " 
between    the   two  men.     Even   so   it 
would    be   hard   to   call  it  a  corrupt 
bargain,  though  it  might  be  one  which 
a   man   of    more   scrupulous    delicacy 
of  principle  than  Impey  would  have 
hesitated  to  engage  in.     It   was  cer- 
tainly far  from  being  the  profoundly 
immoral     compact     which     Macaulay 
represents   it   as    being.      Impey    did 


434 


Macaulay  and  Sir  JElijah  Impey. 


not  sell  the  jurisdiction  of  the  Supreme 
Court  for  the  emoluments  of  a  judge 
of  appeal  over  the  inferior  tribunals ; 
on  the  contrary,  he  may  rather  be 
said  to  have  purchased  the  control  of 
those  tribunals  by  his  consent  to 
render  the  services  of  a  judge  of  appeal. 
It  was  not  "  understood  that  in  con- 
sideration of  this  new  salary  Impey 
would  desist  from  urging  the  high 
pretensions  of  his  Court."  The  pre- 
tensions remained  exactly  where  they 
were;  and  if  it  was  understood  that 
for  the  consideration  aforesaid  Impey 
should  do  his  best  to  prevent  the 
occurrence  of  any  necessity  for  assert- 
ing them,  that  is  an  altogether  different 
and  obviously  a  much  less  reprehensi- 
ble arrangement. 

Admirably  as  Sir  James  Stephen 
has  executed  his  self-appointed  task, 
his  final  review  of  its  value  is  curiously 
desponding.  A  belief  in  the  infamies 
ascribed  to  Impey  has  become,  he  com- 
plains, through  Burke  and  Fox,  a  "part 
of  the  Whig  tradition,  and  has  thus 
found  its  way  into  the  only  writings 
upon  Indian  subjects  which  have  ever 
been  popular — as  regards  Hastings, 
with  considerable  modification,  but  as 
regards  Impey  in  a  compact,  condensed 
form  which  has  irretrievably  damned 
his  memory.  I  am  sorry  for  him.  I 
believe  him  to  have  been  quite  inno- 
cent ;  but  this  book  will  be  read  by 
hardly  any  one,  and  Macaulay's  para- 
graphs will  be  read  with  delighted 
conviction  by  several  generations. 
So  long  as  he  is  remembered  at  all, 
poor  Impey  will  stand  in  a  posthumous 
pillory  as  a  corrupt  judge  and  a 'judicial 
murderer.  "  This  is  rather  a  sad  modern 
variant  of  magna  est  veritas  et  prcevale- 
bit.  Let  us  hope  it  is  not  the  true 
reading,  and  all  the  more  because,  if  it 
should  be  so,  or  if  Sir  James  Stephen 
should  be  confirmed  in  thinking  it 


so,  the   literary  public   are  likely   to 
be  deprived  of  a  study  of  even  higher 
interest  than  that  which  he  has  just 
given  us.      For  these  volumes  on  the 
story  of  Nuncomar  and  the  impeach- 
ment of  Sir  Elijah  Impey  are,  so  to 
speak,  but  chips  from  their  author's 
workshop.     He  had  resolved  to  give 
an    account    of    the  impeachment   of 
Warren    Hastings,     but     found    the 
materials  so  voluminous,  and  the  sub- 
ject so  intricate   that    he    began    to* 
doubt,    he   says,    "  whether  I   should 
be  able  to  finish  it  in  any  reasonable 
time,  and  whether,  if  I  did,  the  public 
would  care  enough  about  it  to  read 
what  I  might  write."     He  decided  ac- 
cordingly to  make  the  experiment  of 
giving  an  account  of  one  branch  of  the 
subject — -the  story  of  Nuncomar ;  con- 
ceiving that    "  the  degree  of  the  in- 
terest which  may  be  felt  in  the  smaller 
subject  will  be  some  index  to  the  in- 
terest likely  to  be  felt  in  the  larger 
one,  of  which   it  forms  a  part."     We 
are  not  ourselves  clear  that  the  test  is 
quite  a  safe  one,  and  incline  to  think 
that  the  interest  felt  in  the  smaller 
subject   may,    just   because  it  is    the 
smaller    one,   be   no    accurate   index 
to  the  interest  likely  to  be  felt  in  the 
larger.      Certainly    it   can    hardly  be 
said  that  the  name  of   Elijah  Impey 
conveys    a    definite  idea   to  anything 
like  as  many  minds  as  would  be  reached 
by    the   name    of    Warren   Hastings. 
And  it  would  certainly  be  a  matter 
of  serious  regret   if  any  erroneous  in- 
ference as  to  its  chances  of  popularity 
were  to  deprive  us  of  the  promised  re- 
view of  so  deeply  interesting  a  chapter 
of   English  and   Indian  history  from 
the  hand  of  the  man  whom  a  rare  com- 
bination of  legal  learning,  adrninistra 
tive    experience,    and    literary   power 
has  so  exceptionally  qualified  to  write 
it. 


435 


WAS  GIORDANO  BRUNO  REALLY  BURNED? 


IN  the  month  of  January,  1593, 
Giordano  Bruno,  then  a  prisoner  in 
the  Inquisition  of  Venice,  charged 
with  heresy  and  apostasy,  was  handed 
over,  with  the  sanction  of  the  govern- 
ment, to  the  Papal  Nuncio,  in  order 
that  he  might  be  sent  to  Rome  to  be 
dealt  with  by  the  Inquisition  there. 
From  this  time  he  completely  disappears 
from  view,  unless  we  accept  the  state- 
ment, which  has  been  generally  be- 
lieved, that  he  was  burned  alive  at 
Rome  seven  years  later.  About  the 
year  1620,  there  first  appeared  in 
print  a  letter,  purporting  to  be  writ- 
ten from  Rome  by  Gaspar  Schoppe,  or 
Scioppius,  on  the  17th  of  February, 
1600,  to  Conrad  Rittershusius,  pro- 
fessor of  law  at  Altdorf,  giving  a 
detailed  account  of  the  trial  of  Bruno 
by  the  Inquisition,  and  of  his  burning, 
which,  as  the  writer  alleged,  had  oc- 
curred that  day,  and  at  which  he  was 
present.  In  this  letter,  after  giving 
an  account  of  the  life,  the  travels,  and 
the  heretical  opinions  of  Bruno,  the 
writer  continues : — 

"Finally,  at  Venice,  lie  fell  into  the  hands 
of  the  Inquisition,  and  after  being  retained 
there  for  some  time  he  was  sent  to  Rome.  In- 
terrogated on  many  occasions  by  the  Holy 
Office,  and  confuted  by  eminent  theologians, 
forty  days  were  given  him  to  reflect ;  he  pro- 
mised to  abjure  his  errors,  then  he  commenced 
again  to  maintain  them,  then  he  demanded 
another  delay  of  forty  days.  In  fact  he 
thought  only  of  playing  with  the  Inquisition 
and  the  Pope.  Accordingly,  on  the  9th  of 
February  last,  about  two  years  after  his 
arrest,  in  the  palace  of  the  Grand  Inquisitor, 
and  in  the  presence  of  three  illustrious 
cardinals,  of  the  theologians  who  had 
been  consulted,  and  of  the  secular  magis- 
trates, Bruno  was  introduced  into  the  Hall 
of  the  Inquisition,  and  there,  on  his  knees, 
heard  the  sentence  pronounced  against  him. 
It  set  forth  at  length  his  life,  studies,  opinions, 
the  zeal  which  the  Inquisition  had  displayed 
in  trying  to  convert  him,  and  the  obstinate 
impiety  of  which  he  had  given  proof.  Finally 
he  was  degraded,  excommunicated,  and  de- 
livered to  the  secular  magistrates  with  the 


prayer  that  he  should  be  punished  with  as 
much  clemency  as  possible  and  without  the 
shedding  of  blood.  To  all  this  Bruno  only 
replied  with  a  threatening  air  :  '  The  sentence 
you  pronounce,  perhaps  troubles  you  more  at 
this  moment  than  it  does  me.'  The  guards 
of  the  governor  then  conveyed  him  to  prison. 
There  another  effort  was  made  to  induce  him 
to  abjure  his  errors,  but  in  vain.  To-day  then 
he  was  led  to  the  stake.  "When  the  image  of 
the  Crucified  Saviour  was  shown  to  him  he 
repelled  it  with  disdain,  and  with  a  savage 
air.  The  wretch  died  in  the  middle  of  the 
flames,  and  I  have  no  doubt  that  he  has  gone 
to  relate  in  those  other  worlds  which  he  had 
imagined,  how  the  Romans  are  accustomed  to 
treat  the  blasphemers  and  the  impious.  You 
see,  my  dear  friend,  in  what  manner  we  pro- 
ceed here  against  this  species  of  men,  or 
rather  of  monsters." 

Ever  since  the  appearance  of  this 
letter  in  print,  it  has  been  all  but 
universally  admitted  to  be  genuine, 
and  though  doubts  have  been  occasion- 
ally expressed,  no  serious  attempt  has 
been  made  until  recently  to  impugn 
its  substantial  accuracy  or  its  authen- 
ticity. Certainly  after  being  handed 
over  to  the  Roman  Inquisition  Bruno 
entirely  disappears  from  view,  and 
unless  he  was  burned,  as  the  letter 
relates,  his  fate  is  an  entire  mystery. 

M.  Desdouits,  Professor  of  Philo- 
sophy at  the  Lycee  of  Versailles,  the 
writer  of  several  philosophical  treatises 
which  have  brought  to  their  author  a 
considerable  reputation — two  of  them, 
on  Metaphysics,  and  the  Philosophy  of 
Kant,  having  been  crowned  by  the 
French  Institute — has  lately  published 
a  pamphlet  of  27  pp.,  the  title  of 
which  sufficiently  indicates  its  object 
and  the  motive  of  its  argument — La 
Legende  tragique  de  Jordano  Bruno — 
comment  elle  a  ete  forme — son  origins 
suspecte — et  son  invraisemblance. 

To  treat  the  burning  of  Bruno  as  a 
legend  resting  on  no  solid  foundation 
of  fact,  but  invented  by  a  Protestant 
propagandist,  with  a  view  of  throwing 
discredit  on  the  Church  of  Rome  gene- 
F  F  2 


436 


Was  Giordano  Bruno  Really  Burned? 


rally  and  the  Roman  Inquisition  in 
particular,  requires  at  least  some  bold- 
ness, and  to  support  this  theory  with 
arguments  of  so  much  plausibility  and 
ingenuity  as  to  induce  the  editor  of  a 
journal  of  great  influence  and  deserved 
reputation,  the  Manchester  Guardian, 
besides  several  French  periodicals,  to 
reproduce  them  without  a  word  of 
dissent,  but  with  an  evident  opinion 
that  they  are  well  grounded,  makes  it 
expedient,  in  the  interests  of  historical 
truth,  to  inquire  whether  the  theory 
rests  on  any  solid  foundation,  and  to 
state  for  the  first  time  (at  least  in 
English)  the  evidence  which  exists  on 
the  subject. 

According  to  M.  Desdouits,  the  sole 
piece  of  evidence  on  which  the  burning 
of  Bruno  rests,  is  the  letter  to  which  I 
have  referred,  purporting  to  be  written 
by  Scioppius.  It  was  first  printed  (in 
Germany)  in  or  about  1620,  at  the  end 
of  an  extremely  rare  pseudonymous 
tract,  which  bears  the  title  Machia- 
vellizatio.1  No  writer,  according  to  the 
belief  of  M.  Desdouits  when  he  printed 
his  paper,  quoted  this  letter,  or  had  any 
knowledge  either  of  the  Machiavel- 
lizatio  or  the  fate  of  Bruno,  until 
J.  H.  Ursin  referred  to  it  in  1661,  in 
the  preface  to  his  Commentaries  on 
Zoroaster.  But  in  a  supplement  M. 
Desdouits  tells  us  that  a  friend  has 
called  his  attention  to  a  line  of  Mer- 
senne,  who,  in  his  Impiete  des  Deistes, 
printed  in  1624,  speaks  of  Bruno  as 
"  un  athee  brUle  en  Italie."  (This 
shows  that  M.  Desdouits  has  not  even 


1  Of  the  many  writers  who  have  quoted  this 
book  I  cannot  think  that  any  of  them  have 
seen  it,  except  Ursin,  Toland,  C.  A.  Salig, 
and,  perhaps,  Vogt.  Brucker  is  the  authority 
from  whom  M.  Desdouits  and  most  writers 
for  the  last  century  and  a  half  have  taken  its 
title.  But  I  am  satisfied  that  Brucker  merely 
derived  his  knowledge  of  it  from  Ursin  and 
Toland.  A  reprint  (or  possibly  the  original) 
of  the  first  part  of  the  tract  is  in  the  British 
Museum,  but  unfortunately  it  does  not  con- 
tain the  letter  of  Scioppius.  The  only  writer 
who  gives  what  seems  to  me  to  be  the  com- 
plete or  accurate  title  is  Vogt  in  his  Cat.  Lib. 
Rar.  (Hamburg,  1747).  It  would  be  interest- 
ing to  ascertain  where  a  copy  containing  the 
letter  of  Scioppius  is  to  be  found. 


read  Bayle's  article  on  Bruno,  to  which 
nevertheless  he  often  refers,  for  Bayle 
cites  this  very  line  of  Mersenne.) 
Nicodemo,  in  his  Addizioni  alle  Bibli- 
oteca  Napoletana,  1683,  quotes  Ursin, 
but  only  to  throw  doubts  on  the  state- 
ment of  Scioppius,  and  it  was  not 
until  1701  that  the  letter  of  Sciop- 
pius was  really  made  known  to  the 
world,  having  been  reprinted  in 
full  by  Struvius,  in  his  Acta 
Litter  aria.  "  It  is  from  that  date,  and 
from  that  work,"  says  M.  Desdouits, 
"  that  the  tradition  of  the  punishment 
of  Bruno,  up  to  that  time  uncertain 
and  nebulous,  takes  consistence  and 
reaches  its  full  development."  In  1726, 
Haym,  in  his  Notizia  dei  Libri  rari 
nella  Ling.  ItaL,  expressed  an  opinion 
that  Bruno  was  only  burned  in  effigy ; 
and  before  this  time,  Bayle  had  cited 
Nicodemo,  and  had  seemingly  shared 
his  doubts. 

"  There  are  two  grave  reasons  against  the 
authenticity  of  the  letter  of  Scioppius  ;  first, 
it  has  been  found  in  mysterious  circumstances 
which  do  not  allow  us  to  mount  to  its  origin  ; 
secondly,  it  contains  many  passages  which  it 
is  difficult  to  attribute  to  a  friend  of  the  Court 
of  Rome.  Printed  first  in  this  obscure  and 
unknown  book,  Machiavellizatio,  where  it  was 
discovered  seventy-five  years  later  by  Struvius, 
there  is  no  sort -of  external  evidence  that  it  was 
written  by  Scioppius,  while  the  internal  evi- 
dence from  the  letter  itself  is  altogether  the 
other  way.  That  the  style  is  in  harmony  with 
that  of  Scioppius  is  no  proof  of  its  authenticity, 
for  a  clever  forger  would  take  care  that  no 
suspicion  on  that  score  could  arise.  But  in 
other  respects  it  is  not  such  a  letter  as  Scioppius 
would  be  expected  to  write.  Why  does  he  re- 
late to  Rittershusius  in  detail  the  life  and  ad- 
ventures of  Bruno  during  the  last  eighteen 
years,  as  if  Rittershusius  would  not  be  well  ac- 
quainted with  them  ?  It  is  clear  that  this  is  put 
in,  in  order  that  the  tissue  of  falsehoods  with 
which  the  letter  concludes  might  be  preceded 
by  the  accurate  recital  of  facts.  But  in  the 
year  1600,  Scioppius  was  entirely  devoted  to 
the  Church  of  Rome,  which  it  was  only  two 
years  since  he  had  formally  joined.  All  his 
writings  at  this  time  show  a  great  zeal  for 
orthodoxy.  How  improbable,  then,  that  in  a 
letter  written  to  the  Protestant  Rittershusius 
to  justify  the  Church  of  Rome  from  the  re- 
proach of  cruelty  he  would  add  to  the 
aggravating  circumstances,  calumnies  of  a 
nature  to  augment  the  fury  of  the  Lutherans 
against  the  Church  of  Rome.  But,  in  fact, 
the  letter  contains  one  manifest  falsehood  and 
atrocious  calumny.  '  Bruno, '  says  the  letter, 


Was  Giordano  Bruno  Really  Burned  ? 


437 


"will  be  able  to  relate  in  other  worlds,  how 
the  Romans  are  accustomed  to  treat  the  blas- 
phemers and  the  impious. '  Would  any  friend 
of  the  Church  of  Rome  have  written  the 
words  '  are  accustomed  ? '  for  every  one  knows 
that  it  is  a  falsehood  ;  every  one  knows  that 
the  rigours  which  were  habitual  in  other 
countries  in  Europe,  were  not  habitual  at 
Rome.  No  doubt  plenty  of  victims  will  be 
found  in  Spain,  in  England,  and  in  France, 
but  at  Rome  how  many  can  be  discovered  ? 
What  were  the  rigours  of  the  ecclesiastical 
authority  when  one  compares  them  with  the 
lay  tribunals  ?  It  is  clear  that  the  letter  is 
not  that  of  a  friend  of  the  Church,  it  is  prob- 
ably the  work  of  a  German  Lutheran,  and  this 
explains  the  impossibility  of  discovering  its 
origin,  and  it  seems  probable  that  some  details 
of  the  letter  were  borrowed  from  the  account 
given  by  the  President  de  Grammond  in  1619, 
of  the  punishment  of  Vanini.  Turning  from 
the  letter  itself,  the  punishment  of  Bruno  is, 
a  priori,  improbable  ;  the  absolute  silence  of 
contemporaries  is  inexplicable  ;  if  Bruno  were 
really  burnt  publicly  at  Rome,  where  the  spec- 
tacle of  burning  at  the  stake  was  unusual,  any 
such  punishment  would  be  sure  to  be  noticed, 
especially  when  the  victim  was  one  of  the  most 
illustrious  philosophers  in  Europe,  the  most  re- 
doubtableenemy  of  the  Papacy  and  the  Christian 
faith.  When  nineteen  years  later  Vanini  was 
executed  at  Toulouse,  the  attention  of  the  whole 
literary  world  was  drawn  to  it,  but  no  contem- 
porary makes  the  least  mention  of  the  tragical 
death  of  Bruno.  The  absolute  silence  of  the 
ambassadors  of  Venice  in  their  despatches  to 
their  government,  is  alone  an  irrefutable  argu- 
ment against  the  punishment  of  Bruno,  nor  is 
the  absence  of  any  official  record  of  Ms  trial  and 
execution  at  Rome  less  important  or  less  decisive. 
The  probability  is  then  that  he  finished  his 
life  at  Rome  in  a  convent  of  his  order.  No- 
thing proves  that  Giordano  Bruno  was  burnt 
at  Rome,  and  the  hypothesis  of  his  punish- 
ment is  not  only  uncertain  but  improbable 
(inmaisemblable). " 

Such,  in  a  somewhat  abbreviated 
form,  are  the  arguments  of  M.  Des- 
douits,  and  they  are  maintained  with 
much  ingenuity  and  ability.  Taken 
by  themselves  they  seem  to  be,  if  not 
absolutely  conclusive,  at  least  highly 
probable,  and  to  deserve  the  detailed 
examination  which  I  proceed  to  give 
them.  And  first  of  the  letter  of 
Scioppius.  The  Machiavellizatio  is  cer- 
tainly now  very  scarce,  but  it  was  a 
well-known  book  for  some  time  after 
its  appearance.  It  had  the  honour  to 
be  placed  in  the  Index.  At  least  two 
answers  were  given  to  it  within  a  year 
after  its  appearance — one  by  no  less 


a  person  than  Balasti,  Bishop  of 
Bosnia — and  an  account  of  it  is 
given  by  Salig,  in  his  History  of  the 
Augsburg  Confession.  Now,  as  the 
book  was  printed,  at  the  latest,  in 
1621,  it  is  strange  if  it  never  came  to 
the  knowledge  of  Scioppius,  who  lived 
until  1649,  and  it  is  quite  certain 
that  if  he  had  learned  that  a  forged 
letter  purporting  to  have  been  written 
by  him  was  contained  in  the  Machia- 
vellizatio, or  in  any  book,  the  world 
would  very  soon  have  heard  his  loud 
and  furious  complaints.  But  that 
Struvius  dug  the  letter  out  of  the 
Machiavellizatio,  as  stated  by  M. 
Desdouits,  is  incorrect.  Had  he  re- 
ferred to  the  book  of  Struvius,  in- 
stead of  merely  deriving  his  knowledge 
of  it  from  Brucker,  or  some  other 
secondhand  source,  he  would  have 
known  that  the  letter  was  communi- 
cated in  manuscript  to  Struvius  by 
Gottlieb  Krantz,  a  professor  of  Breslau, 
and  it  is  clear  that  both  of  them  be- 
lieved it  to  be  unpublished. 

M.    Desdouits     inquires     why    the 
author  of    this    forged    letter   should 
have  attributed   it  to  Scioppius,   and 
addressed  it  to  Rittershusius,  and  he 
replies  that  it  was  necessary  that  it 
should  take  the  name  of  some  writer 
who  was  at  Rome  at  the  date  of  the 
pretended  burning,  that  Scioppius  was 
the  best  known  of  those  then  residing 
there,    and    that    as    he    had    himself 
written  and  printed,  in  1599,  an  epistle 
to  Rittershusius,  this   suggested    the 
name  of  the  person  to  whom  the  letter 
was     to     be     addressed.       But      M. 
Desdouits  seems  to  be  ignorant  that 
Scioppius  was  at  this  very  time  in  close 
correspondence  with  Rittershusius,  and 
that   Struvius    published  in  his  Acta 
Litteraria  from  the  original  a  .tograph, 
nine  other  letters  from    Scioppius  to 
the  Altdorf  professor.     All  these  were 
written  between  January,    1599,  and 
February,    1600,    and    the    letter   of 
February  17,    1600,  not  only  contains 
the    long   account    of  Bruno  and  his 
execution,   but  also  much   matter    of 
general  literary  interest,  precisely  of 
the  same  character  as  the  earlier  letters, 


438 


Was  Giordano  Bruno  Really  Burned  ? 


to  which  it  forms  a  consistent  sequel. 
The  same  persons,  the  same  books,  the 
same  subjects  are  spoken  of.  The 
Vatican  manuscript  of  Sulpicius 
Severus,  which  was  being  copied  for 
Rittershusius  under  the  directions  of 
Scioppius,  is  referred  to  in  the  letter  of 
the  17th  of  February  just  as  we  should 
expect  from  the  mention  of  it  in  the 
previous  letter  of  the  29th  of  January. 
But  when  Struvius  published  the  letter 
of  the  17th  of  February,  he  was  not 
acquainted  with  the  existence  of  the 
nine  other  letters,  which  he  only 
printed  sixteen  years  later  in  the  fifth 
part  of  his  second  volume.  If,  there- 
fore, the  letter  in  question  is  a  forgery, 
the  forger  must  have  had  before  him 
these  earlier  letters  which  remained 
unknown  for  a  century  after  the  pub- 
lication of  the  Machiavellizatio.  But 
among  the  letters  first  printed  in  1717 
is  the  angry  letter  of  Rittershusius 
renouncing  the  friendship  of  Scioppius 
and  declining  all  further  intercourse. 
This  letter,  written  on  the  14th  of 
February,  1600,  must  have  crossed 
Scioppius's  letter  of  the  17th,  and 
thenceforward  all  intercourse  between 
the  two  men  absolutely  ceased.  If, 
therefore,  the  (Bruno)  letter  is  a  for- 
gery, the  forger  must  have  accidentally 
hit  upon  the  very  latest  date  at 
which  it  was  possible  for  Scioppius  to 
write  to  Rittershusius  in  friendly 
terms,  or  he  must  have  been  acquainted 
with  this  letter  of  Rittershusius  which 
was  not  printed  until  a  century  after- 
wards, and  he  must  have  fixed  the 
date  of  the  burning,  so  as  to  harmo- 
nise with  it. 

Next  as  to  the  tone  of  the  letter 
itself.  Is  it  the  kind  of  letter  likely 
to  have  been  written  by  a  friend  of 
the  Church  of  Rome  to  a  Protestant, 
or  is  it  clearly  the  work  of  an  enemy  ? 
(I  pass  over  M.  Desdouits'  indignant 
comments  on  the  words  "  are  accus- 
tomed," for  I  have  been  unable  to  find 
a  complete  list  of  the  heretics  burned 
at  Rome  from  1580  to  1620,  but 
certainly,  though  they  were  not  so 
numerous  as  in  Spain,  they  were  not 
so  rare  at  Rome  as  to  cause  much 


sensation  when  they  occurred.)  Sciop- 
pius, it  must  be  remembered,  was  at 
this  time  a  recent  convert,  and  what- 
ever the  motives  of  his  conversion,  he 
was  at  least  full  of  that  ardour  for 
his  new  faith,  which  neophytes  pro- 
verbially display,  and  he  was  certainly 
desirous  of  commending  it  in  every 
way  possible,  to  one  who  had  long 
been,  and  whom  he  was  most  anxious 
to  retain  as  his  most  intimate  friend. 
Scioppius  commences  by  saying  that 
if  his  correspondent  were  then  at 
Rome,  he  would  no  doubt  hear  *it 
commonly  reported  that  a  Lutheran 
had  been  burned,  and  would  thus  be 
confirmed  in  his  opinion  of  the  cruelty 
of  the  Roman  church.  For  the  com- 
mon people  in  Italy  did  not  distinguish 
between  Lutherans  and  other  heretics, 
calling  every  kind  of  heresy  Luther- 
anism,  "  but  in  fact,"  he  continues, 
"  neither  Lutherans  nor  Calvinists  are 
in  the  slightest  danger  at  Rome,  on 
the  contrary  the  Pope  has  given  direc- 
tions that  they  should  be  treated  with 
extraordinary  attention  and  civility, 
and  nothing  is  attempted  against 
them ;  they  are  only  exhorted  to 
investigate  the  truth."  Then 
he  proceeds  to  give  the  history  of 
Bruno  and  his  doctrines,  showing  that 
there  was  hardly  any  heresy,  old  or 
new,  which  the  philosopher  did  not 
hold,  and  he  is  evidently  quite  satis- 
fied that  Rittershusius  would  agree 
with  him  that  the  punishment  was 
entirely  justifiable.  He  adds,  in  a 
very  different  tone  from  that  which 
he  used  of  the  same  eminent  person  a 
dozen  years  later,  that  Casaubon  was 
setting  an  excellent  example  (it  was 
then  rumoured  that  the  great  scholar 
was  about  to  join  the  Church  of  Rome), 
and  he  prays  that  his  correspondent 
may  follow  the  same  course. 

The  tone  of  the  letter  is  exactly 
what  we  should  expect  from  a  friend 
and  adherent  of  the  Church  of  Rome. 
Romanists,  Lutherans,  Calvinists,  and 
Anglicans,  differing  upon  almost  every 
other  doctrine  were  all  agreed  upon 
this  one,  that  it  was  a  Christian  duty 
to  burn  atheists  and  heretics.  The 


Was  Giordano  Bruno  'Eeally  Burned  ? 


439 


only  point  as  to  which  they  differed 
was  the  definition  of  heresy.  It  was 
less  than  half  a  century  since  Calvin 
and  the  Grand  Inquisitor,  Orry,  had 
vied  with  each  other  which  was  to 
have  the  credit  of  burning  Servetus, 
and  that  the  Genevan  Reformer  had 
sneered  at  the  primate  of  primates 
for  allowing  so  notorious  an  atheist  to 
live  unharmed  within  the  confines  of 
his  cathedral  city. 

When  we  read    the    earlier  corre- 
spondence with  Rittershusius,  the  argu- 
ment of  the  Bruno  letter  becomes  still 
more  clear.     In  the  epistle  printed  by 
Scioppius   himself  in   1599,  which  so 
seriously    offended   Rittershusius,    as 
well  as  in  several  subsequent  letters, 
the  mildness  and  gentleness  with  which 
Lutherans   were  treated  at   Rome  is 
much    insisted    upon.     Scioppius    was 
now  endeavouring  by  every  means  in 
his  power,  but  in  vain,  to  smooth  the 
justly  irritated  professor,  and  he  felt 
that    when  his  correspondent   should 
hear,  as  he  probably  soon  would  do, 
that  a  Lutheran  had   been  burnt  at 
Rome,  he  would  believe  that  all  the 
specious  statements  of  his  correspond- 
ent, as  to  the  gentleness  of  the  Court 
of  Rome  and  the  favour   shown  by  it 
to  Lutherans  were  mere  pretence,  and 
that  in  urging  Rittershusius  to  visit 
Rome,    Scioppius  desired  to  place  him 
in  the  power  of  the  Inquisition,  when 
possibly  he    might  share  the  fate    of 
Bruno. 

Nor  is  it  the  fact  that  until  this  letter 
was  unearthed  by  Struvius,the  terrible 
fate  of  Bruno  was  not  generally  known, 
or,  that  except  the  single  reference  to 
it  by  Mersenne,  Ursin  was  the  first  to 
announce  it.  Not  only  does  Mersenne, 
in  1 624,  refer  to  Bruno,  in  the  line  cited 
by  Bayle  and  M.  Desdouits,  as  "  un 
athee  brule  en  Italie,"  but  in  the  same 
work — a  work,  by  the  way,  that  had  a 
large  circulation,  and  is  cited  by  nearly 
every  writer  on  atheism  in  the  17th 
century — in  a  long  chapter  devoted  to 
Bruno,  which  M.  Desdouits  has  evi- 
dently not  read,  Mersenne  remarks 
(p.  363),  in  speaking  of  the  dialogue 
De  la  causa  principio  et  uno,  "  ce  sont 


ces  dialogues  pour  lesquels  il  a  est6 
brusle    &  Rome    comme   quelques     uns 
m'ont  assure"  implying  that  it  was  not 
from  the  Machiavellizatio,  but  from  con- 
temporary information  that  his  know- 
ledge was  derived.     But  if  any  doubts 
remain  as  to  the  genuineness  of  the 
letter,    and    as    to   the   fact    of   the 
presence   of  Scioppius  himself  at  the 
execution  of  Bruno,  they  are  resolved 
by  Scioppius  himself,  who  in  one  of 
the    best    known  of   his    books,   the 
Ecclesiasticus,   printed   in    1611,  and 
solemnly    burned    by    order    of    the 
Parliament   of  Paris  on  the   24th  of 
November,  1612,  refers  to  the  burning 
of  Bruno,  almost  in  the  same  words  as 
occur  in  the   letter   of   Rittershusius 
(p.  264).      "  It  happened  to  me  about 
ten   years   since,-  at   Rome,   to  be   a 
witness  of  this  memorable  obstinacy  in 
the  case  of  Giordano  Bruno,  of  Nola, 
who,  rat/ter  than  recant,  preferred  to  fie 
burnt  alive  in  a  blazing  fire  surrounded 
by  miserable  faggots  (infelicibus  sar- 
mentis  circumsceptus  luculento  igne  vivus 
ustulari  maluit).     But  a  still  more  re- 
markable piece  of  evidence  remains, 
in  the  Correspondence  of  Kepler  and 
Brengger,  first  printed  in  1858.   On  the 
30th  of  November,  1607,  Kepler  wrote, 
"Nor    was   that    unfortunate   Bruno 
who  was  burnt  (prunis  tostis)  at  Rome 
the    only  one   who   held  the  opinion 
that   the   stars   were  inhabited ;    my 
friend  Brabeus  took  the  same  view." 
Brengger  replies  on  the  7th  of  March, 
1608,  "When  you  write  of  Giordano 
Bruno  prunis  tostis,  I  understand  you 
to  mean  he  was  burned  (crematum).    I 
beg  of  you  to  tell  me  whether  this  is 
so,      and     when      and      where      this 
happened."       On   the    5th   of   April, 
Kepler  replies,  "  I  learned  from  Wacker 
that  Bruno  was  burned  at  Rome,  and 
that  he  suffered  the  punishment  with 
firmness,   asserting  the  vanity  of   all 
religions,   and   turning  God  into  the 
universe,  into  circles,  or  into  points." 
A  further  letter  of  Brengger  of  the 
8th  of  June  refers  to  the  same  subject. 
(Kepleri  Opera,  edidit  Frisch,  1858-70, 
vol.  ii.,  pp.591,  592,596.) 

Now  there  could  not  possibly  be  a 


440 


Was  Giordano  Bruno  Really  Burned? 


better  authority  than  J.  M.  Wacker, 
who  in  February,  1600,  was  residing 
at  Rome  as  the  imperial  Ambassador, 
and  was  also,  curiously  enough,  one  of 
the  chief  patrons  of  Scioppius.  His 
name  frequently  occurs  in  the  corre- 
spondence with  Rittershusius. 

I  could  cite  other  references  to  the 
burning  of  Bruno,  from  writers  of  an 
earlier  date  than  Struvius,  amongst 
others,  Charles  Sorel  and  G.  Spitzel 
(Spizelius),  but  I  think  sufficient  has 
been  said  to  prove  that  the  fact  of  the 
burning  of  Bruno  was  generally  known 
in  the  seventeenth  century  to  those 
interested  in  the  matter,  and  that  it 
was  as  generally  believed. 

I  now  turn  to  the  second  head  of 
M.  Desdouits'  arguments,  namely,  that 
which  refers  to  the  absence  of  all 
official  record  of  the  trial  or  execution. 
His  studies  have  evidently  stopped 
short  with  the  excellent  work  of 
Bartholmess  printed  at  Paris  in  1846, 
and  he  seems  to  be  entirely  ignorant 
of  the  investigations  of  several  Italian 
scholars  during  the  last  twenty  years 
in  the  Archives  of  the  Vatican,  and  of 
the  Inquisition,  the  results  of  which 
have  been  published  by  Signer  Berti 
in  the  two  following  works — "  Coper- 
nico  e  le  vicende  del  sy sterna  Copernicano 
in  Italia  con  documenti  inediti  intorno  a 
Giordano  Bruno  e  Galileo"  (Rome,  1876), 
and  "  Documenti  intorno  a  Giordano 
Bruno  "  (Rome,  1880).  The  Records 
of  the  Inquisition  state  that  on  the 
27th  of  February,  1598,  Giordano 
Bruno  arrived  at  Rome,  and  was 
incarcerated  in  the  prison  of  the 
Holy  Office  ;  that  in  February,  1599, 
his  trial  commenced ;  that  on  the 
20th  of  January,  1600,  the  Pope 
ordered  the  sentence  to  be  passed, 
which  terminates  with  those  'well- 
known  words,  so  terrible  in  their  opera- 
tion, so  vague  in  their  terms,  "  dictus 
Fr.  Jordanus  tradatur  curice  seculari  ;  " 
that  on  the  8th  of  February  this 
sentence  was  actually  pronounced,  and 
the  prisoner  forthwith  delivered  to 
the  Secular  Court.  So  much  for  the 
Records  of  the  Inquisition.  Among 


the  manuscripts  of  the  Vatican,  is  a 
collection  of  news-letters  (Avvisi  di 
Roma),  which  in  those  days  did  duty  as 
gazettes  or  newspapers.  In  one,  dated 
Saturday,  the  12th  of  February,  1600, 
the  gazetteer  writes  that  they  were 
expecting  that  day  a  solemn  act  of 
justice  on  a  Dominican  of  Nola,  who, 
on  the  Wednesday  previous,  had  been 
condemned  to  be  burnt  alive.  But  it 
seems  the  pious  multitude  were  dis- 
appointed of  their  entertainment  for 
several  days.  In  the  Avviso  of  the 
19th  of  the  same  month,  it  is  written 
that  "  on  Thursday  morning,  in  the 
Campo  de  Fiore,  that  wicked  Domini- 
can friar  of  Nola,  of  whom  mention 
was  made  in  the  last  letter,  was  burnt 
alive.  A  most  obstinate  heretic,  and 
having  of  his  own  caprice  formed  divers 
dogmas  against  our  faith,  and  in  par- 
ticular against  the  most  holy  Virgin 
and  the  saints,  in  which  the  wretched 
man  was  obstinately  determined  to  die, 
saying  that  he  was  dying  as  a  martyr 
and  willingly,  and  that  his  soul  would 
ascend  with  the  smoke  into  Paradise." 
Signer  Berti  has  further  discovered 
in  a  book  of  accounts,  an  entry  of  a 
payment  of  twenty  scudi  to  the  Bishop 
who  performed  the  ceremony  of  the 
degradation  of  Bruno. 

Most  persons  will  probably  consider 
that  the  facts  here  stated  are  sufficient 
to  prove  beyond  reasonable  doubt  that 
Giordano  Bruno  was  burned  alive  at 
Rome.  But  it  is  understood  that  M. 
Desdouits  does  not  accept  as  final  or 
conclusive  the  evidence  from  the 
Archives  of  the  Inquisition,  and  the 
Avvisi  di  JKoma,  which  have  been 
brought  under  his  notice  by  the  Italian 
press.  I  have  therefore  thought  it  not 
inexpedient  to  point  out,  at  what  may 
seem  unnecessary  length,  that  apart 
from  the  discoveries  which  have  been 
given  to  the  world  by  Signor  Berti, 
there  is  abundant  proof  of  the  fact 
in  the  writings  of  the  seventeenth 
century,  and  that  the  genuineness 
of  the  letter  of  Scioppius  is  not  open 
to  the  suspicions  which  have  been  cast 
upon  it. 

RICHARD  COPLEY  CHRISTIE. 


441 


CONTINENTAL  TROUTING. 


How  delightfully  irresponsible  in  sport- 
ing matters  is  the  average  continental 
tourists'  handbook  !  It  would  almost 
seem  at  times  as  if  the  author  sought 
premature  revenge  on  the  angling 
fraternity,  whose  weakness  he  foresaw 
would  render  them  half-hearted  fol- 
lowers of  the  complete  programme  in 
mountain  waterfall  and  cathedral  that 
he  had  so  laboriously  sketched  out, 
cab  fares  included.  With  what  off- 
hand levity  do  these  manuals  invite 
"  piscator "  to  alight  and  try  his 
luck  between  trains  on  some  stream 
from  which  the  last  trout  vanished  a 
quarter  of  a  century  ago  !  With  what 
guileless  generosity  these  publications 
recommend  the  "  lover  of  the  gentle 
craft  "  to  spend  a  few  hours  on  some 
river  whose  owner  will  scarcely  allow 
his  nearest  relations  to  tread  its 
banks. 

There  is  a  patronising  way,  too, 
of  treating  poor  piscator  in  such 
volumes  that  might  goad  him  to  some- 
thing like  irritation  were  he  not  such 
a  proverbially  sweet-tempered  person. 
He  is  not  only  recommended  to  flog 
rivers  sacred  to  the  very  gods,  and  to 
devote  himself  to  streams  in  which 
there  are  no  fish,  but  the  language  in 
which  these  useful  suggestions  are 
couched  is  a  mixture  of  the  paternal 
and  the  contemptuous.  It  is  quite 
evident  he  is  regarded  as  a  species  of 
degenerate  tourist  on  whom  the  water- 
falls and  the  cab  fares  will  be  to  a 
great  extent  wasted.  Reading  between 
the  lines  the  conviction  seems  plain 
in  the  author's  mind  that  our  friend, 
if  only  he  have  a  rod  in  his  hand  and 
a  basket  at  his  back,  will  be  perfectly 
happy  and  need  nothing  more.  The 
experienced  fisherman,  however,  fortu- 
nately for  himself,  does  not,  as  the 
Americans  phrase  it,  "  take  much 
stock "  in  the  optimistic  generalisms 


of  such  books.  His  professional  eye 
detects  their  vagueness  in  a  moment, 
and  probably  he  has  been  bitten  again 
and  again  in  his  youth. 

Is  not,  however,  continental  trouting 
to  most  of  us  somewhat  like  the  tradi- 
tional mine  of  Wicklow  that  Moore 
sings  of  ?  Who  is  there  among  the 
fraternity  that  has  not  at  some  time 
or  other  pursued  in  France  or  Belgium 
or  Germany  that  ideal  river  which  his 
own  imagination,  his  friends'  tales,  or 
their  friends'  affidavits  have  conjured 
up,  and  found  it  only  to  exclaim  with 
equal  fervour,  if  with  less  elevated 
emotion,  than  the  gentle  Words- 
worth— - 

' '  And  is  this  Yarrow  !  this  the  stream 
My  waking  fancy  cherished  "  ? 

What  roving  angler  does  not  recall 
some  Normandy  brook  or  Ardennes 
stream  that  was  always  better  either 
above  or  below  the  spot  at  which  you 
study  it,  and  always  inferior  to  some 
still  more  distant  water  beyond  the 
hill? 

Yet  there  is  a  fascination,  to  many 
of  us  at  any  rate,  in  continental 
trouting  that  makes  us  to  a  great 
extent  oblivious  of  defeat,  sanguine 
of  the  future,  and  inclined  to  deal 
gently  with  the  light  baskets  that  for 
the  most  part  make  up  the  records  of 
the  past.  There  is  at  least  the  happy 
element  of  mystery  in  your  first  essay 
upon  a  continental  brook.  If  past 
experience  tends  to  weight  the  scales 
very  heavily  in  favour  of  the  most 
modest  expectations,  still  there  are 
the  three  plump  half-pounders  which 
the  landlord  lays  upon  the  breakfast 
table ;  for  he  does  not  tell  you  they 
were  caught  with  a  drag  net-  in  the 
grey  of  the  morning.  On  the  contrary, 
he  swears  that  Jean  or  Pierre  in  the 
village  took  them  with  a  fly  the  night 


442 


Continental  Troutiny. 


before  just  below  the  bridge.  But 
then  "  Jean  is  a  bon  pecheur,"  and 
this  significant  remark  indicates  that 
monsieur  has  got  only  himself  to  blame 
if  he  go  not  and  do  likewise.  The 
enthusiasm,  however,  which  in  the 
kitchen  greets  your  arrival  at  dinner 
time  with  half-a-dozen  three-ounce  fish 
is  too  genuine,  to  be  attributed  entirely 
to  national  politeness.  You  have  evi- 
dently performed  a  feat,  and  the  story 
of  Jean's  half-pounders  assumes  a 
legendary  aspect,  or,  to  quote  our 
cousins  again,  begins  to  look  "  alto- 
gether too  thin." 

"  How  as  to  the  liberty  of  fishing?" 
you  have  previously  inquired  of  the 
landlord  of  some  still  unexplored 
hostelry  and  water.  You  pore  over 
the  crabbed  handwriting,  and  with 
much  difficulty  make  out  that  monsieur 
has  the  liberty  of  fishing  over  the 
commune  water  above  the  village,  and 
over  that  of  Le  Comte,  below.  On 
arrival  that  statement  proves  to  be 
substantially  correct,  but  as  far  as  the 
eye  can  see — up  and  down  the  stream 
in  this  the  height  of  the  May -fly  season 
— are  fields  of  waving  grass  not  two 
weeks  off  the  scythe.  Venture  only 
along  the  edge  of  one  of  these 
meadows,  my  friend,  and  not  all  the 
counts  or  all  the  communes  will  save 
you  from  the  vengeance  of  an  infuriated 
peasantry. 

"  Well,"  says  our  host  with  a  shrug 
apologetic,  "  monsieur  can  fish  at  any 
rate  from  the  orchard  below  the  house, 
and  from  the  road  in  the  village ; 
(cheerful  consolation  after  travelling  a 
hundred  miles)  ;  and  another  year 
monsieur  must  come  earlier —  in  April 
— before  the  meadows  are  put  up." 
We  don't  go  ourselves  in  April,  but 
we  recommend  a  friend  to  do  so  with 
the  best  intention  in  the  world.  He 
comes  back  in  a  white  heat  with 
things  in  general  and  us  in  particular. 
Not  a  fish  was  moving,  and  the  land- 
lord told  him  that  it  was  a  late  river, 
that  he  ought  to  have  waited  till  the 
mouche  de  mai  (the  May-fly)  was  on 
(grand  old  scamp),  "  and  then,  mon- 
sieur, would  catch  all  the  fish  he 


wanted."  Then  again,  not  very  far  off, 
there  is  the  water  of  the  Baron  de 

B ,  two  miles  off,  as  fine  a  stream 

as  you  ever  laid  your  eyes  on.  A 
keeper,  too,  and  sport,  weather  per- 
mitting, apparently  guaranteed.  Yes  ! 
there  is  the  keeper  in  his  blue  blouse 
and  black-cloth  cap — an  exceedingly 
pleasant  person — neither  cynical  nor 
servile,  and  eager  with  the  landing 
net,  which  he  carries  as  if  he  was 
looking  out  for  a  fish  every  throw,  sly 
rascal !  He  compliments  the  English 
nation  generally,  and  you  in  particular 
on  your  casting,  which  is  probably 
wasted  toil ;  but  if  you  do  fluke  a 
decent  fish  "an'  you  love  it"  take  the 
net  yourself,  and  do  not  let  that 
amiable  man  approach  the  bank.  If 
you  don't  deprive  him  of  it  your  whole 
French  vocabulary  will  vanish  in  fumes 
of  rage  ere  you  can  stop  him  from 
lunging  furiously  at  the  lightly  hooked 
fish,  and  breaking  everything  in  the 
wild  impression  that  he  is  assisting  in 
its  capture. 

You  are  not  very  likely,  however, 
to  require  such  assistance  often,  for 
this  very  custodian  of  the  preserve 
himself  is  about  as  salutary  to  the 
fishing  as  a  cart  load  of  otters  or  a 
few  thousand  pike  would  be. 

His  energy  is  boundless,  but  it  is 
misdirected.  If  an  unfortunate  gentle- 
man with  a  "  Farlowe "  rod  and  a 
card-case  in  his  pocket  were  to  put  his 
foot  over  the  boundary  of  Monsieur 
le  Baron's  preserve,  the  eagle  eye  of 
our  garde  would  mark  him,  and  his 
swift  foot  hunt  him  down  with  all  the 
terrors  of  continental  provincial  law. 
Monsieur  le  Baron,  who  lives  away  in 
Brussels,  should  know  what  a  faithful 
protector  of  his  interests  lives  at  the 
chateau  gate.  But  in  the  dark  of  the 
night  what  quiet  netting  parties  of 
the  village  neighbours  are  arranged, 
upon  distinct  and  profitable  under- 
standings upon  the  part  of  the  former 
with  that  conscientious  bucolic !  It 
is  by  no  means  extraordinary  that 
your  basket  is  a  light  one,  on  the 
contrary,  when  the  sad  truth  leaks 
out  the  feeling  that  is  uppermost  in 


Continental  Trouting. 


443 


your  breast  is  one  of  self-satisfaction 
and  surprise  that  there  is  anything  in 
it  at  all. 

There  are  red-letter  days  occasion- 
ally in  these  continental  fishing  trips, 
and  some  of  us  have  streams,  no  doubt, 
hid  away  in  remote  spots  whose  secrecy 
we  have  sworn  a  solemn  oath  to  hold 
inviolate.  Fish  or  no  fish,  however, 
there  is  a  charm  in  the  continental 
brook  that  encourages  perseverance. 
In  face  of  the  unequalled  delights  of 
English  pastoral  scenery,  one  can  only 
attribute  this  aforesaid  charm  to  the 
novelty  and  consciousness  of  exploring 
hidden  nooks  and  meeting  odd  folks 
that  the  general  tourist  passes  by. 
Perhaps  also  there  is  something  in  the 
absence  of  the  postman's  bag. 

Then,  too,  there  are  those  foreign 
water-mills  !  We  have  nothing — or 
nothing,  at  any  rate,  but  isolated 
exceptions — to  compare  to  them,  and 
the  true  angler  is,  or  should  be,  an 
epicure  in  the  matter  of  mills.  What 
your  educated  trout  fisherman  does 
not  know  about  the  "points"  of  a 
mill,  the  whole  of  South  Kensington 
and  Chelsea  certainly  cannot  teach 
him. 

What  a  contrast,  for  instance,  in  a 
a  Normandy  landscape  between  the 
present  and  the  past !  On  the  bare 
hill-side,  under  the  single  line  of 
poplars  that  borders  the  broad,  admi- 
rably-graded road,  glares  the  big  white 
milestone  of  the  French  Eepublic, 
bristling  with  kilometres  and  deci- 
mals of  kilometres.  Below,  in  the 
rich  and  leafy  valley,  an  old  mill, 
grey  with  age  and  patched  with  the 
mellowed  masonry  of  every  age  but 
this,  lifts  its  high  walls  above  the 
foaming  stream.  Memories  of  old 
feudal  mill-rights,  that  died  with  the 
revolution,  and  lingered  among  the 
seigneuries  of  French  Canada  till  twenty 
years  ago,  seem  in  fancy  to  lurk  be- 
neath the  quaint,  fantastic  gables. 
The  pigeon  towers  on  the  hills  have 
gone.  The  old-time  chateaux  are  only 
here  and  there  preserved  where  some 
towered  and  turreted  farm-house,  half- 
buried  amid  stacks  of  wheat  and  hay, 


and  echoing  to  the  sounds  of  rural 
life,  retains  in  its  gray  stones  the 
names  of  some  proud,  forgotten  race ; 
but  in  the  slow  throb  of  the  mill- 
wheels  the  pulse  of  old  France  seems 
still  to  beat.  Nor  to  find  that  it  is 
necessary  to  penetrate  inaccessible 
regions.  Among  the  quiet  and  un- 
pretending hills  of  Picardy — nay,  in 
the  very  Pas  de  Calais  itself,  within 
sight  even  of  the  Cathedral  of  Boulogne 
or  the  frowning  ramparts  of  Mont- 
reuil — the  mill-wheel  sings  in  cool, 
quiet  nooks  that  the  ordinary  traveller 
may  never  see,  but  where  the  angler,  if 
his  creel  be  light  and  trout  be  scarce, 
may  find  his  consolation  in  the  heat 
of  a  summer  noon. 

Our  English  mills,  if  taken  in  detail, 
will  generally  be  found  to  owe  their 
picturesqueness  very  much  to  their 
surroundings.  If  they  are  large  and 
prosperous,  their  walls  are  as  neat  as 
those  of  the  county  jail,  their  slate 
roofs  are  in  as  good  repair  as  those  of 
the  rectory  close  at  hand.  The  little 
stone  mill  in  tthe  narrow  valley  of  the 
north  or  west  is,  it  is  true,  no  un- 
pleasing  foreground  to  the  boiling 
stream,  the  strip  of  emerald  meadow, 
and  the  hanging  oak  wood ;  but  with- 
out its  flashing  wheel  and  without  its 
natural  surroundings — taken,  so  to 
speak,  out  of  its  frame — our  rough 
stone  mill  would  seldom  stir  the  emo- 
tions of  either  angler  or  artist.  The 
French  mill,  however,  is  most  fre- 
quently a  thing  of  beauty  by  itself, 
and  is  independent  of  the  aspens  and 
the  beeches  and  the  sycamores  whose 
shadows  quiver  in  its  restless  pool — a 
venerable  pile  of  time-worn  stone  and 
mellowed  brick,  patched  in  a  happy 
makeshift  way  by  the  hands  of  a  dozen 
generations  ;  stained  every  hue  by  the 
spray  and  the  rain  and  the  sun  of  un- 
numbered years.  Tufts  of  grass  and 
trailing  weeds  wave  from  the  cracked 
walls  and  catch  the  bright  drops  ever 
rising  from  the  foam  below.  The 
gabled  roof  waves  in  quaint  fashion 
over  the  twisted  rafters.  Tiles  rich 
in  colouring,  and  slates,  chipped  and 
silvery  with  age,  droop  in  promiscuous 


444 


Continental  Troutiny. 


fashion  over  the  rows  of  swallows' 
nests  that  cluster  beneath  the  over- 
hanging eaves.  Odd  windows  and 
dark,  mysterious  loopholes  break  here 
and  there  the  tall  pile  of  masonry. 
Clouds  of  pigeons  circle  in  the  air  or 
cluster  and  coo  in  the  hanging  boxes 
where,  midway  between  the  roof  and 
the  foaming  mill-tail,  they  make  their 
home.  Here,  too,  the  air  is  full  of 
life  with  the  swift  rush  of  martins 
and  swallows  that  revel  amid  the 
gnats  and  flies  which  come  out  to 
dance  in  this  the  broadest  and  sun- 
niest spot  upon  the  otherwise  narrow 
stream. 

Upon  the  opposite  bank,  behind  an 
old  brick  wall  which,  half-buried  in 
ivy,  stems  the  rush  of  the  current, 
stands  the  miller's  house.  Its  blue- 
washed  walls  and  green  shutters,  its 
grey  thatch  and  bright  tiles,  half  seen 
through  a  wall  of  fruit  blossoms  and 
gay  old-fashioned  flowers,  light  up 
with  pleasing  contrast  the  more  sombre 
hues  of  the  mill  itself. 

The  miller  himself,  too,  is  a  hearty, 
jovial  fellow,  and  comes  out  for  a  chat 
as  soon  as  he  sees  from  his  dusty 
haunts  the  gleam  of  our  rod  waving 
backwards  and  forwards  in  the  sun- 
shine. For  he  was  a  conscript  at  the 
Alma,  and  has  a  regard  for  English- 
men as  being  connected  with  the  chief 
event  of  his  life.  The  international 
loves  and  hates  of  the  Paris  boulevards 
have  no  more  influence  upon  him  than 
if  he  were  a  Chinaman.  General  opinion 
has.  I  think,  agreed  that  English  tour- 
ists have  ceased  to  be  popular  upon 
the  Continent,  but  in  the  almost  un- 
beaten paths  which  the  more  adven- 
turous angler  treads,  he  will  find  no 
sign  of  this.  In  remote  villages,  where 
the  English  name  has  been  almost 
wholly  in  the  keeping  of  his  craft,  the 
angler  will  find  his  predecessors  re- 
membered, for  the  most  part,  with 
something  like  affection.  Old  reels 
and  well-worn  flies  and  much  be- 
spliced  top-joints,  crop  up  everywhere 
as  relics  of  the  munificence  of  some 
bon  pecheur,  Monsieur  le  Colonel 
Anglais. 


If  the  scenery  of  the  French  brook- 
side   is  a  thought  too  true,  it  has  at 
any  rate  characteristic  charms  of  its 
own.     The  alders  trail  unlopped  it  is 
true  above  the  current,  and  here  and 
there  leave  scarcely  room  for  even  the 
expert  to  drop  his  fly  safely  in  mid- 
stream.    But    everything    beyond    is 
seen  through  interlacing  lines  of  tall 
straight  stems,  crossing  and  recrossing 
one   another,    and   growing  finer  and 
apparently  denser  as  the  distance  and 
the  foot   of  the  hill  that  bounds  the 
valley  is  approached.     The  shadows  of 
the    whitening    rustling    leaves    from 
their  lofty  tops  play  upon  the  grass, 
and  that  of  their  tall  limbless  trunks 
as  day  declines,  convert  into  stripes  of 
black  and  emerald  the  soppy  meadows, 
where  rushes  and  wildflowers  threaten 
in   May  days  to  choke  the  springing 
grass.     The  slender  thorn  hedges,  set 
and  trimmed  in  the  diamond  fashion 
of   the  Continent,   run  this   way  and 
that,  dividing  the  little  meadows  from 
one  another  and  from  the  large  stretch 
of  commune  land,  where    blue-bloused 
peasants  and  their  short-skirted  wives 
and  daughters  are  planting  the  late 
potatoes  in  the  warm  red  soil.     Then 
peeping  through  the  teeming  forest  of 
slender  tree-stems,  and  almost   smoth- 
ered in  apple  blossoms,  are  the  bright 
red  roofs  of  the  little  hamlet.    Nearest 
of  all  to  the  stream  is  the  cottage  of 
the  garde  de  chasse — stalking  at  our 
side  with  the  landing  net,  up  a  deep 
rutted  lane  leading  thereto,  that  good 
man  insists  on  our  visiting  his  home. 
His  two  stalwart  daughters  are  hitched 
up   to   a    big   barrow  in  the  garden, 
which  they  pull  with  a  steadiness  that 
would  do  credit  to  a  pair  of  Normandy 
mares.     But  in   the  dark  recesses  of 
the  huge  chimney  a  row  of  curly  heads 
gradually  dawn    upon   our  vision,   as 
the  latter  gets  used  to  the  gloom,  and 
olive  branches  of  a  tenderer  age,  armed 
with  slates  and  books,  come  shyly  out 
to  stare  at  the  gentleman  from  across 
the    sea.     The  buxom  matron  herself 
would   be  deeply  hurt  if  you  refused 
the  proffered  petit  verre  of  cognac,  and 
the    good   garde    himself    would    still 


Continental  Trouting. 


445 


more  keenly  feel  it  as  the  loss  would 
be  his  own  also.  The  high  chimney- 
piece  is  laden  with  the  gay  shep- 
herdesses and  white  poodles  in  china 
that  seem  to  gladden  the  heart  of  the 
poor  in  all  countries  alike.  On  the 
heavy  smoke- darkened  rafters,  that 
support  the  ceiling,  hangs,  as  else- 
where, the  emblem  of  the  goodman's 
craft — a  ponderous  double-barrelled 
gun.  Framed  in  glass  upon  the  wall 
is  the  certificate  of  his  military  ser- 
vice and  discharge.  "  But  why  the 
cumbrous  sabre  that  hangs  upon  a 
nail  above  the  door  ?  Infantry  pri- 
vates, even  if  they  were  allowed  to 
carry  away  the  weapons  of  the 
republic  do  not  wear  cavalry  sabres." 

"  Ah  !  monsieur  doesn't  understand, 
the  sabre  is  for  the  braconniers — the 
poachers."  It  is,  in  fact,  our  friend's 
weapon  of  defence  and  attack,  as  he 
follows  his  profession  upon  the  river- 
banks  or  among  the  rye-  and  wheat- 
fields  and  clover  patches,  which  cover 
the  600  acres  constituting  the  chasse. 
One  has  to  imagine  then  our  harmless- 
looking  friend  skipping  over  the  hills 
at  a  safe  distance  from  his  village 
acquaintances  and  friends,  the  bracon- 
niers, and  brandishing  this  appalling 
weapon  at  their  departing  figures. 

In  France  too,  no  matter  how 
remote  the  angler's  path  may  be,  there 
is  the  little  village  auberge,  almost 
always  at  hand  where  some  consolation 
for  indifferent  sport  may  be  found  in 
a  bottle  of  good  ordinaire,  and  perhaps 
a  fillet  of  veal,  or  at  any  rate  an  excel- 
lent omelette.  Unlike  most  other 
countries,  however,  extreme  rural  inno- 
cence is  by  no  means  incompatible  in 
France  with  a  talent  for  extortion. 


"  As  grasping  as  a  man  of  Picardy," 
is  an  old  French  ^saying  that  the 
wanderer  in  that  portion  of  the 
country  at  any  rate,  will  do  well  to 
bear  constantly  in  mind.  In  rural 
Belgium  you  may  generally  dispense 
with  preliminary  agreements  in  small 
inns.  Across  the  border,  however, 
never  be  tempted  among  the  most 
guileless  seeming  communities  to  put 
yourself  outside  the  reach  of  black  and 
white. 

One  great  source  of  inconvenience 
to  English  anglers  upon  French 
streams  is  the  number  of  persons  or 
corporations,  whose  permission  has  to 
be  gained  to  secure  enough  water  for 
a  good  day's  fishing.  The  smallness 
of  properties — whether  owned  by 
communes  or  individuals — is  of  course 
the  cause  of  this.  To  the  peasant, 
whose  idea  of  fishing  is  sitting  xipon  a 
stump  with  a  worm  and  a  float,  a 
kilometre  of  river  seems  almost  bound- 
less space  for  sporting  purposes.  You 
may  be  given  to  understand  that  the 
water,  for  which  you  have  with  some 
difficulty  succeeded  in  getting  leave,  is 
practically  without  limit.  Your  land- 
lady, by  waving  her  hands  out  towards 
the  distant  horizon  and  shrugging  her 
shoulders,  will  check  further  inquiry 
and  lull  you  into  a  perfect  sense  of 
security  on  this  point.  Even  the  garde 
himself  discusses  the  boundary  ques- 
tion with  such  confidant  levity,  that  it 
is  with  the  bitterest  disappointment 
you  find  that  worthy  man  in  an  hour 
or  two's  time  drawing  your  attention 
to  a  white  board  nailed  on  to  a  poplar- 
tree,  bearing  the  ominous  inscription, 
"  Defense  pour  pecker." 

A.  G.  BRADLEY. 


446 


THE  EXTENSION  OF  LOCAL  GOVERNMENT  IN  IRELAND. 


ONE  of  the  most  intricate  and  difficult, 
and  at  the  same  time  one  of  the  most 
pressing  problems  with  which  the  new 
Parliament  will  have  to  deal,  will  be 
the  measure  of  extension  of  Local  Go- 
vernment in  Ireland.  That  there  must 
be  some  extension  is  more  or  less  cer- 
tain, but  how  far  it  will  go  and  upon 
what  principles  it  will  be  based  are 
questions  upon  which  the  constitu- 
encies will  have  much  to  say,  and 
upon  which,  therefore,  they  may  rea- 
sonably search  for  anything  which 
throws  light.  Hotly  as  the  Irish 
question  has  been  for  many  years,  it 
would  be  almost  safe  to  say  for  many 
generations,  discussed,  there  are  few, 
either  among  our  statesmen  or  our 
public  writers,,  who  have  intimate 
knowledge  with  the  many-shadowed 
difficulties  which  surround  it.  By 
some  it  is  approached  with  a  hopeless 
dread  of  its  insolubility.  Such  men 
think  that  the  utmost  we  can  hope  for 
is  a  prolonged  postponement  of  a  crisis. 
To  keep  Ireland  quiet  even  at  the 
cost  of  some  theoretically  indefensible 
concession,  to  produce  temporary 
peace  at  even  a  high  price,  is  with 
them  the  highest  and  the  only  object 
possible  of  attainment.  There  are 
others  who  have  bright  ideas  as  to  a 
near  future  for  Ireland,  who  hope  that 
by  some  change  of  policy,  by  some 
course  of  conciliation,  Ireland  may,  in 
a  very  brief  period,  be  brought  into 
such  a  state  that  she  not  only  will  be 
no  source  of  difficulty  or  delay  to 
national  administration,  but  may  be 
actually  an  element  of  strength  to 
those  responsible  for  the  conduct  of 
imperial  affairs.  A  third  party,  again, 
go  to  the  other  extreme  of  despair. 
With  them  Irishmen  are  centuries  be- 
hind the  rest  of  the  Queen's  subjects 
in  all  that  has  contributed  to  the 
national  greatness,  are  unfit  to  have 


the  "  bounds  of  freedom  wider  yet," 
and  are  unable  to  use  the  opportuni- 
ties, the  privileges,  and  the  powers 
which  may  with  advantage  be  placed 
in  the  hands  of  those  who  live  on  this 
side  of  the  Irish  Channel.  With  such 
men  the  sole  desire  is  to  rule  Ireland 
with  a  rod  of  iron,  to  govern  her  by 
force,  to  repress  all  extension  of 
national  aspiration.  They  would  en- 
trust her  people  with  no  influence,  her 
local  council,  with  no  power.  They  would 
firmly  fix  the  centre  of  her  Govern- 
nent  in  London,  and  would  part  with 
no  jot  of  parliamentary  control.  They 
see  in  every  furtherance  of  religious 
equality  the  possible  development  of 
priestly  bigotry,  in  every  extension  of 
Local  Government  the  sure  ferment 
of  rebellion  and  dismemberment  of 
the  empire. 

With  this  last  party  the  readers  of 
this  paper  will  find  no  sympathy  ex- 
pressed. The  time  when  such  a  policy 
could  find  any  strong  support  in  Parlia- 
ment or  in  the  press  is  gone.  But  it 
may  be  useful  to  present  a  few  con- 
siderations to  those  who  only  hope  for 
temporary  palliation  of  Irish  troubles 
as  well  as  to  those  who  think  that 
Ireland  can  be  made  happy  and  pros- 
perous by  a  coup  de  main. 

And  in  the  first  place  I  would  urge 
that  nothing  can  be  more  dangerous 
in  approaching  the  Irish  question  than 
to  treat  Irishmen  as  wholly  different 
from  Englishmen,  in  nationality,  in 
prejudice,  or  in  caste.  It  has  lately 
been  the  fashion,  stimulated  by  a  cer- 
tain section  of  Irishmen,  to  speak  of, 
if  not  to  think  of,  Irishmen  and  Eng- 
lishmen as  foreign  to  each  other. 
Much  has  been  said  of  the  imperial 
rule  of  Ireland  as  if  it  were  an  alien 
rule.  It  may  have  once  been  reason- 
able to  speak  of  the  ascendency  of  the 
Protestant  class  as  the  hateful  ascend- 


The  Extension  of  Local  Government  in  Ireland. 


447 


ency  of  a  religious  minority.  But  it 
is  a  grave  mistake  to  speak  of  the 
present  regime  in  Ireland,  faulty 
though  in  some  respects  it  may  be, 
as  a  foreign  supremacy  full  to  the 
brim  with  all  the  terrible  evils  insepar- 
able from  a  rule  of  aliens.  That  there 
are  elements  of  distinction,  linguistic, 
religious,  ethical,  between  Englishmen 
and  Irishmen,  I  admit,  but  they  are 
not  one  whit  stronger  than  those  be- 
tween Irishmen  and  Scotchmen,  or 
Scotchmen  and  Welshmen.  And  to 
press  these  distinctions  is  a  mistake  of 
which  the  consequences  must  be  dis- 
astrous to  the  progress,  nay,  even  to 
the  existence  of  the  British  empire. 
If  Irishmen  and  Englishmen  were 
really  as  foreign  to  each  other  in  all 
those  characteristics  and  idiosyncra- 
cies  which  go  to  make  national  unity 
as  in  some  quarters  it  has  been  at- 
tempted to  show,  the  sooner  there 
came  about  total  disunion  between  the 
two  countries  the  better  it  would  be 
for  both.  In  such  a  case  the  problem 
of  united  government  would  indeed 
be  hopeless,  and  political,  financial, 
and  commercial  severance,  speedy  and 
total  would  be  the  only  method  of  treat- 
ment which  would  have  the  slightest 
prospect  of  success.  From  such  a  policy 
Irishmen  would  be  the  first  to  suffer, 
and  their  suffering  would  be  severe. 
If  in  the  administration  of  Irish 
affairs  all  were  forbidden  to  play  a  part 
save  those  who  could  claim  to  be 
Irishmen,  then  from  administration  of 
English  affairs  Irishmen  would  be 
compelled  to  abstain  ;  and  not  only 
this,  but  the  thousands  of  Irishmen 
who  in  various  parts  of  Great  Britain 
make  their  influence  deservedly  and 
worthily  felt  would  at  once  be  branded 
with  the  impotency  of  alienism,  and 
would  be  grievously  affected  by  dis- 
qualifications now  non-existent.  To 
the  extreme  members  of  the  Parnellite 
party  such  a  policy  may  possibly  com- 
mend itself,  they  may  be  willing  to 
take  the  risks  with  what  they  con- 
sider the  advantages.  But  few  dis- 
passionate friends  of  Irishmen  would 
wish  to  see  them  liable  to  the  conse- 


quences of  a  pressure  to  its  logical  con- 
clusion of  the  principle  of  "  Ireland 
for  the  Irish,"  while  to  the  imperial 
statesman  who  sees  in  the  solid  weld- 
ing together  of  the  interests  of  all 
classes  of  her  Majesty's  subjects 
the  best  prospect  of  the  progress  of 
the  Queen's  empire  and  the  best  chance 
of  success  in  the  huge  national  compe- 
tition of  modern  days,  the  splitting 
up  of  Celt  and  Saxon,  Cymric  and 
Gael,  can  only  be  regarded  with 
despair. 

Upon  the  present  system  of  govern- 
ment in  Ireland,  the  most  lavish  abuse 
has  been  showered  on  the  score  of  its 
being  "  alien."  Much  has  been  made 
of  the  fact  that  the  last  three  viceroys 
have  been  Englishmen  and  that  the 
present  under- secretary  is  a  Scotch- 
man. But  the  principle  on  which 
men  are  selected  for  high  administra- 
tive posts  in  this  country  is  that  the 
best  man  is  chosen  for  each  place  ir- 
respective of  his  place  of  birth.  And 
on  the  whole  it  is  a  wise  principle. 
The  viceroyalty  of  India  is  not  con- 
fined to  Anglo-Indians,  or  the  go- 
vernor-generalship of  Canada  to  Cana- 
dians. For  the  most  important  offices 
in  England  Irishmen  are  not  disquali- 
fied. And  in  the  present  Cabinet,  the 
office  which  has  influence  on  the 
position  and  power  of  the  British 
Empire  second  to  none,  is  held  and 
deservedly  held  by  an  Irishman.  It 
would  be  a  fatal  hindrance  to  the 
proper  selection  of  high  officials  if 
birth-place  were  an  all  important  ele- 
ment of  choice.  The  same  rule  applies 
to  the  permanent  service  of  the  State, 
in  all  parts  of  which  Irishmen  hold 
positions  of  influence  and  trust,  with 
credit  to  themselves  and  advantage  to 
the  community.  There  would  there- 
fore be  little  weight  in  the  argument, 
even  if  it  were  true,  that  several  of  the 
principal  places  in  the  Irish  Civil  Ser- 
vice were  occupied  by  Englishmen. 
But  it  is  not  true.  The  under-secre- 
tary  to  the  lord-lieutenant  is  indeed 
a  Scotchman,  one  who  has  gained 
experience  in  many  departments  and 
in  many  parts  of  the  world.  But  his 


448 


The  Extension  of  Local  Government  in  Ireland. 


predecessor  was  an  Irishman,  and  his 
nationality  did  not  save  him  from  the 
knife  of  his  countrymen.     The  present 
assistant  under-secretary  is  an  Irish- 
man.    The  head  of  the  constabulary 
is  an  Irishman.       The  vice-president 
of  the  Local  Government  Board  is  an 
Irishman.     The  chairman  and  his  two 
fellow  commissioners  on  the  Board  of 
Works    are    Irishmen.     The   head   of 
the  Prisons  Board  is  an  Irishman,  so 
is  the  head  of  the  Industrial  Schools. 
The  resident  commissioner  of  National 
Education  is  an  Irishman  and  a  zeal- 
ous Catholic,  enjoying  the  confidence 
of  the  heads  of  his  Church  as  well  as 
that  of  all  friends  of  education.     The 
Inspectors  of  Lunatics  are  Irishmen, 
and  one  was  O'Connell's  private  secre- 
tary.    The  Registrar  of  Petty  Sessions 
Clerk  is  an  Irishman,  who  represented 
an  important  constituency  on  advanced 
Home  Rule  principles.     How  it  can 
be   said   with  the   slightest   show   of 
truth    that   these  men   press   Ireland 
under  the  domination  of  an  alien  race, 
I  am  at  a  loss  to  understand.     The 
fact  is  that  in  their  several  ways  they 
have  a  knowledge  of  the  circumstances 
of  their  country,  and  an,  appreciation 
of  the  peculiarities  of  their  country- 
men,  which   can   never   be    attained 
even  by  the  cleverest  of  distant  critics. 
It  may  be  said,  that  as    "  Castle " 
nominees,   they  can  never  enjoy  the 
confidence  of  the  people.     What  does 
this  mean  ?     That  there  can  be  no  con- 
fidence in  the  administration  of  officers 
not  selected  by  popular  vote  ?     If  so  I 
totally  deny  the  statement.   The  higher 
positions   in   the  civil  service  of   the 
whole     country    are     filled     by    men 
appointed  by  the  parliamentary  heads 
of    departments,   who   are  themselves 
answerable     to    Parliament  '  and    the 
constituencies.     The  system  is  gener- 
ally approved,  and  the  result  is  good 
work.     No  one  has  yet  been  found  to 
propose  that  the  chief  civil  servants 
of  the   State  should  be  appointed  by 
popular  vote.     Such  a  plan  would  lead 
to  chaos  of  administration  in  England, 
and  in  Ireland  would  rapidly  produce 
terrible  disaster.     Does  it  mean  that 


considerations  other  than  of  efficiency 
enter  into  the  selection  1     Generations 
ago  this  may  have  been  the  case,  but 
the  days  of  sinecures  and  jobbery  are 
gone  by.     For  the  last  ten  or  fifteen 
years,  the  qualifications  sought  for  in 
the  principal  civil  servants  in  Ireland 
have  been  ability,  integrity,  and  per- 
severance.    The  chief  posts  are  in  the 
gift  of  the    viceroy,  who    usually,  as 
regards  the  most  important,  consults 
the   prime  minister.     As  the  viceroy 
goes  out  with  the  Cabinet,  he  is  sub- 
ject to  the  same  control  of  Parliament 
direct  and  indirect  as  other  ministers, 
and  his  appointments  are  open  to  like 
criticism  and  like  influence.     Even  if 
he  had  the  will  he  has  not  the  power 
to  foist  upon  the  service  of  the  State 
incapable   officers.     Those   who  know 
anything   of    the    manner    in   which 
appointments  have  been  made  in  Ire- 
land during  the  last  few  viceroyalties 
are  aware  of  the  intense  pains  which 
are  always  taken  to  find  men — and,  as 
a  rule,  to  find  Irishmen — who  are  best 
able  to  discharge  in  a  true  spirit  of 
love   for   Ireland    the    duties   of    the 
-department  concerned.     The  proof  of 
the  success  attained  is  to  be  found  in 
the    inability  of    the   most   searching 
critics  to  find  fault.     For  many  years 
the  government  of    Ireland  has  been 
subjected  to  a  bitter  hostility,  which 
is  not  the  hostility  of  the  people  but 
the  hostility  of  a  self-interested  party. 
There  is  no  single  act  of  the  recent  Irish 
executive  which  has  not  been  subjected 
to  a  severe  examination  by  men  anxi- 
ous to  pick  holes.     Yet,  in  spite  of  the 
liability  to  error,  from  which  not  even 
the  most  upright  civil  servant  is  free, 
no  instances  of  wilful  mal-administra- 
tion  have  been  brought  to  light  and 
very  few  mistakes  of  judgment  or  pro- 
cedure.      That    the    system   of    civil 
government  in  Ireland  has  been  cruelly 
and  fiercely  assailed  cannot  be  denied. 
But  its  assailants  have  not  been  the 
people  on  whose  behalf   the  work  is 
done ;  but  a  parliamentary  party,  the 
breath  of  whose  nostrils  is  agitation, 
and  whose  only  hope  of  existence  lies 
in  the  keeping  up  of  discontent.    If  the 


The  Extension  of  Local  Government  in  Ireland. 


449 


present  method  were  as  entirely  wrong 
as  its  enemies  aver,  if  the  men  who 
carried  it  out  were  so  entirely  un- 
worthy of  the  confidence  of  the  people 
for  whom  they  work,  it  is  absolutely 
certain  that  some  grave  blunder  or 
some  huge  injustice  would  have  been 
brought  to  light.  But  this  has  not  been 
the  case.  The  impartial  historian  of 
the  future  will  assuredly  allow  that 
the  charges  so  lavishly  made  have  not 
been  proved,  and  will  not  only  acquit 
but  applaud  the  system  and  the  men 
of  the  civil  service  of  Ireland  of  the 
present  day. 

But  if  the  contempt  passed  on  the 
Irish  executive  and  the  Irish  civil  ser- 
vice is  unwarranted  on  the  one  hand, 
equally  unfounded  is  the  mistrust  of 
Irish  local  authority  which  is  displayed 
on  the  other.  One  class  of  politicians 
can  see  no  good  in  the  government  of 
Ireland  as  at  present  constituted  ;  the 
other  hold  the  Irish  people  to  be  utter- 
ly incapable  of  self-government.  The 
latter  would  not  only  not  extend  the 
powers  of  local  authorities  but  would 
curtail  those  already  exercised.  They 
would  keep  all  the  administration  of 
the  Boards  of  Guardians  out  of  the 
hands  of  the  elected  members,  and 
would  raise  rather  than  lower  the 
municipal  franchise  and  the  qualifica- 
tion for  town  councils  and  local  boards. 
Such  a  policy  is  opposed  to  the  whole 
spirit  of  recent  legislation  :  it  is  based 
on  a  want  of  knowledge  of  the  charac- 
teristics of  Irishmen  and  of  the  good 
work  for  many  years  carried  out  with- 
out clamour  and  without  boast  by  a 
large  number  of  local  authorities  in 
Ireland  ;  it  is  founded  on  the  intoler- 
ance, that  in  bygone  years  opposed 
Catholic  Emancipation,  kept  up  State 
sanction  of  the  religion  of  a  minority, 
repressed  agriculture  by  oppressing 
occupying  tenants,  and  in  a  word 
sowed  the  seed  of  evil  of  which  the 
present  generation  has  reaped  a  plen- 
tiful crop.  I  earnestly  believe  that  it 
is  not  likely  to  find  support  in  the 
coming  Parliament,  and  that  as  was 
stated  at  the  head  of  this  paper,  the 
question  for  future  'decision  is  not 

No.  312.— VOL.  LII. 


whether  there  should  be  any  extension 
of  Local  Self-government  in  Ireland, 
but  what  form  it  should  take  and  how 
far  it  should  go. 

And  here  it  will  be  convenient  to 
refer  to  a  proposal  which  has  been  put 
forward  by  what  is  believed  to  be  high 
authority.  It  is  suggested  that,  in 
addition  to  the  setting  up  of  county, 
or  perhaps  provincial,  councils,  there 
should  be  a  National  Elective  Council 
established  in  Dublin,  and  wielding 
the  powers  of  all  the  principal  central 
departments  as  at  present  constituted. 
Details  of  this  proposal  are  not  forth- 
coming, but  it  would  seem  to  be  con- 
templated that  such  a  council  should 
be  formed  by  either  direct  or  second- 
ary election,  that  is  to  say,  either 
direct  election  by  the  ratepayers,  or 
election  by  bodies  chosen  by  the 
ratepayers,  with  or  without  crown 
nominees  ;  and  that  to  it  should  be 
transferred  the  powers  and  the  respon- 
sibilities of  the  Local  Government 
Board,  the  Education  Board,  the 
Board  of  Works,  the  Fishery  and 
Lunacy  Boards,  the  Prison  Board, 
certain  financial  functions  of  the 
Treasury,  and  certain  functions  of 
private  legislation  now  vested  in  Par- 
liament itself.  It  has  been  urged 
that  such  a  scheme  would  be  sup- 
ported by  those  who  claim  to  be  the 
exponents  of  all  Irish  opinion,  and 
would  be  a  wide,  if  not  final,  step  to  the 
complete  pacification  of  Ireland  :  that 
by  it  the  Irish  people  would  be  fixed 
with  the  responsibility  of  their  own 
affairs  ;  and  that  under  it  they  would 
cease  to  trouble  themselves  unduly 
with  imperial  concerns  :  that  peace  and 
contentment  would  speedily  replace 
agitation  and  hate. 

If  such  a  scheme  were  carried  out 
it  would  be  impossible  to  maintain  for 
a  decade  the  union  between  the  coun- 
tries, and  the  severance  would  be 
brought  about  with  an  amount  of 
turbulence  far  in  excess  of  that  con- 
sequent upon  any  other  plan  leading 
to  the  same  goal.  Let  us  see  what 
would  be  the  early  effect  of  such  a 
system.  The  National  Council  would 

G    G 


450 


The  Extension  of  Local  Government  in  Ireland. 


claim  at  once  to  represent  the  national 
will,  and  to  speak  with  the  voice  of 
the  people.    Upon  every  matter  affect- 
ing   Ireland    directly    or     indirectly, 
whether  properly  within  its  discretion 
or  not,  the  national  council  would  be 
urged   to  express   an   opinion,    and — 
who  that  knows  Ireland  can  deny  it  ] 
— would   do    so.     It   is   not  proposed 
that    the   imperial   executive    respon- 
sible to  Parliament  should  be  divested 
of  military  and  police  control,  or  that 
the   collection    and    disbursement    of 
imperial  funds  should  cease  to  be  in 
the    hands  of   imperial  officers.     Yet 
every  act  of  every  member  of  the  con- 
stabulary would  be  criticised  by  the 
national  council,  and  the  interference 
of  Parliament  demanded  with  a  force 
compared  with  which  modern  obstruc- 
tion  would  be  pitiably  weak.     Irish 
members   are   ready   enough   now   to 
call   the   attention   of   the    House   of 
Commons  to  whatever   fails   to  com- 
mend itself   to   their   good   pleasure ; 
what  would  be  .their  course  of  action 
if     there    were     a    national    council 
behind  them  1     If  Parliament  finds  it 
difficult  now  to  resist  concession  after 
concession  to  importunate  obstruction, 
what    would  be   the    state   of   affairs 
when  whatever  representations    were 
made    came    with   the    sanction   of   a 
national     council?      The     statutable 
limitation  of  the  functions  of  such  a 
body  might  be  as  precise  as  possible, 
but   Irish  ingenuity  would   evade  it. 
Every  pretext  would  be  made  for  an 
expression    of    opinion    which    would 
suffice  to  sway  the  decision  of  Parlia- 
ment.    It  is  not  too  much  to  say  that 
no  regiment  could  be  moved  in  Ireland, 
no  arrest  made,  without  interference 
by  the   national  council.       Whatever 
action    of   the  imperial  executive  de- 
pended on  the  collection  of  local  funds 
would  be  liable  to  be  thwarted  by  the 
veto  of   the  national  council.       Even 
foreign  affairs  would  not  escape.     For 
is   it  reasonable   to  suppose  that  an 
Irish  national    council  would  abstain 
from  offering  an  opinion  in  the  event 
of  Great  Britain  being  concerned  in  a 
European   war  ?      There    is    not   one 


single  step  which  Parliament  could 
take  in  which  it  would  not  be  necessary 
to  consider  the  opinion  and  possible 
action  of  the  Irish  national  council. 
Instead  of  pacifying  the  relations  be- 
tween the  two  countries,  the  establish- 
ment of  the  Irish  national  council 
would  embitter  them,  for  it  would 
invite  and  compel  conflict,  not  upon 
minor  matters  of  local  administration, 
but  upon  grave  affairs,  in  regard  to 
which  discussion  would  be  difficult  and 
dispute  full  of  the  most  terrible  risk. 

The  object  of  the  Parnellite  party 
is  either  (1)  Legislative  independence 
or  (2)  Entire  separation.  As  they  have 
not  even  now  formulated  their  demand  it 
is  not  possible  from  their  own  utterances 
to  say  which  is  their  real  aim ;  but  if 
reliance  may  be  placed  on  the  speeches 
made  and  the  arguments  used  at  the 
numerous    meetings    held    throughout 
Ireland    under    the    auspices    of    the 
National    League,    nothing    short    of 
entire   separation  from  England  will 
satisfy   the    extreme    leaders    of    the 
present  movement.     In  all  considera- 
tions of  the  action  which  they  are  likely 
to  take  upon  any  particular  policy,  it 
is  far  safer  to  start  with  the  assump- 
tion that  they  are  working  for  separa- 
tion than  that  they  are  working  for 
anything  short  of  it.     And  any  states- 
man who  hopes  to  obtain  their  lasting 
support  by  something  less   than   the 
absolute  autonomy  of  Ireland,  and  the 
consequent     dismemberment     of     the 
empire,  must  be  prepared  for    disap- 
pointment.    Let  us,  however,  assume 
for   a  moment   that  legislative   inde- 
pendence and  some  undefined  plan  of 
federation  is   the   goal  to  which  the 
Parnellites  are  directing  their   steps. 
Are  they  likely,  even  if  this   is   the 
case,  to  be  satisfied  and  weaned  from 
further   action  by  the   setting  up   of 
such    a  national   council  as  has  been 
referred    to  I      Would    not    such    an 
elected   administrative  body   be   used 
solely  as  an  instrument  for  obtaining 
legislative  powers  1     Would  it  not  be 
a   powerful    instrument    for    such    a 
purpose]     The  aspirations   of  such  a 
council    would    not    be    satisfied    by 


The  Extension  of  Local  Government  in  Ireland. 


451 


powers  of  local  legislation.  They 
would  speedily  adopt  the  position  of 
declining  to  carry  out  laws  for  which 
they  were  not  responsible  and  in  the 
framing  of  which  they  had  no  voice. 
They  would  be  content  with  nothing 
less  than  the  entire  administration  of 
all  affairs  in  Ireland,  whether  imperial 
or  local ;  and  they  would  rapidly  agi- 
tate for  the  power  of  legislating  on  all 
subjects  of  whatever  magnitude.  Such 
a  movement  could  only  be  met  by  Par- 
liament with  resistance.  Repressive 
measures  would  become  necessary,  and 
these  would  be  met  by  more  energetic 
action  on  the  part  of  the  Irish  council. 
The  controversy  would  grow  hotter, 
feeling  on  each  side  more  and  more 
exasperated.  And  the  end,  whatever 
it  might  be,  would  be  reached  after 
a  tenfold  increase  of  the  distrust 
and  hostility  between  the  two  coun- 
tries which  I  believe  there  is  not  the 
slightest  necessity  for  incurring. 

If  legislative  independence  were 
necessary  for  the  prosperity  of  Ire- 
land, it  would  be  far  better  to  concede 
it  voluntarily  and  without  delay  than  to 
wait  till  it  is  forced  from  an  unwilling 
Parliament.  It  would  be  wiser  to  be 
too  soon  than  too  late  in  such  a  move- 
ment. But  there  is  nothing  whatever 
to  show  that  the  connection  of  Ire- 
land with  Great  Britain  is  to  the 
legislative  detriment  of  the  former. 
For  several  years  the  Imperial  Parlia- 
ment has  shown  the  greatest  readiness 
to  deal  with  Irish  questions  legis- 
latively, and  any  measure  upon  which 
there  has  been  anything  approaching 
agreement  on  the  part  of  Irish  mem- 
bers has  been  fully  -  accepted  and 
readily  dealt  with.  Irish  speakers 
delight  to  speak  of  Irishmen  as  serfs, 
and  the  fashion  has  been  followed. 
But  it  is  difficult  to  find  the  serfdom. 
In  every  relation  of  life  the  Irishman 
is  as  free  as  air,  bound  only  to  respect 
the  equal  rights  of  his  neighbour.  His 
religion  is  free.  He  has  provided  for 
him  education  in  schools  of  his  own 
denomination  for  his  children.  His 
commerce  is  free  ;  and  if  he  is  an 
agriculturist  he  cannot  be  dispossessed 


against  his  will  of  his  tenant  right, 
the  value  of  which  has,  in  many 
parts  of  the  country,  approached 
if  not  outgrown  the  value  of  the  fee 
simple  of  the  holding.  Moreover, 
money  is  freely  given  to  encou- 
rage all  praiseworthy  movements  in 
Ireland,  and  some  of  very  doubtful 
expediency.  One  of  the  very  last  acts 
of  the  expiring  Parliament  was  to 
apply  five  millions  of  the  national 
capital  to  loans  for  the  purchase  of 
their  holdings  by  Irish  agricultural 
tenants.  For  the  development  of 
tramways,  for  the  improvement  of 
land,  for  the  extension  of  inland  navi- 
gation, money  is  made  available  in  a 
way  to  which  the  taxpayers  would 
never  consent  if  Ireland  were  to 
achieve  the  legislative  independence 
for  which  some  of  her  friends  un- 
wisely clamour. 

And  this  touches  one  of  the  chief  diffi- 
culties in  dealing  with  Ireland  and  the 
Irish.  It  requires  not  only  the  greatest 
care  but  much  experience  of  men  and 
manners  to  separate  real  grievances 
from  imaginary,  matters  of  fact  from 
matters  of  sentiment ;  nor  only  so, 
but  to  know  what  importance  is  to  be 
attached  to  sentiment  when  sentiment 
cannot  with  safety  be  entirely  disre- 
garded. On  the  one  hand  it  is  fatal 
to  mistake  the  shadow  for  the  sub- 
stance, to  put  aside  sound  principles 
and  break  laws  of  universal  applica- 
tion which  are  founded  on  general  ex- 
perience, in  order  to  attempt  to  satisfy 
that  which  is  at  best  an  unreal  and  an 
unenduring  complaint.  On  the  other 
hand,  it  is  foolish  to  ignore  sentiment 
on  matters  about  which  sentiment  is 
all-powerful.  Let  me  give  briefly  an 
instance  of  the  latter.  Irishmen  are 
urged  to  be  loyal  to  the  throne  and 
the  constitution,  to  pray  for  the  wel- 
fare of  the  Queen  and  the  royal 
family.  Yet  for  many  years  Ireland 
has  seen  nothing  of  the  Queen,  and 
very  little  of  any  member  of  her 
Majesty's  family.  With  Mr.  Parnell 
and  his  followers  all  parts  of  Ireland 
are  thoroughly  acquainted.  Loyalty 
to  them  is  a  realty  which  Irishmen 
G  G  2 


452 


The  Extension  of  Local  Government  in  Ireland. 


can  understand.  Loyalty  to  the  Queen 
is  a  shadowy  thing  which  has  for  too 
long  been  left  without  any  substantial 
encouragement. 

Though  Irishmen  have  little  to  gain 
and  much  to  lose  by  entire  legislative 
independence,  and  though  both  Ireland 
and  England  (the  latter,  perhaps,  far 
the  least)  would  suffer  from  entire 
administrative  separation ;  it  would 
be  for  the  advantage  of  each  country 
that  Irishmen  should  have  a  greater 
share  of  self-government  than  is  at 
present  accorded  to  them.  The  desire 
of  influence  which  now  finds  vent  in  a 
tendency  to  intrigue,  in  the  formation 
of  unions  and  leagues,  which  endure 
for  a  time  and  after  effecting  little 
good  and  much  mischief  split  up  into 
fragments,  should  be  turned  into 
proper  channels.  The  energy  dis- 
played in  moonlight  drills,  in  the 
banding  together  of  men  to  exert 
improper  and  more  or  less  useless  in- 
fluence on  local  affairs,  should  be  at- 
tracted to  the  many  purposes  with  re- 
ference to  which  local  opinion  should 
have  proper  sway.  At  present  the 
recognised  exercise  of  local  authority 
is  confined  to  too  small  a  class,  and 
consequently  the  classes  outside  the 
favoured  few  show  their  discontent  by 
combinations  for  the  exercise  of  un- 
recognised authority.  These  not  being 
properly  formed  or  properly  guided  do 
more  harm  than  good,  even  from  the 
point  of  view  of  their  promoters.  They 
ferment  a  needless  antagonism  between 
the  law  of  the  land  and  the  wishes  of 
the  people ;  they  give  an  appearance 
of  divergence  between  what  is  and 
what  ought  to  be,  for  which  there  is 
no  real  reason.  The  comparative  suc- 
cess of  the  National  League  in  forming 
local  branches  has  proved  the  exist- 
ence of  a  power  of  self-government 
among  Irishmen,  which  wise  states- 
manship will  use  and  not  ignore.  If 
the  men  who  form  these  branches 
were  entrusted  with  responsibility 
for  matters  concerning  themselves, 
and  over  which  their  control  would 
be  useful,  they  would  be  far  less  eager 
than  now  to  interfere  in  matters  in 


which  their  influence  is  not  wanted, 
and  can  do  no  good.  A  very  brief  ex- 
perience would  make  them  aware  of 
the  difficulties  inherent  in  all  adminis- 
tration, and  a  knowledge  of  their  own 
perplexities  and  their  own  obstacles 
would  soon  set  up  a  respect  for  the 
difficulties  and  obstacles  of  others. 

Ireland,  like  England,  suffers  from 
a  complexity  of  areas  of  local  adminis- 
tration. Inasmuch  as  the  poor-law, 
upon  which  local  government  in  both 
countries  is  more  or  less  built,  was 
later  in  Ireland  than  in  England, 
the  confusion  is,  perhaps,  not  so  con- 
founded in  the  former  as  in  the  latter ; 
but  still  the  intricacy  of  local  jurisdic- 
tions, as  well  as  the  overlapping  of 
local  powers,  calls  loudly  for  simplifica- 
tion. The  incidence  too  of  local  rating 
is  involved.  The  county  cess  differs 
in  its  incidence  from  the  poor-rate. 
Rural  rating  differs  from  urban  rating. 
The  poor  rate  is  not  a  union  charge  as 
in  England,  but  a  charge  on  electoral 
divisions.  It  will  need  a  firm  hand  as 
well  as  a  wise  head  to  deal  with  these 
various  anomalies,  with  due  considera- 
tion of  vested  interests  on  the  one  hand, 
and  without  yielding  to  the  vis  inertice 
on  the  other.  But  the  task  should  be 
resolutely  faced ;  and  if  it  is  success- 
fully accomplished  will  be  of  wide  and 
lasting  benefit ;  for  upon  it  depends 
the  building  up  of  a  sound  system  of 
Local  Government  in  Ireland. 

It  is  impossible  within  the  limit  of 
a  paper  to  discuss  the  many  details  of 
such  a  system.  Briefly,  I  may  say  that 
in  Ireland  the  county  should  be  made 
the  basis  of  administration.  County 
councils  should  be  formed  by  a  care- 
fully framed  system  of  election,  in  the 
consideration  of  which  the  principle  of 
voting  to  be  adopted  should  be  an  all- 
important  element.1  To  these  councils 
should  be  transferred  the  powers  of 

1  If,  as  is  now  the  case  with  the  poor-rate, 
the  incidence  is  to  be  half  on  ownership,  half 
on  occupancy,  provision  must  in  fairness  bi^ 
made  for  the  due  representation  of  each.  But 
it  is  a  groat  question,  which  I  have  no  space 
here  to  examine,  whether  occupancy  should 
not  for  the  future  be  made  the  sole  source 
both  of  liability  and  of  power. 


The  Extension  of  Local  Government  in  Ireland. 


the  grand  juries,  and,  with    opening 
for   delegation,   of   baronial    sessions. 
They  should    have    the    management 
of  lunatic  asylums,  and  of  all  poor-law 
institutions.     Upon  the  county  should 
be  thrown  the  cost  of  all  indoor  relief 
of  the  poor,  leaving  outdoor  relief  as  a 
charge  upon  a  smaller  area.     The  sani- 
tary   administration    of    the   county 
should  be  in  the  hands  of  the  county 
councils,  save  that  in  this  respect  large 
urban  districts  should  be  autonomous. 
Licensing  powers,  and  all  powers  of 
taxation  for  purposes  connected  with 
the  county  should  be  vested   in  then 
county  councils.     Inasmuch    as  there 
would  probably  be  many  men  of  ability 
and  power  who  would  not  obtain  seats 
on  the  county  councils,  there  should 
be  smaller  local  bodies   subordinate  to 
the  county  councils,  and  acting  over 
precisely  defined  areas  wholly  within 
the  county  boundary.     Because  much 
local  work  has  to  be  done  in  which 
more   than  one  county  is  interested, 
there  should  be  ample  power  of  combi- 
nation of  counties,  and  ultimately,  if 
perhaps  not  at  first,  provincial  boards 
might  be  formed  with    fiscal    powers 
over  the  whole  area  of  each  province. 
The  county  councils,  and    still  more 
the  provincial  boards,  might  safely  be 
entrusted  with  many  of  the  powers  of 
inspection  and  control  now  wielded  by 
the   several  central   departments.     It 
would  perhaps   be    impossible    to    do 
away  with  all  imperial  check  on  ex- 
penditure.    The  interests  of  the  gene- 
ral taxpayer  and  of  the  future  rate- 
payer should  be  guarded  against  lavish 
and  improper  pledging  of  the  present 
rates,  or  greedy  calls  on  the  present 
taxes.     But  many  of  the  functions  of 
the  Treasury,  the  Board  of  Works,  and 
the  Local  Government  Board  on  fiscal 
matters   might   safely  be  left  to  the 
county  councils  and  provincial  boards. 
Lastly,    Parliament   might    well  part 
with  much  of  the  work  now  done  in 
the  committee  rooms.     If  county  coun- 
cils were  not  held  large  enough  bodies 
to  deal  with  all  private-bill  legislation 
affecting  their  own  counties,  then,  pend- 
ing   the    establishment   of   provincial 


boards,  the  control  exercised  over 
private-bill  legislation  in  London  should 
be  either  transferred  to  Dublin,  or  a 
system  be  set  up  of  itinerant  courts. 
There  should  be  no  longer  any  excuse 
whatever  left  for  the  complaint  that 
the  cost  of  promotion  of  or  opposition 
to  private  Bills  in  Westminster  is  pro- 
hibitive as  far  as  Ireland  is  concerned. 
In  this  respect  Parliament  has  shown 
itself  very  tenacious  of  control.  But 
it  is  quite  clear  that  the  time  has  come 
when  this  tenacity,  valuable  enough  in 
the  past,  may  safely  be  abandoned. 

It  is,  I  have  said,  quite  impossible 
in  a  paper  like  this  to  attempt  to  set 
out  what  must  be  an  intricate  and 
ought  to  be  a  comprehensive  scheme. 
The  above  is  the  briefest  possible 
sketch  of  such  a  system  as  I  believe 
would  be  of  enormous  advantage  to 
Ireland.  Every  detail  of  it  must  be 
carefully  thought  out  by  men  capable 
of  forming  a  valuable  opinion,  and 
boldly  worked  out  by  men  of  construc- 
tive ability.  If  based  on  a  wise 
gradation  of  power,  opportunity  would 
be  given  for  the  exercise  of  all  degrees 
of  local  statesmanship.  There  is  quite 
enough  work  to  do  for  a  share  to 
be  available  for  every  one  able  to 
take  it.  The  difficulty  will  be  far 
greater  to  find  men  for  work  than 
work  for  men ;  and  a  full  demand 
would  be  made  on  the  local  energy 
which  is  now  either  wasted  or  used 
for  valueless  or  mischievous  objects. 

I  have  explained  what  I  consider 
would  be  the  danger  certain  to  arise 
from  the  establishment  of  a  general 
national  council.  But  there  is  one 
sphere  of  administration  in  which  a 
central  elective  board  would  do  much 
good  without  liability  to  the  same 
danger.  Ere  long  education  in  Ireland 
must  be  made  compulsory.  The  present 
educational  system  is  not  suited  to  the 
requirements  of  the  day.  The  Board 
of  National  Education,  though  its 
members  are  selected  from  among  the 
wisest  in  the  land  with  sole  regard  to 
their  ability  to  do  their  work  in  the 
interests  of  the  people,  has  less  popu- 
larity and  consequently  less  sanction 


454 


The  Extension  of  Local  Government  in  Ireland. 


than  there  would  be  in  the  case  of  an 
elected  board.  If  a  central  board 
were  set  up  upon  some  well  considered 
suffrage  entrusted  with  the  carrying 
out  of  the  new  law  a  great  concession 
would  be  made  to  local  self-govern- 
ment at  very  little  risk.  Such  a  body 
would  be  limited  to  one  purpose  and 
unable  to  speak  with  authority  on 
others.  It  would  do  much  to  remove 
friction  in  the  spread  of  education. 
It  would  be  necessarily  economical. 
It  would  have  to  do  with  many  ques- 
tion of  difficult  detail,  and  yet  be 
able  to  avoid  shipwreck  on  matters  of 
principle.  The  lines  of  its  action 
should  be  so  laid  down  by  Parliament 
as  to  reduce  as  much  as  possible  all 
danger  from  religious  disputes,  but  with- 
in these  lines  there  would  be  plenty 
of  room  for  broad  and  valuable  work. 


The  course  of  Local  Government  in 
Ireland  must  be  cleverly  steered. 
There  are  rocks  on  either  hand.  But 
if  it  is  cleverly  steered,  without  weak 
abandonment  of  sound  principles  or 
equally  weak  mistrust  of  local  honesty, 
with  a  firm  determination  to  maintain 
imperial  unity  and  with  an  equally 
firm  desire  to  extend  local  responsi- 
bility, I  earnestly  believe  that  much 
may  be  done  to  wean  the  Irish  people 
from  mischievous  agitation — the  pur- 
suit of  a  will-o'-the-wisp  which  is 
leading  them  to  ruin — and  attract 
them  to  spheres  of  usefulness  in  which 
their  wit,  their  keenness,  and  their 
love  of  combination  may  be  of  real 
and  lasting  benefit  to  their  country. 

PHILO-CELT. 


455 


MRS.  DYMOND. 


CHAPTER  XXVII. 
THE    BLACK    SHADOWS. 

As  disasters  thickened  and  closed 
in  Mrs.  Marney's  letters  became  more 
scarce.  She  was  still  alone  with 
Madame,  whose  chief  anxiety  was 
for  Max,  little  as  he  deserved  it. 
"  All  those  friends  of  his  were  drdles, 
and  he  should  tell  them  so,"  said 
the  old  lady,  who  seemed  to  think 
that  this  was  the  way  to  settle  matters 
at  once.  Then  came  the  news  of  the 
siege  of  Paris.  Max  was  there  shut 
up  with  the  rest  of  them,  but  Mrs. 
Marney  wrote  in  happy  excitement, 
for  that  same  post  had  brought  a  letter 
from  her  husband.  He  was  safe  at 
head  quarters,  and  day  by  day  the 
readers  of  the  Daily  Velocipede  might 
trace  his  brilliant  career.  Emperors, 
princes,  marshals,  diplomats,  Marney 
seemed  to  be  the  centre,  and  the  lead- 
ing figure  of  them  all. 

It  was  not  till  January  was  nearly 
over  that  the  confirmation  of  the 
surrender  of  Paris  reached  Tarndale. 
This  news  was  followed  by  rumours  of 
every  sort,  and  finally  by  a  long  ram- 
bling letter  from  Mrs.  Marney,  full 
of  many  laments.  She  had  seen 
little  of  Marney,  who  had  been  at 
Chalons  and  Metz  most  of  the  time, 
and  who  was  returning  to  Paris  now 
that  the  siege  was  being  raised. 
Did  Susy  know  that  poor  Max  had 
been  wounded  at  Champigny  ?  They 
had  had  a  letter  by  a  balloon  from 
Mademoiselle  Fayard,  who  had  seen 
him  in  the  Wallace  ambulance. 
Madame  du  Pare  also  was  determined  to 
nurse  her  son,  and  talked  of  return- 
ing to  the  house  at  ISTeuilly,  which 
they  heard  was  safe  and  scarcely 
injured. 

"  Do  not  be  surprised  if  you  see  me 
after  all,"  wrote  Mrs.  Marney.  "  I 


cannot  stop  here  alone  with  all  I  love 
so  far  distant  from  me.  Ah  !  Susy  ;  I 
should  have  done  better  to  come  to 
you,  as  you  wished,  but  with  my  hus- 
band in  danger  how  could  I  leave  the 
country  ? " 

Susy  was  full  of  alarm  at  the 
thought  of  her  mother's  dangerous 
journey  through  such  a  country  at 
such  a  time.  She  wrote  at  once  to 
Neuilly  and  to  Avignon,  imploring 
Mrs.  Marney  to  wait  until  things 
were  more  settled,  promising  to  meet 
her  later  in  Paris  if  need  be.  To 
her  letters  she  received  no  answer ; 
and  a  week  passed  full  of  anxiety.  Jo 
was  at  Cambridge,  she  had  no  one  but 
Mr.  Bolsover  to  consult.  She  might 
as  well  have  talked  to  a  looking-glass 
as  to  the  sympathising  little  man  who 
invariably  reflected  her  own  expression 
of  face.  One  day  Susy  thought  of 
telegraphing  to  Neuilly  to  ask  if  her 
mother  had  arrived  ;  the  answer  came 
sooner  than  Susanna  had  dared  expect 
it,  early  next  morning  before  she  was 
up:— 

'  Madame  du  Pare,  Neuilly,  to  Mrs.  Dymond, 
Crowbeck  Place,  Tarndale. 

"  Your  mother  is  here  very  ill ;  pray 
come." 

Susy  did  not  wait  to  consult  Mr. 
Bolsover  again ;  she  wrote  a  line  to 
Mrs.  Bolsover,  sent  her  little  Phraisie 
to  the  hall  with  the  nurse,  and  started 
at  once  by  an  early  train  to  town. 

And  thus  it  happened  that  at  three 
o'clock  in  the  morning  awakening 
out  of  a  common-place  dream,  Susy 
found  herself  on  board  a  steamer 
nearing  the  shores  of  France ;  with 
the  stars  shining  through  the  glass 
in  the  roof  of  the  cabin.  A  lamp  is 
swinging,  some  of  the".:  passengers 
are  preparing  to  land,  wrapping 


456 


Mrs.  Dymond. 


rugs  and  parcels  together.  There 
are  dull  sounds  and  tramplings  over 
head,  and  a  couple  of  low  voices  are 
whispering  to  each  other  such  things 
as  people  whispered  in  that  disastrous 
year  of  1871,  when  all  voices  were 
telling  of  changes  and  death,  and 
trouble,  and  people  gone  away  and 
families  ruined  and  separated.  "We 
shall  be  in  directly,"  says  the  first 
voice,  that  of  the  stewardess,  "  but  I 
don't  think  you  will  find  one  of  them 
left  as  you  expect." 

"  Ah  !  those  Prussians  !  "  says  the 
second    speaker    in    that   whispering 
voice  which   people  use   in  darkened 
places   and   at    night;    and    still    the 
steamer    paddles     on.       Susy's    own 
thoughts  are  too  anxiously  travelling 
ahead    for   her    to    take    so  keen  an 
interest  as  she  might  have  done  at  any 
other  time  in  this  new  and  unexpected 
phase  of  life.     Is  her  journey  too  late 
she   wonders,    or   is  her   mother  still 
alive,  still  calling  for  her,  and  wanting 
her  ?    Susy  is  superstitious,  as  anxious 
people  are.  The  two  melancholy  voices 
depress  her,  and  seem  like  an  echo  of 
evil  things  to  come ;  the  look  of  her 
own  hands  lying  listless  in  her  black 
lap,  frightens  her.     She  starts  up  im- 
patiently, and  begins  to  hope  again  as 
unreasonably  as  she    had  feared.     Is 
everything  changed,  is  nothing  changed  1 
Can  it  be  that  she  shall  find  it  all  as 
in  old  days  when  troubles  were  not, 
nor  wars  to  call  men  from  their  quiet 
toil  to  join  the  ranks  of  devastating 
armies  1      Presently  they  reached  the 
French  coast,  it  is  time  to  go  up  on 
deck  with  the  rest  of  the  passengers. 
Susy  keeping  to  the  protection  of  the 
other  two  women  comes  up  on  deck 
and   sees  the  dark   line  of  the  quai ; 
lights  go  by,  ropes  are  hauled  in,  and 
once  more  Susanna  hears  the  familiar 
French  sing-song  of  the  people  exclaim- 
ing and  calling  to  one  another.     The 
voices  sound  melancholy,  but  that  may 
be  her  fancy,  or  because   it  is  a  cock- 
crow   sort   of    hour.       Mrs.   Dymond 
carrying  her  hand-bag  walks  along  to 
the  hotel  in  company  with  her  fellow 
travellers.     She   had  come   across  by 


chance  with  a  party  of  Cook's  tourists 
availing  themselves  of  the  escort  of 
the  great  circumnavigator  of  our  days 
whose  placards  and  long  experience 
seemed  to  guarantee  the  safety  of  his 
adventurous  followers.  The  only  other 
ladies  of  the  party  were  English- 
women like  Susanna  herself,  and  also 
evidently  travelling  with  a  purpose. 
One,  the  friend  of  the  stewardess,  an 
old  bedizened  creature  belonging  to 
the  race  of  the  wandering  British 
spinster,  walked  ahead  still  bemoaning 
herself  as  she  went,  the  other  a  hand- 
some young  woman,  of  sober  dress  and 
appearance,  stopped  short  suddenly  as 
she  crossed  the  quai  by  Mrs.  Dymond' s 
side. 

"Look!"  she  said,  "a  German!" 
and  with  a  thrill  they  recognise  a 
brazen  spike  and  the  gleam  of  a 
helmet  as  the  sentinel  passes  steadily 
up  and  down  under  a  lamp-post  in 
front  of  a  garish -looking  restaurant 
of  which  all  the  doors  and  windows 
are  awake  and  flaring  with  gas,  and 
evidently  expecting  guests. 

Susanna  for  all  her  sad  preoccupa- 
tions stopped  short  with  the  rest  of 
them,  and  experienced  a  curious  thrill 
seeing  the  first  ripple  of  that  brazen 
tide  which  had  overspread  the  desolate 
country  of  France.  There  the  whole 
story  seemed  told  as  she  watched  the 
spike  of  the  helmet  and  the  big  boots 
steadily  pacing  the  pavement.  She 
wondered  at  the  courage  of  the  English 
girl  who  went  straight  up  to  the 
sentry  and  asked  him  in  abruptest 
German,  "How  soon  was  he  going 
back  to  Berlin  ?  "  The  helmet  stopped 
and  answered  good-naturedly  enough, 
"  He  didn't  know,  the  King  was  at 
Rheims,  they  expected  to  leave  in  a 
day  or  two."  He  was  a  big  tawny 
young  fellow  with  a  handsome  heavy 
face.  Mademoiselle  Celestine,  the 
waitress  at  the  Hotel  et  Restaurant  des 
Etrangers,  pouring  out  her  cafe-au-laits 
told  the  passengers  that  he  and  his 
companions  were  tres  gentils,  they  had 
done  no  harm.  They  had  good 
appetites  but  the  mayor  paid  for  all 
they  ate  ;  she  didn't  believe  the  stories 


Mrs.  Dymond. 


457 


people  told.  They  were  there  with 
the  general  and  his  staff.  .  .  .  Made- 
moiselle Celestine  would  have  gone  on 
blessing  her  enemies  at  greater  length 
but  people  from  above,  from  around, 
from  below,  from  within,  from  with- 
out, began  calling  out '  •'  Gar$on,  gar$on  ! ' ' 
bells  rang  violently,  Cook's  tourists 
shouted,  and  Britons  demanded  their 
suppers. 

The  house  was  so  crowded,  so  noisy 
and  uncomfortable,  that  Susy  and  her 
two  casual  acquaintances,  after  listen- 
ing for  some  minutes  to  the  landlady's 
glowing  descriptions  of  blazing  fires 
and  velvet  sofas  at  the  railway  station 
close  by,  started  boldly  into  the  night 
to  find  this  haven,  and  to  await  the 
six  o'clock  train  there. 

A  few  gas  becks  were  flickering  at 
the  station,  where  they  found  looking- 
glasses  and  velvet  sofas  according  to 
promise.  In  the  first-class  waiting- 
room  a  group  of  oificers  in  white  uni- 
forms with  many  accoutrements  were 
dozing  away  the  time,  with  their  boots 
and  swords  extended  upon  the  chairs 
and  couches. 

Susy  looked  at  them  and  instinc- 
tively left  them  to  their  slumbers,  and 
went  into  the  second  waiting-room 
with  her  companions  and  sank  down 
into  the  first-come  seat. 

A  lady  and  a  little  girl  were  already 
sitting  upon  the  wooden  bench  beside 
her.  It  was  too  dark  to  see  their 
faces,  but  not  too  dark  to  hear  the 
lady's  plaintive  voice — "  What  a  jour- 
ney !  what  nervous  terrors  !  what 
delays !  after  six  months'  enforced 
absence  to  return  to  a  country  in  such 
a  state — no  lamps,  no  omnibus,  no 
trains  to  depart,  Germans  every  where." 
(Two  tall  jangling  officers  with  great 
cloaks  and  boots  come  in  from  the 
next  room,  look  round  and  walk 
away.)  "Ah!"  shrieks  the  lady 
with  fresh  exclamations  of  alarm, 
"  and  I  without  a  passeport  !  I 
could  not  get  one  where  I  was,  at 
Vittington,  a  little  village  in  the 
Eastern  Conte  ;  nor  have  I  one  for  that 
child  who  only  yesterday  was  study- 
ing her  piano  at  a  school,  for  why 


should  she  lose  her  time  because  her 
country  is  being  ravaged  ?  "  And  so  the 
poor  lady  talks  on  unheeded,  finally 
nodding  off  to  sleep.  The  time  passed 
slow  and  strange  and  chill,  the  dawn 
began  to  grow,  Susy  was  sitting  by  a 
window  looking  on  the  platform.  A 
veil  of  early  dew  was  upon  everything, 
and  figures  began  to  move  like  dreams 
across  the  vapour.  At  last  a  train 
arrived  with  snorts  and  clamour  about 
five  o'clock,  conveying  among  other 
passengers  some  wounded  Prussians. 
Then  for  the  first  time,  Susy,  forgetting 
her  own  preoccupation,  realised  the 
horrors  of  war ;  and  as  she  looked 
again  she  saw  that  these  were  the 
victors,  these  wounded,  wearied  men, 
scarce  able  to  drag  themselves  along. 
Some  were  carried  in  their  compan- 
ions' arms,  some  sick  and  languid 
came  leaning  on  their  guns,  some 
again  were  loaded  with  spoil  and 
bags.  One  soldier  passed  the  window 
carrying  a  drawing-room  clock  under 
his  arm,  and  a  stuffed  bag  like  an  old- 
clothes-man's  upon  his  back.  The 
wounded  were  to  change  carriages,  and 
went  hobbling  from  one  train  to 
another  ;  among  the  rest  came  a  poor 
Prussian  soldier,  pale,  wasted,  with 
one  leg  amputated,  slowly,  painfully 
dragging  on  a  single  crutch,  with 
another  man  to  help  him,  and  in  the 
crowded  rush  the  crutch  slipped  and  the 
soldier  fell  to  the  ground  half  fainting. 
His  companion  tried  in  vain  to  raise 
him  ;  not  one  of  the  shadowy  figures 
moved  to  his  help.  Susy,  with  a  cry 
of  pity  started  up  ;  but  the  glass  door 
was  locked  and  she  could  not  get  out. 
It  was  a  Frenchman,  at  last,  who  came 
forward  and  picked  the  poor  fellow  up, 
helping  to  carry  him  with  looks  of 
aversion  and  deeds  of  kindness. 

And  then,  at  last,  the  way  being 
clear,  the  weary  Prussians  having  de- 
parted, another  train  drew  up  in  the 
early  morning  light,  and  Susy  found 
herself  travelling  towards  Paris  and 
her  journey's  end.  The  light  grew, 
and  with  it  came  the  thought  of  the 
coming  day,  what  would  it  bring  to 
her,  of  good  or  evil?  This  much  of 


458 


Mrs.  Dymond. 


good  it  must  bring  that  she  should  be 
with  her  mother.  And  Du  Pare,  did 
she  hope  to  see  him  ?  She  could  not 
have  answered  or  acknowledged,  even 
to  herself,  what  she  hoped.  From  her 
mother  she  hoped  to  hear  something 
of  his  doings,  and  to  get  news  of  that 
one  person  in  all  the  world  who 
seemed  most  to  exist  for  her.  She 
longed  to  see  him,  to  speak  to  him 
once  more,  to  get  some  certainty  of  his 
well-being,  to  be  reassured  by  one 
word,  one  look.  She  dreaded  the 
meeting,  its  inadequate  explanation,  its 
heartbreaking,  disappointing  silence. 

The  English  girl  opposite  had 
taken  off  her  hat  and  smoothed  her 
long  plaits  of  hair,  and  now,  with 
a  Testament  in  her  hand,  was  read- 
ing her  early  orison.  The  morning 
grew,  the  sunrise  touched  the  wide 
country,  they  passed  orchards  in 
flower,  green  spring  shining  upon 
every  cottage  and  pleasant  garden  and 
spreading  fields.  One  little  orchard 
remained  fixed-  in  Susanna's  mind, 
pink  with  blossoms,  and  in  the  midst 
upreared  the  figure  of  a  Prussian  sol- 
dier in  full  uniform,  stretching  his 
arms  while  the  children  of  the  house- 
hold clustered  round  about  him,  and 
the  rays  of  the  rising  sun  flashed  from 
his  brass  helmet. 

As  they  travelled  on,  stopping 
at  the  various  stations,  more  pas- 
sengers got  in,  all  with  the  same 
miserable  story,  sometimes  piteous, 
sometimes  half-laughable.  An  old 
lady  with  frizzed  curls  described  her 
home  as  she  had  found  it  after  eighty 
Prussians  had  inhabited  her  house,  the 
linen,  the  crockery,  the  clocks,  all  stolen 
and  spoilt,  the  flowers  down-trampled. 
"  They  even  took  my  son's  •  cigars, 
which  I  had  hidden  in  my  wardrobe," 
said  the  poor  lady,  waxing  more  and 
more  wrath  ;  "  and  the  monsters  left  a 
written  paper  in  the  box,  '  Merci  pour 
les  bons  cigars  ! '  Ah  !  that  emperor," 
says  the  old  lady,  "  to  think  what  he 
has  brought  us  to,  with  his  flatteries, 
and  his  vanity,  and  his  grand  army." 

Another  woman,  dressed  in  black, 
sadder,  more  quiet,  who  seemed  to  be 


returning  home,  utterly  worn  out,  now 
spoke  for  the  first  time. 

"One  thing  we  must  not  forget," 
she  says,  "  we  have  had  twenty  years 
of  peace,  and  yet  only  one  man  in 
France  has  had  the  courage  to  adhere 
to  the  fallen  emperor." 

Susy's  heart  failed  her  as  they 
neared  their  journey's  end,  for  they 
came  to  a  desolate  country  of  broken 
bridges,  of  closed  houses,  of  windows 
and  palings  smashed,  of  furniture  piled 
in  sheds  along  the  line ;  and  as  they 
neared  Paris,  to  a  wide  and  devastated 
plain  across  which  the  snow  was  be- 
ginning to  drift.  The  plain  spread 
dim  and  dreary,  sprinkled  with  ghosts 
of  houses,  skeletons  of  walls  that  had 
once  inclosed  homes,  now  riddled  and 
charred  with  burnt  beams,  and  seams, 
and  cracks,  telling  the  same  sad  story, 
reiterated  again  and  again,  of  glorious 
conquest  and  victory. 


CHAPTER  XXVIII. 
THREE    MILES    ALONG    THE    ROAD. 

WHEN  Susy  stepped  out  of  the  train 
and  looked  around,  she  was  struck  by 
the  change  in  the  people  standing  all 
about  the  station.  They  had  strange, 
grave,  scared  faces ;  they  were  more 
like  English  people  than  French 
people ;  every  woman  was  in  mourn- 
ing, which  added  to  the  sadness  of  the 
place.  A  cold  east  wind  was  blowing 
up  the  silent  street  and  across  the 
open  place  in  front  of  the  railway.  A 
man  came  to  offer  to  carry  her  bag ; 
when  she  told  him  she  wanted  a  car- 
riage to  take  her  to  Neuilly,  he 
shrugged  his  shoulders — "  A  carriage," 
said  he  ;  "  where  am  I  to  find  a  car- 
riage 1  the  Prussians  have  made  cutlets 
of  our  horses." 

Susy  looked  round,  there  were 
porters  and  trucks  in  plenty,  but  not 
a  carriage  was  to  be  seen.  It  was  a 
long  weary  tramp  after  a  night 
spent  in  travelling ;  but  there  was 
no  help  for  it,  and  after  a  minute's 
hesitation,  Susy  told  the  man  to  take 
up  her  bag.  She  had  walked  farther 


Mrs.  JJymond. 


459 


in  old  days  when  she  was  coming  and 
going  and  giving  her  music  lessons. 

The  man  trudged  in  silence  ;  it  was 
a  good  three  miles'  walk  across  the 
boulevards,  and  by  streets  and  shops ; 
some  were  open,  some  were  not  yet 
reassured  enough  to  let  down  their 
closed  shutters.  One  of  the  very  first 
sights  which  met  Susy  along  the  road 
was  a  dispirited,  straggling  regiment 
marching  into  Paris  from  the  frontier, 
torn,  shabby,  weary,  the  mud-stained 
officers  marching  with  the  men.  These 
men  were  boys,  for  the  most  part  half 
grown,  half  clothed,  dragging  on  with 
a  dull  and  piteous  look  of  hunger  and 
fatigue,  while  the  piercing  wind  came 
whistling  up  the  street.  "  They  are 
disarmed,  that  is  why  they  look  so 
cold,"  said  the  porter  stopping  for  a 
moment  to  look  after  them.  "There 
is  one  who  can  keep  up  no  longer ; " 
as  he  spoke  one  of  the  poor  fellows  fell 
out  of  the  ranks,  too  much  exhausted 
to  go  on  any  farther ;  a  halt  was 
called,  and  many  of  them  sank  down 
on  the  pavement  just  where  they 
stopped. 

The  way  seemed  longer  and  longer  ; 
more  than  once  she  was  obliged  to 
rest  upon  the  benches  along  the  road. 
It  was  now  about  twelve  o'clock,  the 
sun  had  come  out  bright  though  with- 
out warmth,  and  it  somewhat  cheered 
the  shivering  city.  They  reached  the 
Arc  at  last,  still  swathed  in  its  wooden 
shields.  Susy  thought  of  her  last  sunset 
drive,  and  of  the  glories  in  which  the 
stony  heroes  of  the  past  had  then 
brandished  their  spears.  Here  Susy 
saw  an  empty  carriage  coming  out  of  a 
side  street,  and  she  told  the  porter  to 
secure  it. 

The  man  thanked  her  for  the  money 
she  pxit  into  his  hand  as  she  sank  tired 
out  into  a  corner  of  the  coach.  The 
driver  leant  back  upon  his  seat,  and 
seeing  she  was  tired  and  prepared  to 
pay,  began  to  make  difficulties. 

"Villa  du  Pare,  Avenue  de  Neu- 
illy  1  "  says  the  coachman  ;  "you  will 
not  find  any  houses  standing  in  the 
Avenue  de  Neuilly.  The  Prussians 
have  taken  care  of  that.  I  will  drive 


you  if  you  like ;    but  you  will  have 
your  course  for  nothing." 

"  Pray  drive  on,"  said  Susy  wearily, 
"  I  will  tell  you  when  to  stop." 

''•When  I  tell  you  that  there  are 
no  houses  left  to  drive  to  !  "  persists  the 
coachman,  "  but  I  must  be  paid  all  the 
same,  whether  the  house  is  there  or 
not." 

"Yes,  of  course  you  shall  be  paid," 
said  poor  Susy,  utterly  tired,  fright- 
ened, impatient,  scarcely  knowing 
what  to  fear  or  to  expect. 

Madame  Du  Fare's  letter  had  been 
dated  from  the  villa,  but  Susanna's 
heart  began  to  fail  her  as  she  drove  on. 
They  drove  past  blackened  walls,  by 
trees  half  destroyed  and  charred,  and 
breaking  out  into  pale  fresh  green 
among  the  burnt  and  broken  branches ; 
and  by  gardens  all  trampled  and 
ravished. 

Susanna  was  almost  too  weary 
to  think,  too  sadly  impressed  to  be 
frightened.  She  seemed  to  herself  to 
have  gone  through  some  great  battle, 
some  long  and  desperate  siege,  and 
now  again,  when  the  victory  had 
been  so  sorely  won,  the  enemy  re- 
pulsed with  such  desperate  resolution, 
now  that  she  was  so  tired,  so  worn, 
came  a  fresh  assault  more  difficult  to 
withstand  than  anything  that  had 
gone  before.  Should  she  see  him 
again,  would  he  be  there  at  home 
once  more,  was  he  well  of  his  wound, 
was  it — was  it  Max  or  her  mother 
that  she  had  come  for  ?  she  suddenly 
asked  herself  with  an  angry,  desperate 
effort.  Mrs.  Dymond,  absorbed  in 
her  own  thoughts  had  driven  past 
the  house  without  seeing  it,  and 
the  coachman  had  stopped  of  his  own 
accord  in  a  sunny,  windy  corner, 
where  three  ruined  streets  divided 
from  the  broad  avenue. 

"  Well !  "  says  he,  "  I  told  you  how 
it  would  be." 

She  looked  blankly  up  and  down 
the  road ;  she  scarcely  knew  where 
she  was.  Then,  as  she  looked  again, 
she  remembered  once  seeing  Du  Pare 
coming  up  one  of  these  streets  in  his 
workman's  blouse. 


460 


Mrs.  Dymond. 


"  Am  I  to  turn  up  these  roads — am 
I  to  go  on  ?  "  cries  the  coachman,  again 
stamping  his  wooden  shoes  upon  the 
box  to  warm  his  feet. 

"I  will  get  out,  follow  me,"  says 
Susy,  suddenly  remembering  where 
they  had  come  to,  and  she  sprang  out 
and  walked  back  along  the  avenue  to 
the  villa,  which  was  not  far  distant. 
It  seemed  like  a  miracle  to  see  the 
old  green  gates  actually  standing, 
and  the  villa  unaltered  in  the  shaded 
garden.  The  gates  were  splintered 
and  half  broken  down,  the  garden 
trampled  over,  but  the  house  was 
little  changed  and  stood  in  the  cold 
spring  sunshine,  with  no  sign  of  the 
terrible  wave  of  war  which  had  passed 
over  the  village.  Even  the  weather- 
cock was  safe,  glittering  and  quivering 
changefully,  for  the  east  wind  had  gone 
round  to  some  warmer  quarter.  A 
sick  woman,  propped  up  by  pillows,  was 
sitting  out  in  the  garden,  a  stout  old 
lady  was  trotting  backwards  and  for- 
wards from  the  house  with  wraps  and 
bottles  and  all  that  miserable  para- 
phernalia of  sickness.  (How  well  one 
knows  the  look  of  it,  one  could  almost 
believe  that  pain  and  suffering  and 
sleepless  nights  came  in  those  bottles 
and  round  china  pots.  Nervous  mise- 
ries, brown  studies,  blue  devils,  pink, 
yellow,  white  decoctions,  there  they 
all  stand  waiting  to  be  taken  at  bed- 
time or  dinner-time,  or  whatever  the 
proper  time  may  be.) 

Poor  Mary  Marney  was  looking 
wild  and  worn,  and  strangely  changed 
in  these  few  months. 

"  The  wind  blows  chill,"  she  was 
saying,  querulously.  "  If  only  I  could 
get  into  that  patch  of  sunshine,  but  I 
can't  move,  I  can't  get  there,"  she 
cried,  suddenly  breaking  down. 

"  La  !  la  !  la  !  la  !  "  says  Madame  du 
Pare,  extra  noisy,  trying  to  be  cheerful. 
"  What  is  there  to  prevent  you  being 
in.the  sunshine.  A'ie  /"  adds  madame, 
"  if  it  was  not  for  this  rheumatic  arm 
I  could  carry  you  there  myself.  Denise  ! 
what  are  you  about  ?  " 

Susy  stood  frozen  in  the  gateway 
for  a  moment,  too  shocked  to  move. 


Was  this  her  mother,  this  her  busy 
hard-working  mother,  thus  changed, 
thus  terribly  altered  in  so  short  a 
time? 

While  she  paused,  Mary,  looking 
up,  saw  her  daughter,  and  gave  a 
faint  scream.  Madame  also  looks  up. 

"A  la  bonheur/"  says  the  one 
cheerful,  unemotional  person  present. 
"  You  see  she  come  at  once,  and  1 
was  right,"  cries  the  old  lady,  rushing 
to  the  front,  and  bestowing  two  hearty 
kisses  on  Susy's  pale  cheeks. 

All  madame's  preventions  were  gone. 
Susy  was  in  her  highest  favour. 

"  You  are  a  googirl  to  come,"  she 
repeated,  pronouncing  it  as  if  it  was 
one  single  word. 

"  Mamma,  my  dear !  my  dear !  "..  Susy 
whispered,  kneeling  down  by  her 
mother's  side ;  for  she  could  not 
stand.  "  I  have  come  to  fetch  you, 
I  have  come  to  make  you  well  again, 
mamma  !  mamma  !  "  She  hardly 
knew  what  she  said  in  her  low,  tender 
whisper ;  but  Mary  saw  her  looks  of 
love,  felt  her  warm,  panting  breath, 
and  the  quick  beat  of  the  pulses,  and 
asked  no  more. 

Madame  took  Susy  up  stairs  after  a 
while.  The  house  had  been  used  as 
an  ambulance.  There  were  beds 
everywhere — in  the  dining-room  and 
the  drawing-room.  Most  of  the 
appliances  of  the  ambulance  had 
remained. 

Susy  followed  her  hostess  into  one 
of  the  rooms;  it  had  been  the  little 
boys'  nursery  ;  it  was  now  full  of  empty 
iron  bedsteads. 

The  old  lady  made  her  sit  down  on 
one  of  them,  as  she  told  her,  not  with- 
out kindness,  but  plainly  enough,  what 
the  doctor  had  said. 

"  He  had  declared  Mrs.  Marney  to 
be  suffering  from  an  aneurism ;  her 
very  life  depended  on  perfect  calm 
and  quiet — Calm  !  quiet !  I  ask  you 
how  is  that  to  be  procured  ?  And  that 
vile  husband  !  Oh  !  I  could  tell  her 
how  deceived  she  is  in  him,  but  she 
will  not  hear  reason ;  "  and  madame,  in 
that  peculiar  voice  in  which  people 
repeat  scandal  and  bad  news,  assured 


Mrs.  Dymond. 


461 


Susy  that  Marney  was  not  far  off,  he 
was  comfortably  established  in  the 
neighbourhood,  and  absenting  himself 
on  purpose.  Max  had  heard  things  in 
his  ambulance.  A  wounded  man  there 
had  had  dealings  with  Marney.  We 
will  go  together,"  says  madame,  "  we 
will  make  inquiry.  When  we  are 
chased  from  this,  as  my  son  declares 
will  be  the  case,  your  dear  mother 
must  not  be  abandoned.  I  must  go 
back ;  I  have  no  rents,  nothing  to 
depend  upon  here.  In  the  south  Max 
has  a  little 'farm,  which  will  keep  us 
both.  I  sent  for  you,  my  poor 
child,  when  I  heard  the  doctor's  ter- 
rible announce,  and  we  will  arrange 
presently  what  we  should  do.  Here 
is  your  old  room ;  the  doctor  of  the 
ambulance  has  been  living  here ;  you 
see  nothing  is  new.  It  is  all  the 
same." 

There  is  something  which  appeals  to 
most  imaginations  in  places  scarcely 
altered,  when  those  who  inhabit  them 
are  so  changed.  Susy  looked  round 
as  she  sank  wearily  down  upon  the 
old  creaking  wooden  bedstead.  How 
often  before  this  had  she  cried  herself 
to  sleep  upon  it.  She  looked  at  the 
whitewashed  walls,  at  the  shadow  of 
the  window  bar  travelling  across  the 
tiles ;  then  a  curious  shock  reminded 
her  of  the  difference  of  the  now  and 
of  the  time  to  which  she  had  travelled 
back  again.  .  .  . 

She  came  down  to  find  her  mother  im- 
patiently waiting  for  her.  Mrs.  Marney 
had  been  carried  into  the  sitting-room, 
and  Susy's  hope  sank  afresh  as  she 
looked  at  the  changed  face  turned  to 
the  door,  and  expecting  her  so  eagerly. 
One  little  crisp,  familiar  wave  of  curly 
hair  beneath  her  cap  seemed  the  only 
thing  which  remained  of  Susy's  mother 
as  she  had  been  but  a  few  weeks  ago. 
Poor  Mrs.  Marney  was  worn  by 
many  sorrows  and  anxieties  besides 
her  illness.  Of  Marney  she  knew 
scarcely  anything,  and  that  was  the 
chief  of  her  many  pains. 

' '  Oh,  Susy  !  I  would  not  trouble 
you  with  my  troubles."  she  said,  "  but 
I  have  gone  through  more  than  I  could 


bear.  After  the  first  weeks  at  Avignon 
he  scarcely  wrote  ;  he  scarcely  gave 
one  sign,  and  I  knew  not  what  to  fear. 
I  have  been  mad  to  see  him.  Madame 
has  said  cruel  things  which  I  seem  to 
have  no  strength  to  hear.  I  wrote  to 
him  when  I  first  came  here.  And 
now  I  hear  nothing,  I  know  nothing," 
Susy  turned  scarlet ;  but  she  soothed 
her  mother  again,  with  many  gentle 
words  and  caresses. 

CHAPTER  XXIX. 
ADIEU    LES    SONGES  D*OE. 

THINGS  come  about  simply  and  na- 
turally which  seem  very  terrible  and 
full  of  emotion  before  hand.  Here 
was  Susanna,  after  all  that  had  hap- 
pened, standing  with  Madame  du  Pare 
by  Max's  bedside,  and  neither  of  the 
three  seemed  moved  beyond  their 
ordinary  looks  and  ways.  Had  they 
parted  yesterday  in  a  garden  of  roses 
they  could  not  have  met  more 
quietly,  though  they  met  with  disaster 
all  about,  among  omens  and  forebod- 
ings of  worse  evil  to  come.  For  a 
moment  the  room  seemed  to  Susy  to 
shake  beneath  her  feet,  but  it  was 
only  for  a  moment.  The  sight  of 
his  pale  worn  face,  so  sad  and  strangely 
marked  with  lines  of  care,  and  yet  so 
familiar  withal,  called  her  back  to 
the  one  thought  of  late  so  predomi- 
nant in  her  mind  :  what  she  could 
do  for  him,  how  she  could  help  him 
best.  Of  sentiment  and  personal  feel- 
ing she  could  not  think  at  such  an 
hour. 

Great  events  carry  people  along  into 
a  different  state  of  mood  and  being, 
to  string  them  to  some  greater  chord 
than  that  of  their  own  personality. 
In  all  these  strange  days  and  stirring 
episodes  Susanna  seemed  to  herself  but 
one  among  the  thousands  who  were 
facing  the  crisis  of  their  fate,  a  part  of 
all  the  rest,  and  yet  at  the  same  time 
she  knew  that  every  feeling  she  had 
ever  known  was  there  keenly  alive, 
unchanged  by  change. 

"  Ah  !  we  have  had  a  narrow 
escape,"  said  madame.  "  They  got 


462 


Mrs.  Dymond. 


the  ball  out  of  his  chest ;  a  little  more 
and  it  was  in  his  lungs.  But  he  is  well 
now,  and  he  was  able  to  save  his  man. 
Eh!  Max?" 

"  Save  my  man,  mamma  1  "  said 
Max,  smiling  faintly.  "  There  was 
not  much  of  him  saved,  poor  fellow.  I 
pulled  what  was  left  of  him  from 
under  his  horse,  then  some  one  helped 
me  up.  By  the  way,  can  you  arrange 
for  Adolphe  to  return  to  the  villa  to- 
morrow ?  Caron  will  bring  a  carriage 
for  us." 

"  Why,  of  course,  comment  done.  I 
will  speak  to  the  sister  at  once,"  said 
Madame  du  Pare,  jumping  up.  Then 
she  paused.  "  Susy  has  something  to 
ask  you,"  she  said.  "  Who  was  it,  Max, 
who  saw  Marney  at  St.  Cloud  ?  Who 
can  give  us  his  address  ?  " 

"It  was  Adolphe,"  said  Max,  shortly. 
"  You  had  better  leave  Mr.  Marney  to 
his  own  affairs." 

"  I  wish  it  were  possible,"  Susy  said 
with  a  sigh ;  "  but  my  mother  cannot 
rest  day  or  night.  I  am  driven  to  look 
for  him.  It  is  only  to  help  her  that  I 
am  here." 

"  You  will  find  Adolphe  in  the  next 
room,"  said  Du  Pare,  looking  disap- 
pointed. "  My  mother  will  guide 
you.  Good-bye;  do  not  stay  now," 
and  he  put  out  his  hand. 

He  spoke  advisedly.  He  was  still 
weak  from  illness.  This  meeting  was 
almost  too  much  for  his  strength,  and 
he  dreaded  one  kind  word  from  Susy, 
lest,  like  a  woman,  he  should  break 
into  tears.  These  were  not  times  for 
•  tears  of  sensibility.  There  had  been 
too  many  tears  shed,  Max  used  to 
think.  Statesmen  wept  when  they 
should  have  resolved ;  made  speeches 
where  silence  would  have  been 
more  to  the  purpose ;  and  Du  Pare 
felt  that  for  the  present,  for  Susy's 
sake  and  for  his  own,  they  must  be  as 
strangers  together.  His  was  a  some- 
what old-fashioned  creed,  but  one 
which,  after  all,  has  kept  the 
world  going  in  honour  and  self- 
respect  since  the  beginning  of  all 
honour,  and  Du  Pare,  having  made  up 
his  mind,  was  not  in  the  habit  of 


wasting  his  time  by  undoing  it  again. 
He  was  but  half  a  Frenchman,  but  he 
loved  his  country,  its  welfare,  its  good 
name  beyond  all  other  things.  For 
the  last  four  weeks  he  had  laid 
patiently  waiting  for  his  wound  to 
heal,  now  that  his  strength  was 
returning  he  longed  to  be  at  work  once 
more.  It  was  little  enough,  but  it  was 
something.  One  more  pair  of  arms  to 
help  to  keep  order  in  the  chaos,  one 
more  recruit  on  the  side  of  justice  and 
of  law. 

Max  followed  Susanna's  tall  re- 
treating figure  to  the  door  with  his 
sick  man's  wistful  looks.  She  stopped 
for  a  moment,  looked  back,  faintly 
smiled,  and  passed  on.  The  two  were 
in  deeper  sympathy  in  their  silent 
estrangement  than  in  any  romantic  pro- 
tests and  explanations.  The  next  room 
had  been  a  grand  lady's  boudoir  once. 
It  was  still  hung  with  a  few  smart 
pictures  and  ornamental  glasses.  A 
young  soldier,  in  undress,  with  a 
wounded  shoulder,  who  was  standing 
in  a  window,  greeted  them  cheerfully 
and  immediately  began  fumbling  with 
his  good  arm  at  his  red  trousers  pocket. 

"  Good-morning,  Madame  du  Pare," 
he  cried.  "  Your  son  told  me  he  was 
expecting  you.  I  want  to  show  you 
this."  And  he  produced  a  purse,  in 
which,  with  some  coppers,  was  a  piece 
of  his  own  bone  wrapped  up  in  news- 
paper. 

The  next  man  to  him  who  was 
bedridden  brought  a  bit  of  his  knee- 
cap from  under  the  pillow.  He  had  a 
handsome  brown  face,  and  lay  looking 
up  wearily  ;  he  couldn't  sleep,  he  was 
never  at  ease,  he  said  ;  his  comrade 
had  been  writing  home  for  him.  "  He 
won't  tell  them  of  his  wound,"  cried  the 
man  in  the  window.  "  He  made  me 
say  that  he  had  a  slight  sprain  in  the 
leg,"  and  the  good-natured  young 
fellow  roared  with  laughter  at  the 
joke.  "  Never  mind,  we  shall  see 
thee  a  captain  yet,  Jean !  "  he  said 
gaily. 

"A  captain!  not  even  a  corporal,' 
answers  poor  Jean. 

Some  other  men  who  were  playing 


Mrs.  Dymond. 


462 


cards  and  dominoes  at  a  table  in  the 
centre  of  the  room  looked  up  and 
greeted  Madame  du  Pare,  who  seemed 
to  know  them  all.  One  poor  fellow, 
who  was  looking  over  a  comrade's 
cards,  came  striding  forward  with 
both  hands  in  his  trousers  pockets. 
This  was  the  Adolphe  whom  Max  had 
saved  at  the  risk  of  his  own  life.  He 
was  a  sergeant,  a  superior  sort  of 
man,  with  a  handsome  face.  He  had 
been  a  carpenter  when  the  war  broke 
out.  He  had  been  wounded  in  the 
side.  He  had  a  wife  and  three  little 
children,  he  told  Susanna.  He  was 
going  home  to  them,  "  but  I  shall 
never  be  able  to  work  for  them  again," 
he  said  sadly,  and  Susy  could  hardly 
repress  a  cry  of  compassion  as  he 
showed  her  his  stumped  lingers — they 
had  been  clean  cut  oft'  both  hands. 

"  Tu  vivras  de  tes  rentes  "  cried  one  of 
the  card  players  cheerfully,  and  again  the 
poor  fellows  all  laugh,  not  heartlessly, 
but  with  the  real  courage  and  humility 
of  endurance,  which  is  more  touching 
than  any  bitter  complaints.  Adolphe, 
who  had  been  taken  prisoner,  had  seen 
Marney  at  Versailles  in  the  Prussians' 
head- quarters,  and  it  was  Marney  who 
had  helped  his  escape,  giving  him 
money  and  also  certain  commissions 
to  execute  in  Paris.  Adolphe,  being 
questioned,  told  Susy  of  a  place  where 
Marney  was  always  to  be  heard  of ; 
he  had  often  carried  letters  for  him 
there — a  cafe  at  St.  Cloud,  it  was  easy 
enough  to  find.  While  they  were  talk- 
ing madame,  who  hated  being  quiet, 
was  walking  round  the  room  with  her 
basket  on  her  arm,  distributing  various 
things  which  she  thought  might  be 
useful  to  the  patients.  She  offered  a 
'  newspaper  to  one  of  them,  who  refused 
it  gaily  with  thanks. 

"  I  never  read  them,"  said  he, 
"  since  the  war  began,  they  are  nothing 
but  lies.  Holloa  !  Who  wants  the  last 
number  of  the  Fausse  Nouvelle  ?"  he 
shouts. 

A  few  beds  off  lay  a  poor  English- 
man. He  had  enlisted  in  the  line.  He 
had  been  with  General  Failly  at  Lyons. 
"  He  has  been  very  ill,  poor  fellow," 


said  madame,  as  Susy  joined  her. 
"John  Perkins!  here  is  an  English 
lady  come  to  see  you  !  " 

"  See  me  !  There  is  not  much  of  me 
fit  to  see,"  muttered  poor  John  Perkins, 
wearily,  pulling  up  the  sheet  over  his 
face. 

The  sister-in-charge  now  came  up. 
She  was  dressed  in  her  sisters'  dress, 
with  a  white  coiffe  and  loose  grey 
sleeves.  She  had  a  fine  and  sensitive 
face,  and  spoke  like  a  person  of  some 
distinction,  but  she  seemed  distressed 
and  over-tasked. 

"  Your  son  has  a  home  to  go  to  ;  he 
is  ready  to  go,  the  doctor  tells  me.  So 
many  of  my  patients  would  be  the 
better  for  a  change,  but  I  have  no- 
where to  send  them.  Everything  is 
in  ruins.  Our  convalescent  hospital 
has  been  wrecked ;  the  furniture  has 
been  given  for  ambulances.  All  is 
gone,  all  is  destroyed.  We  do  all  we 
can  for  them.  Mr.  Wallace  says  they 
are  to  have  anything  they  want." 

It  was  a  handsome  house,  polished 
and  shining,  there  were  Englishmen 
to  wait,  carved  ceilings,  tall  windows, 
and  yet  it  was  a  sad  place  to  think  of. 
Susy  came  away  haunted  by  pain. 
Madame  was  not  a  comforting  com- 
panion, the  consciousness  of  all  this 
suffering  rendered  her  morose  and 
irritable.  She  was  anxious  about 
her  son,  and  she  had  the  fate  of  her 
old  friend,  Mademoiselle  Fayard,  on 
her  mind.  Mademoiselle  Fayard,  after 
being  driven  from  Neuilly,  had  lodged 
over  an  undertaker's  shop  in  the  same 
street  as  the  hospital,  and  thither 
madame  insisted  on  going. 

The  young  undertaker  received  them 
in  the  uniform  of  the  National  Guard. 
"  Mademoiselle  Fayard  and  her  brother 
were  gone,"  he  said,  "  but  their  address 
was  always  to  be  had  at  the  convent 
of  the  Petite  SMUTS."  In  reply  to 
inquiries  about  himself,  he  answered 
blushing,  that  he  had  volunteered.  He 
had  been  in  three  battles,  and  had 
got  his  discharge ;  he  had  been 
wounded.  His  wife  had  given  him  up 
for  dead.  He  found  her  in  mourning 
for  him  when  he  got  back.  .  .  . 


464 


Mrs.  Dyrnond. 


It  was  but  a  few  hours  since  Susy  had 
left  her  home,  and  already  it  seemed  to 
her  natural  to  hear  all  these  histories, 
to  see  ruin  and  trouble  on  every  side, 
and  incongruous  things  which  no  longer 
surprised  her.  A  few  minutes  later  she 
was  standing  with  Madame  du  Pare 
in  the  old  courtyard  of  a  convent.  A 
pile  of  knapsacks  was  heaped  against 
the  old  grey  wall,  some  soldiers  were 
coming  in  at  the  gateway,  and  two  nuns 
were  advancing  to  receive  them.  The 
soldiers  looked  well  pleased,  and  the 
nuns,  too,  seemed  amused.  They  were 
all  on  the  best  of  terms.  The  nuns 
smile  and  fold  their  hands,  the  soldiers 
laugh  and  nod  and  scamper  up  stairs 
to  their  allotted  cells.  "  Poor  fellows  ! 
they  would  have  had  to  sleep  out  of 
doors  all  night  if  we  had  not  taken 
them  in,"  said  the  nuns.  "  We  had 
one  ward  of  the  infirmary  empty,  and 
the  Superior  said  the  soldiers  might 
occupy  it."  The  sister  went  on  to  tell 
Madame  du  Pare  how  they  had  kept 
their  infirmary  open  almost  all  through 
the  siege  until  one  morning  when  a 
poor  old  fellow  had  gone  out  early  to 
get  a  drink  at  the  fountain  in  the 
garden,  and  an  obus  fell  and  killed  him, 
"just  there  where  the  sun  is  shin- 
ing," said  the  Sceur  Marie  Joseph. 
"  All  of  the  nuns  wanted  to  go  to  him, 
but  Bonne  Mere  ordered  us  down 
on  our  knees  and  went  alone.  The 
Prussians  seemed  to  have  got  the 
range  of  our  convent,  for  the  shells 
fell  at  intervals  all  that  day,  and  we 
moved  the  old  men,  not  without  diffi- 
culty and  danger.  We  had  hardly 
got  them  out  when  a  great  bomb  came 
crashing  into  the  infirmary.  You  can 
see  for  yourself,"  says  the  sister,  open- 
ing the  infirmary  door. 

All  was  restored  again,  the  holes 
were  mended  in  the  floor  with  squares 
of  new  wood,  the  orderly  beds  were 
in  their  places,  and  the  old  men  safe 
back  in  their  beds. 

"Nothing  happens  to  us,"  said 
an  old  fellow,  with  a  long  white 
beard,  sitting  up  in  bed  ;  "  here  we  lie, 
tied  by  the  leg  !  " 

"I   have    been    to    Prussia,"    says 


another,  in  an  arm-chair,  beside  him, 
with  a  white  nightcap  pulled  over 
his  ears,  talking  on  continuously 
whether  anybody  listened  to  him 
or  not,  "  I  have  pillaged,  too,  in  my 
time,  but,  thank  God  [Diod  marchi 
he  pronounced  it],  we  are  not  bad 
men  like  those  Prussians.  We  used 
to  take  to  eat  because  we  were  hungry. 
We  didn't  pillage  for  nothing  at  all. 
No,  no  ;  we  are  soldiers,  not  bandits," 
says  he  bringing  his  hand  down  upon 
his  knee.  "If  we  hadn't  been  be- 
trayed we  should  have  smashed  those 
Prussians." 

"  Yes,  we  should  have  smashed 
them  !  "  cries  a  third  old  feeble  fellow 
on  his  pillow  just  beyond. 

A  lady  in  black  was  sitting  by  his 
bedside,  a  sweet-faced  woman.  A 
dame  de  charite  they  called  her,  an 
Englishwoman,  living  in  Paris,  who 
gave  herself  up  to  visiting  the  poor. 
When  they  asked  the  nuns  about 
Mademoiselle  Fayard,  they  said  she  too 
was  well  known  at  the  convent,  and 
often  came  to  read  to  the  old  men. 
She  was  lodging  close  by  with  her 
brother,  next  door  to  the  Carmelite 
convent  in  the  adjoining  street.  Mrs. 
Dymond  was  longing  to  get  home  to 
her  own  sick  woman  again,  and 
Madame  du  Pare  promised  that  this 
should  be  their  last  visit.  Susanna 
could  not  help  thinking  of  Dante's 
journey  as  she  followed  madame's 
steady  steps.  They  came  out  into  the 
street,  and  presently  found  themselves 
standing  in  the  Rue  d'Enfer  in  front 
of  an  old  grim  house,  with  grey  and 
silent  walls,  against  which  came  the 
beating  sleet  and  the  cutting  winds. 
Two  men  were  at  work  in  the  yard 
carting  away  a  heap  of  stones  and 
plaster.  A  little  girl  was  standing 
at  the  door,  too  much  engrossed  by 
the  bombshells  to  understand  what 
they  said  at  first.  "  Look  !  they  are 
removing  the  ruins  from  the  chapel, 
the  bombs  fell  just  there,  mesdames, 
piercing  right  through  into  the  cellar 
beneath.  The  director  of  the  ladies 
escaped  as  by  a  miracle.  We  only 
came  home  yesterday.  Our  lodge 


Mrs.  Dymond. 


465 


is  in  an  indescribable  state."  By 
degrees  the  little  girl  was  made  to 
understand  what  it  was  they  wanted, 
and  after  consultation  with  her 
mother,  who  was  at  work  indoors, 
she  came  back  with  the  news 
that  Mademoiselle  Fayard  was  at 
home,  up  stairs  at  the  very  top  of  the 
house,  and  Susy  and  her  old  guide 
now  climbed  flight  after  flight  of  stone 
steps,  bound  together,  as  in  old  French 
houses,  by  wrought  iron  banisters.  At 
the  very  top  of  the  house,  under  the  sky- 
light, they  found  the  door  to  which 
they  had  been  directed,  and  rang  a 
bell,  which  echoed  in  the  emptiness. 
Presently  they  heard  steps,  and  the 
door  was  opened,  and  Mademoiselle 
Fayard,  the  shadow  of  herself,  so  thin, 
changed,  worn,  limp,  opened  the 
door.  Madarne's  grunts  of  compassion- 
ate recognition  nearly  overcame  the 
poor  lady  as  she  fell  weeping  into  her 
old  friend's  arms.  She  flitted  before 
them  exclaiming,  and  hastily  opened 
the  door  of  the  room  where  she  had 
been  sitting  with  her  brother.  It  was 
a  long,  low  room  in  the  roof  of  the  old 
house,  littered  with  books  and  pack- 
ing cases.  They  had  prepared  to  fly 
at  one  time,  Mademoiselle  Fayard 
explained,  and  had  commenced  to 
pack. 

"  Brother  !  brother !  here  is  Ma- 
dame du  Pare,"  cries  the  ghost  of 
Mademoiselle  Fayard  to  the  skeleton  of 
her  brother,  who  was  sitting  in  an  old 
dressing-gown  by  a  smouldering  stove 
in  the  semi-darkness  of  the  room.  ^The 
old  lady  had  already  lit  up  her  lamp, 
and  as  they  came  in  she  hospitably 
turned  it  up  with  her  trembling  hands, 
while  he  disencumbered  two  chairs  for 
the  ladies.  "  Oh  !  my  poor  frens," 
says  madame,  sitting  heavily  down. 
"  What  have  we  all  suffered  !  "  Susy 
could  only  look  her  pity  as  she  listened 
to  the  sad  reiteration  of  cold,  hunger, 
hope  deferred,  darkness  and  anxiety. 

The  Fayards  were  both  speaking  to- 
gether ;  they  described  their  past 
alarms,  their  weary  waiting,  how  the 
food  and  the  fuel  failed  first,  and 
then  the  light ;  they  used  to  go 

No.  312.— VOL.  LII.  ' 


to  bed  at  seven  o'clock,  and  lie 
awake  the  long  hours  listening  to  the 
boom  of  the  guns  ;  how  towards  the 
end  of  the  siege  the  bombs  began  to 
fall  in  their  street  and  upon  the  houses 
all  around  them ;  the  old  lady  and 
gentleman  felt  the  crash  of  the  first 
that  fell  into  the  linen-closet  of  the 
ladies  of  the  Carmelite  Convent  next 
door ;  the  pompiers  had  hardly  put 
out  the  tire  when  another  bomb  broke 
into  the  chapel.  The  petite  soeur 
towriere,  who  was  arranging  the  altar, 
stood  alone  and  unhurt  in  the  midst  of 
the  falling  timber  and  glass,  but  the 
pulpit  was  destroyed,  and  the  marble 
columns  were  injured,  the  sisters  could 
not  escape  because  of  their  vow,  and 
had  to  remain  in  the  cellars.  For  a 
whole  fortnight,  every  day,  the  priest 
went  down  to  say  mass,  though  it  wa? 
dangerous  to  cross  the  court,  for  bomb 
after  bomb  kept  falling  there. 

"Once  we  went  away,"  said 
Mademoiselle  Fayard,  in  her  extin- 
guished voice,  "  but  we  had  to  come 
back  for  food.  Our  ticket  was  of  no 
use  in  any  other  district,  and  we 
thought  it  best  to  remain  at  home. 
Many  days  I  have  waited  for  three 
hours  in  the  pouring  rain  to  obtain 
our  daily  allowance  of  food.  We  could 
hardly  cook  it,  we  had  no  fuel  left. 
Oh  !  it  was  bitter  cold,"  said  she  ;  "  we 
have  endured  very  much;  and  if  only  it 
had  been  to  some  good  end  we  should 
not  have  felt  our  sufferings."  The 
old  people  promised  to  come  over 
very  soon.  They  asked  affectionately 
after  Max.  Mademoiselle  Fayard 
had  been  to  see  him  in  the  ambulance 
as  soon  as  she  heard  of  his  wound. 
He,  too,  had  been  to  see  them 
during  the  siege.  He  had  brought 
them  a  couple  of  new-laid  eggs  "as  a 
present,"  said  the  old  lady.  "  I  know 
he  paid  fifteen  francs  for  the  two.  Oh, 
madame,  the  price  of  everything  ! 
Cabbages  were  five  francs  apiece ! 
Elephants,  monkeys,  cats,  all  were 
at  exorbitant  prices." 

As  the  two  women  turned  home- 
wards, the  streets  were  full  of  peo- 
ple in  black,  with  sad  faces ;  they 

H  H 


466 


Mrs.  Dymond. 


passed  soldiers  and  more  soldiers, 
all  disarmed  and  ragged  to  look 
upon,  and  Franctireurs  in  top-boots 
lined  with  old  newspapers.  As 
they  passed  the  Luxembourg  Gar- 
dens they  could  see  the  tents  of 
the  shivering  soldiers  sleeping  within. 
Many  of  them  were  sick,  just  out  of 
ambulance,  some  had  not  even  tents. 

Madame  du  Pare  walked  on  steadily, 
and   Susy  hurried  after.     They  were 
both  anxious  to  get  home,  but  as  they 
passed   a    bookseller's    shop    on    the 
quay,  Madame  du  Pare  went  in  for  one 
minute  to  ask   some  questions    about 
M.    Caron,   who  was  a  friend  of  the 
shopkeeper.     M.  Caron  was  down  near 
Corbeil   looking   after   his   mills ;    he 
was  coming  up  next  day ;  nobody  was 
doing  any   business.     The    bookseller 
himself  had  only   opened  his  shop  for 
company.      He    directed    them   to    a 
coach-yard   close  by,  where  they  now 
went  in    search    of    a    carriage,    and 
thought  themselves  lucky  to  find  one. 
Their  journey  home  was  enlivened  by 
the   coachman's   remarks.    What    did 
they  think  of  his  horse  ?     It  was  one 
of    three   left  out   of  a   hundred   and 
fifty.     The    man   stopped    of  his  own 
accord   before  the   column  of  victory. 
A   flag    was    flowing    from  the     top, 
garlands    had    been  twined  about  its 
base.     "  A  mirliton,  that  is  what  it 
looks  like,"  he  cried,  cracking  his  whip 
gaily. 

As  he  spoke  a  little  cart  was  slowly 
passing  by,  in  which  sat  two  women 
dressed  in  black. 


CHAPTER  XXX. 
ST.    CLOUD    AFTEE   THE    STORM. 

MAX  and  Adolphe  came  back  next 
day  in  the  carriage  M.  Caron  had 
sent  for  them.  They  were  a  pale 
and  depressed  -  looking  couple.  As 
their  strength  returned  day  by  day, 
in  common  with  many  of  the 
wounded  they  seemed  to  feel  their 
country's  cruel  wounds  more  and  more 
keenly.  Bourbaki  was  not  alone  in  his 
despair  and  passionate  regret.  Many 


men  committed  suicide,  many  lost 
their  senses,  but  others  pulled  them- 
selves together  and  bravely  by  degrees 
began  to  reconstruct  their  lives  once 
more.  Max  tried  to  make  a  rally 
when  he  came  in  to  see  his  old  friend, 
Mrs.  Marney.  But  he  could  not  put 
away  the  lines  in  his  face,  the  hollow 
rings  round  his  eyes  ;  he  laughed,  but 
it  was  but  a  melancholy  echo  of  long- 
past  gaiety. 

"  Why,  Maxwell,  ye  look  thin  and 
half-starved,  and  yet  none  the  less 
handsome  for  that,"  said  Mrs.  Marney, 
smiling  faintly,  and  indeed  what  she 
said  was  true  enough.  As  he  stood 
there  in  his  torn  and  shabby  uniform, 
he  seemed  to  the  three  women  more 
stately  than  any  general  in  brilliant 
orders  and  triumphant  prosperity. 

"  We  must  keep  him  with  us,  and 
make  him  strong  and  fat  ! "  says 
madame,  who  was  the  least  changed  of 
the  party  as  she  stood  beside  her  son 
in  her  Rembrandt-like  old  age. 

"  Are  ye  a  general,  Max,  or  only  a 
colonel  1 "  said  Mrs.  Marney.  "  I  wish 
you  would  tell  them  to  cease  firing 
their  cannon  and  to  leave  us  in 
peace  !" 

"I  am  neither  a  general  nor  a 
colonel,"  said  Max  gravely,  "  and  as 
for  telling  them  to  leave  off,  I  might 
as  well  speak  to  the  winds  and  the  seas. 
Our  troubles  are  not  over ;  you  must 
let  your  daughter  take  you  to  her 
home,  madame ;  this  is  no  place  for 
women.  There  is  no  time  to  lose.  She 
should  be  away  from  here." 

And  yet  he  was  glad  that  Susy  had 
come  ;  he  had  doubted  her  at  one  time, 
tried  to  do  her  cruel  injustice,  to  put 
her  away  out  of  his  thoughts  with  some 
hatred  mixed  with  his  feeling,  some 
angry  resentment  for  those  very  quali- 
ties for  which  he  had  loved  her.  Now 
they  met  with  an  abyss  between  them, 
but  he  could  not  see  her  unmoved  even 
at  such  a  time  as  this,  and  as  Max  went 
on  packing,  ordering,  arranging,  the 
thought  of  her  was  in  all  he  did ;  she 
looked  worn  and  tired,  the  worst  had 
not  yet  come.  Max  stopped  to  consider 
what  would  be  best  for  them  all.  His 


Mrs.  Dymond. 


467 


mother  must  go  into  safety  and  chance 
had  favoured  him  there.  Susy  must 
be  sent  back  without  delay  taking  her 
mother  with  her. 

But  Mrs.  Marney  would  not  hear  of 
going  away,  she  almost  screamed  when 
her  daughter  gently  and  tenderly  sug- 
gested it,  and  repeated  what  Max  had 
said.  The  mere  hint  of  a  move  threw 
her  into  a  state  of  such  hysteric  grief, 
that  Susy  feared  she  might  die  then 
and  there  in  her  arms. 

"  Go  without  seeing  Mick,  Susy, 
are  you  made  of  stone1?  Don't  you 
know  that  he  is  my  husband,  my 
love,  my  life  ?  Go  home  yourself, — and 
indeed  your  child  must  be  wanting 
you, — leave  me,  only  leave  me,  in 
peace  to  die.  Madame  must  go,  I 
know  that  well  enough ;  has  she  not 
said  so  a  dozen  times  a  day  1  I  only 
ask  to  be  left ;  my  husband  might  come 
back  and  find  me  gone,  I  who  never 
failed  him  yet."  It  was  all  so  piteous, 
so  incoherent,  so  tragical,  that  neither 
Susy  nor  her  old  friend  knew  how  to 
reason  with  it. 

Madame  du  Pare  was  preparing  to 
start  at  once,  her  "  affairs "  were 
weighing  on  her  mind.  "  If  I  delay 
there  are  those  who  are  ill-disposed, 
who  are  hungering  to  lay  their  'ands 
on  our  propriety.  I  must  have  a  'ome 
for  Max."  In  despair,  and  scarcely 
knowing  what  to  suggest,  Mrs.  Dy- 
mond determined  to  go  and  find  Mar- 
ney at  once,  if  he  could  be  found.  He 
would  be  the  best  person  to  persuade 
his  wife. 

Madame  du  Pare  had  been  talking 
to  Maxwell's  coachman.  It  happened 
by  chance  that  the  carriage  Caron 
had  engaged  belonged  to  Versailles, 
and  was  returning  that  afternoon. 
Carriages  were  rare,  and  Susy,  finding 
that  she  could  hire  this  one,  after  a 
couple  of  hours'  rest  for  the  horses, 
determined  to  set  off  on  her  quest 
without  loss  of  time.  Denise  was 
left  in  charge  of  the  sick  woman ; 
madame,  availing  herself  of  the  oppor- 
tunity proposed  to  accompany  Mrs. 
Dymond. 

"  Max  is  at  home,"  she  said  ;  "your 


mother  is  used  to  him ;  he  will  go  up 
if  he  is  wanted,  and  that  Adolphe  is 
very  handy,  poor  fellow."  It  was 
Adolphe  who  saw  them  off,  and  who 
told  the  coachman  where  to  drive 
when  they  reached  St.  Cloud.  So 
they  started  along  the  desolate  road. 
Madarne's  grunts,  groans,  and  ex- 
clamations, seemed  the  most  lively 
and  cheerful  sounds  by  the  way. 

"Oh!  Oh!  Oh!  Only  look  at  the 
ruined  houses !  That  is  poor  Made- 
moiselle Fayard's  apartment  up  there, 
right  up  there." 

Mademoiselle  Fayard's  late  apartment 
was  now  nothing  but  a  sort  of  hang- 
ing grotto  in  the  air,  and  consisted  of 
three  sides  of  a  blackened  room,  of 
which  the  floor  was  gone,  the  ceiling 
was  gone,  although  by  some  strange 
freak  of  chance  and  war  the  gilt 
looking-glass  still  hung  upon  its  nail 
in  which  Mademoiselle  Fayard  had 
been  used  to  crimp  her  curls.  All 
the  rest  of  the  tidy  little  home  had 
crumbled  and  fallen  away. 

"Ah!  Susy— I  must  call  you  Susy  still 
— how  terrible  it  all  is.  Only  just  now 
I  say  to  my  son,  '  Let  us  go  together, 
Max  ;  come  away  to  the  South — bring 
your  tools  and  your  work  and  let  us 
live  rational  lives  once  more.'  But  he 
will  not.  He  say  to  me,  '  Go,  mother ; 
you  go,  I  will  follow  when  my  work  here 
is  done.'  His  work,  what  is  it,  I  ask 
you  ?  He  have  finished  M.  Caron's 
book,  and  now,  when  I  go  into  the 
studio  I  see  nothing  on  the  walls. 
Why  does  he  not  come  away  ?  If  only 
your  dear  mamma  could  travel  with  us 
she  too  might  enjoy  the  peace,  the 
beautiful  clime  of  Avignon.  But  she 
have  you  now ;  you  are  a  better  cure 
than  an  old  patraque  like  me ;  you 
must  take  her  to  your  home,  and 
make  her  happy  with  you." 

Susy  looked  away,  her  eyes  were 
heavy  with  tears,  she  felt  that  no 
nurse,  no  care  could  ever  make  her 
mother  happy  again.  Madame  went 
on  talking  and  exclaiming  ;  when  Susy 
could  listen  to  her  again,  she  found  she 
had  gone  back  to  the  war,  to  her  ter- 
rors, to  her  joy,  when  she  found  her 
H  H  2 


468 


Mrs.  Dymond. 


house  spared  by  miracle.  They  floated 
their  ambulance  flag  over  the  roof,  and 
those  abominable  Prussians  did  not 
dare  fire  upon  the  villa.  "  And  now 
they  say  there  is  still  danger,  and  we 
must  go.  It  is  horrible." 

So  the  voice  monotonously  droned  on, 
and  meanwhile  they  drove  their  way  by 
a  desolate  road,  a  Pompeii  of  the  nine- 
teenth century,  past  deserted  houses, 
open  to  the  winds,  past  fallen  walls, 
between  the  blackened  homes,  all  alike 
forsaken  and  abandoned.  The  pleasant 
country  seats,  the  schools,  the  shops 
were  all  empty  and  wrecked.  Here  and 
there  they  passed  soldiers  leading  horses; 
and  carts,  loaded  with  household 
goods,  slowly  labouring  along  the  way. 
Men  and  women  came  slowly  dragging 
trucks  piled  with  whatofew  possessions 
they  had  saved  from  the  storm. 

At  last  they  reached  St.  Cloud 
itself,  and  once  more  madame  ex- 
claimed in  consternation.  Overhead 
the  sky  shone  blue  and  the  clouds 
were  floating  gaily,  but  the  village 
of  St.  Cloud  looked  like  a  pile 
of  children's  bricks  overthrown  by  a 
wayward  hand,  so  complete  was  the 
change  and  confusion.  The  stones 
were  heaped  in  the  streets,  only  the 
shells  of  the  tall  houses  were  standing 
still,  with  strips  of  paper  fluttering 
from  the  ruined  walls.  Here  and 
there  were  relics  and  indications  of 
the  daily  life  of  the  inhabitants.  In 
one  place  a  bird-cage  was  found  hang- 
ing unharmed  among  the  ruins.  At 
the  corner  of  the  principal  street  (how 
well  Susy  remembered  standing  there 
little  more  than  a  year  before  with 
Max,  when  the  Imperial  carriages 
rolled  by  and  all  seemed  so  prosperous) 
a  tall  pile  of  ruined  houses  upreared 
their  black  walls.  High  up  overhead  a 
kitchen  range,  with  its  saucepans,  was 
still  fixed,  and  some  toppling  chairs 
were  wedged  into  a  chimney  stack. 
At  the  foot  of  the  ruin,  three  women 
in  country  cloaks  were  standing  to- 
gether looking  up  vacantly  at  the 
charred  houses.  They  had  but  just 
come  home  to  find  their  homes  gone 
and  utterly  destroyed. 


A  few  steps  farther  on  Susy  saw  a 
child  playing  battledore  and  shuttle- 
cock in  front  of  the  blown-up  houses. 
High  up  against  the  sky  she  could 
see  the  gutted  chateau,  still  standing 
on  its  terrace,  while  the  sky  showed 
pink  through  the  walls.  Some  sight- 
seers were  standing  looking  about. 
"  Papa,  monte  par  id,  si  tu  veux  voir 
quelquechose  de  beau,"  cries  a  boy, 
springing  up  on  a  heap  of  bricks,  and 
pointing  to  a  falling  street.  Although 
the  whole  place  was  thus  ravaged  and 
destroyed,  by  some  odd  chance  the  spire 
of  the  church  and  its  bells  remained 
xintouched. 

The  cafe  was  also  little  harmed,  and 
some  people  were  sitting  as  usual 
drinking  at  the  little  tables  in  front 
of  the  windows. 

For  once  the  presence  of  these  in- 
different philosophers  was  reassuring ; 
one  of  them,  who  had  already  imbibed 
more  drink  than  was  necessary,  to 
prove  his  philosophy  began  a  song 
with  a  chorus  in  which  two  or  three 
of  his  companions  joined. 

"  Listen  to  them,"  said  a  workman 
going  by  ;  "they  drink  and  sing 
while  their  country  is  in  ruins."  And 
he  flung  some  common  word  of  disgust 
at  them,  and  trudged  on  his  way. 

Madame  was  looking  at  the  address 
Adolphe  had  given  her. 

"  This  must  be  the  very  place — see, 
'  Cafe  de  1' Empire  '  is  painted  outside. 
Here,  garcon  !  "  and  she  beckoned  to 
the  waiter. 

The  waiter  professed  to  know  no- 
thing of  M.  Marney.  He  had  never 
heard  the  name ;  no  Englishman  was 
staying  there.  In  vain  madame  ha- 
rangued and  scolded. 

Madame  was  not  to  be  repulsed  by  a 
little  difficulty.  She  slipped  a  five- 
franc  piece  into  the  waiter's  hand. 

"  Try  and  find  out  Monsieur  Marney's 
address  within,"  said  she,  "and  I 
will  give  you  a  second  piece." 

"  His  wife  is  very  ill,"  said  Susy, 
bending  forward  ;  "  he  is  sadly  wanted 
at  home.  We  have  come  to  find  him." 

"  Can  it  be  the  capitaine  you  want  ?  " 
said  the  waiter,  suddenly  relenting, 


Mrs.  Dymond. 


469 


as  he  looked  at  her  entreating  face ; 
"  a  fine  man,  not  tall,  but  well-dressed, 
and  well  set-up,  curly  hair,  moustache 
en  croc-? "  And  as  they  assented,  "  I 
did  not  know  his  name ;  our  patron 
sends  all  his  letters  to  Versailles. 
Wait !  "  And  the  man  ran  back  into 
the  house. 

"Ah,  you  see,  he  knew  very  well," 
says  Madame  du  Pare,  with  satisfac- 
tion, and  in  a  minute  the  waiter  re- 
turned with  a  paper,  on  which  was 
written,  in  Marney's  writing,  "  15, 
Rue  des  Dominicains,  Versailles." 

•  "  Ah  !  That  is  just  what  we  wanted; 
and  now  the  coachman  must  take  us 
on  quickly,"  said  madame.  "  Good 
morning,  young  man." 

The  waiter  refused  the  second  five- 
franc  piece  that  Susy  would  have  given 
him  as  they  drove  away. 

"  One  is  enough,"  said  he.  "  If  the 
captain  comes  I  will  do  your  commis- 
sion." And  spreading  his  napkin  wings 
he  flew  back  again  to  his  work. 


CHAPTER  XXXI. 

AT   VERSAILLES. 

THE  carriage  rolled  on  along  by  the 
banks  of  the  river,  by  more  ruin,  by 
desolation  in  every  form ;  a  few  people 
were  out,  a  few  houses  and  shops  were 
opening  once  more ;  the  gardens 
bloomed  with  spring,  and  lilac,  and 
laburnum ;  the  skies  were  bright,  and 
the  ruins  black. 

The  coachman  stopped  at  a  village 
to  give  his  horse  a  drink.  A 
great  pile  of  crockery  stood  in  the 
middle  of  the  street ;  all  about  houses, 
wine-shops,  wayside  inns,  alike  aban- 
doned, a  blacksmith's  forge,  empty  and 
silent,  a  great  seared  barrack  standing 
gaunt  and  deserted.  It  was  one  con- 
tinuous line  of  desolation  all  along. 
Here  and  there  a  face  looked  out  of 
some  rifled  home,  and  disappeared 
into  the  ruins.  A  cart  went  crawling 
by,  piled  with  household  goods.  Out 
of  one  big  broken  house,  with  shutters 
flapping  and  windows  smashed,  issued 
a  grand  carriage,  with  a  coachman  and 


groom  in  full  livery,  and  twinkling 
harness,  and  horses  looking  strangely 
smart  and  out  of  place.  A  little 
further  on  was  a  china  shop  that 
seemed  to  have  escaped  by  miracle  ;  its 
broken  panes  were  mended  with  paper. 
Then  came  children  two  by  two.  They 
reached  Versailles  in  less  time  than 
they  expected.  It  was  barely  five 
o'clock,  the  sun  was  sinking  in  a 
warm  and  cheering  stream  of  light. 
As  they  drove  into  the  city,  they 
heard  the  distant  sound  of  a  military 
band.  Great  changes  were  taking 
place,  not  the  least  being  that  the 
Germans  were  leaving.  As  they  came 
up  the  street  they  met  a  company, 
spiked  and  girt,  tramping  out  of  the 
town.  The  soldiers  marched  past  the 
old  palace  that  had  sheltered  so  many 
dynasties  with  stony  impartiality, 
bearing  in  turns  the  signs  of  each 
invading  generation.  The  noble  gar- 
dens were  flushed  with  blossom  and 
growing  summer ;  the  shops  were  all 
open,  the  children  were  at  play  in  the 
streets.  On  the  walls  were  affixed 
papers  in  French  and  German,  sales 
of  horses,  of  camp  furniture.  Susy 
read  of  the  approaching  departure  of 
the  -  —  Company  of  the  Hessian 
Division,  with  a  notice  requiring  any 
claims  to  be  immediately  sent  up,  and 
a  list  of  the  articles  to  be  disposed  of 
by  public  sale.  As  they  waited  to  let 
the  soldiers  pass,  some  more  Germans 
came  out  of  a  stable  across  the  road, 
carrying  huge  bundles  of  straw  upon 
their  backs  and  talking  loudly  to  one 
another.  How  strange  the  echo  of 
their  voices  sounded,  echoed  by  the 
stately  old  walls  of  Versailles  ! 

The  soldiers  were  gone  ;  they  were 
driving  on  again  along  the  palace 
gardens,  when  Madame  leant  forward 
with  a  sudden  exclamation.  "There 
is  Marney  !  "  she  said.  "  I  see  him  ; 
he  turn  in  there  at  the  palace  gate." 
And  the  old  lady,  leaning  forward, 
loudly  called  to  the  coachman  to  stop. 
"We  will  go  after  him,"  she  said  to 
Susy  ;  "  there  is  no  time  to  lose." 

Susy  did  not  say  a  word.  It  had  to 
be  gone  through,  and  she  silently  fol- 


47U 


Mrs.  Dymond. 


lowed  Madame,  who  was  crossing  the 
great  court  with  heavy  rapid  steps  in 
pursuit  of  the  figure  she  had  recog- 
nised. They  met  with  no  opposition. 
The  guardian  of  the  galleries  stared 
at  them  as  they  hurried  by  ;  the  place 
was  nearly  empty  ;  they  saw  a  distant 
figure  rapidly  retreating,  and  Madame 
hurried  on  in  pursuit  from  one  echo- 
ing gallery  to  another,  past  the  huge 
pictures  of  Napoleon  and  his  victories, 
past  a  great  gilt  frame  boarded  care- 
fully from  view.  One  or  two  people 
were  passing  and  re-passing  along  the 
gallery,  but  Marney  (if  Marney  it 
was)  vanished  suddenly,  and  was  no- 
where to  be  found.  Madame  severely 
questioned  a  guardian  standing  by  a 
doorway.  He  had  seen  no  one  pass 
within  the  last  few  minutes,  but  there 
were  many  exits  ;  there  was  one  door 
leading  to  the  great  hall,  which  had 
been  turned  into  an  ambulance,  and 
people  were  constantly  going  out  by 
it.  The  officers .  were  gone,  he  told 
them  ;  a  few  of  the  men  still  remained, 
and  one  young  lieutenant,  whose  sister 
had  come  from  Germany  to  nurse  him. 
Susy  had  hardly  patience  to  listen 
during  Madame's  various  questions  and 
observations,  to  which  the  custodian, 
being  a  cautious  man,  returned  guarded 
answers.  "  That  was  a  portrait  of 
the  Queen  of  Prussia,  boarded  over  by 
command  ;  now  that  the  Prussians  were 
going  it  was  to  be  unboarded,  by 
order."  "Yes,  he  had  been  there  all 
the  time.  He  had  faithfully  served 
the  Emperor.  He  was  prepared  as 
faithfully  to  do  his  duty  by  any  one 
who  came."  A  Coriolanus  could  not 
have  uttered  sentiments  more  noble 
and  patriotic.  At  last,  finding  it  was 
hopeless  to  inquire  further,  they  got  into 
the  carriage  once  more,  and  drove  to 
the  address  in  the  Rue  des  Dominicains. 
"No.  15!  This  must  be  No.  15," 
says  Madame,  stopping  before  a  low 
white  house,  with  a  high  roof  and  a 
door  opening  to  the  street.  She 
knocked  with  two  loud  decided  raps, 
raising  the  heavy  scrolled  knocker. 
In  a  little  while  the  heavy  door  was 
opened  by  a  stupid-looking  girl  in  a 


white    cap,    who    seemed    utterly    be- 
wildered by  her  questions. 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  "  Mr.  Marney  lived 
there.  He  was  not  at  home  ;  he  was 
gone  to  St..  Cloud." 

"  When  will  he  be  in  1 "  says 
Madame  in  her  loud  voice.  "  I  will 
wait  for  him.  I  am  Madame  Marney's 
friend." 

The  girl  looked  more  and  more 
stupid.  "Madame  is  here,  I  will  call 
her,"  she  said,  and  she  went  into  a 
ground-floor  room. 

Almost  immediately  a  woman,  with 
strange  glittering  eyes  and  yellow 
tawny  hair,  and  some  sort  of  a  pink 
dressing-gown,  flung  open  a  door  upon 
the  passage.  "  You  are  asking  for 
Madame  Marney  1 "  she  said,  with  a 
defiant  air.  "  What  do  you  want  1 " 

"  I  come  from  Madame  Marney," 
said  the  old  lady,  looking  very  terrible. 
"  She  is  ill,  seriously  ill.  She  wishes 
to  see  her  husband  at  once,  and  I  must 
insist " 

But  before  the  old  lady  could  finish 
her  sentence  the  woman  screamed  out 
to  the  girl,  "  What  are  you  doing, 
Marie  ?  Turn  out  these  German  spies," 
and,  with  a  look  of  furious  hatred, 
sprang  forward,  violently  thrusting 
poor  old  Madame  backwards  out  of 
the  doorway  and  banging  the  heavy 
door  in  her  face.  Susy,  who  had  not 
come  in,  had  just  time  to  catch  Madame 
du  Pare,  or  she  would  have  fallen.  It 
was  a  horrible  scene,  a  hideous  de- 
grading experience. 

The  old  lady  was  a  minute  recover- 
ing her  breath ;  then  the  two  looked 
at  one  another  in  silence  as  they  stood 
together  outside  the  closed  house. 

"Oh,  what  abomination!"  said 
Madame,  shuddering  and  putting  up 
her  hands.  '•'  Oh,  my  poor,  poor  fren' ! 
Oh,  Susie,  my  poor  Susie,  I  have  long 
feared  how  it  might  be  ;  I  have  now 
the  certainty.'' 

Susanna,  who  had  turned  pale,  rallied 
with  a  great  effort.  She  would  not 
acknowledge,  even  to  herself,  much 
less  to  Madame,  what  a  miserable 
revelation  had  come  to  her  in  that 
brief  moment.  "  That  woman  had 


Mrs.  Dymond. 


471 


been  drinking,"  she  said,  very  coldly ; 
"  she  seemed  half  mad.  Dear  Madame, 
we  will  go  no  farther.  Mr.  Marney 
is  sure  to  receive  my  mother's  mes- 
sage from  one  person  or  another,  and 
perhaps,  to  make  sure,  you  will  kindly 
write  to  both  his  addresses  when  you 
get  back.  Let  us  go  home  now,  mamma 
will  be  waiting."  And  then,  telling 
the  man  to  drive  them  to  the  station, 
they  drove  away  in  the  rattling  car- 
riage, with  the  tired  horses,  scarcely 
speaking  a  single  word. 

The  wreck  of  her  sweet  mother's 
generous  love  and  life's  devotion 
seemed  to  Susy  sadder  and  more  ter- 
rible than  any  crash  of  war,  any 
destruction  and  ravage.  What  were 
broken  stones,  what  were  overturned 
walls  and  fortunes,  so  long  as  people 
could  love  and  trust  each  other  1  Once 
more  that  idea  came  into  her  mind, 
which  she  would  never  let  herself 
dwell  upon,  a  thought  of  what  two 
lives  might  be/ even  tried,  even  parted, 
but  with  trust  and  love  and  holy 
confidence  to  bind  them  together. 

They  were  too  soon  for  the  train, 
and  had  to  wait  some  few  minutes  at 
the  station  ;  as  they  stood  there  in  the 
sunset,  two  deputies  were  walking  up 
and  down  the  platform  talking  gloomily. 
"  So !  the  young  men  of  Metz  and 
Strasbourg  are  to  wear  the  Prussian 
helmet,"  said  one  of  them  as  they 
passed;  "  it  is  of  a  piece  with  all  the 
rest." 

"  I  don't  know  what  there  is  left 
for  us  now,"  said  the  other,  speaking 
with  emotion.  "  Where  is  our  safety? 
Paris  is  at  the  mercy  of  the  first 
comer.  I  have  seen  as  many  as  two 
hundred  young  men  in  a  week  passing 
in  a  file  through  my  village  to  avoid 
conscription."  And  the  voices  passed 
on. 

The  train  arrived  at  last,  puffing 
along  the  line,  and  Susy  and  Madame 
got  into  the  first  vacant  carriage. 
There  they  found  a  trio — a  father,  a 
mother  in  a  smart  bonnet,  a  son,  a 
pink-faced  youth  holding  a  huge  cane 
and  tassel.  All  these,  too,  were  talk- 
ing eagerly — they  paid  no  attention 


whatever  to  the  entrance  of  the  two 
women. 

FATHEB.  "  Yes,  yes,  yes  !  talk  to 
me  of  change  !  what  does  change  mean  1 
A  Revolution.  Quick,  add  2,000,000  or 
3,000,000  to  the  national  debt.  Do  you 
know  what  the  debt  was  thirty  years 
ago  when  the  minister  of  finance  pro- 
posed to  pay  it  off  ]  Now  it  is  just 
four  times  the  sum  !  Give  us  another 
revolution  and  we  double  it  again. 
Liberty !  Oh  yes !  Liberty,  or  every 
man  for  himself.  As  for  me  I  vote 
for  the  man  in  power  because  I  love 
my  country,  and  I  wish  for  order  above 
all ;  I  voted  for  the  Emperor  and  now 
I  shall  vote  for  a  Republic,  and  believe 
me  the  only  way  to  preserve  a  Republic 
is  to  take  it  out  of  the  hands  of  the 
republicans." 

SON  (angrily).  "But,  father,  our 
armies  were  gaining,  if  only  we  re- 
publicans had  been  allowed  to  have 
our  way." 

FATHER  (sarcastically).  "  Yes,  every- 
body gained  everywhere,  and  mean- 
while the  Prussians  advanced." 

MOTHER  (shrilly  echoing  the  father). 
"  Pyat !  Flourens  !  these  are  your 
republicans,  Auguste.  They  are  mud, 
do  you  hear,  mud,  mud,  mud." 

Enter  an  old  lady,  handed  carefully 
by  the  guard.  "  Ah  !  sir  !  many  thanks  ! 
Madame  !  I  thank  you.  I  am  a  poor 
emigr<ie  returning  after  six  months 
absence,  alas !  I  had  hoped  to  be 
spared  the  sight  of  a  Prussian,  but 
that  was  not  to  be." 

MOTHER  (proudly).  "We,  Madame, 
remained.  When  one  has  a  son  fighting 
for  his  country,  one  cannot  leave  one's 
home."  (Son  looks  conscious  and  twirls 
his  cane.) 

OLD  LADY.  "  Alas  !  you  have  more 
courage  than  I  have.  For  my  part  I 
am  grateful  from  my  heart  to  Trochu 
for  his  surrender,  for  sparing  useless 
slaughter." 

FATHER.  "  What  could  he  do  alone  1 
he  was  driven  on  by  your  so  called 
patriots.  This  is  the  result  of  your 
free  press." 

SON.  "  But,  papa,  give  us  progress, 
you  would  not  refuse  us  progress." 


472 


Mrs.  Dymond. 


MOTHER  (vehemently  echoing  the  son). 
"  Yes,  progress  and  liberty  of  discus- 
sion. ..." 

"  FATHER  (desperately).  "  I  give  you 
progress  but  I  do  not  give  you  leave 
to  talk  about  it.  Progress  comes  best 
alone.  When  people  begin  to  talk 
nonsense,  and  pass  votes  in  favour  of 
progress,  they  show  they  are  not  ready 
for  it.  ..." 

Sad  and  preoccupied  as  Susy  was, 
she  could  not  but  listen  to  the  voices 
on  every  side ;  they  interested  her 
though  they  were  anything  but  cheer- 
ing. When  she  and  Madame  du  Pare 
reached  the  villa,  tired  and  dispirited, 
a  figure  was  standing  at  the  gate,  and 
evidently  looking  out  for  them.  It  was 
Jo,  only  a  little  more  dishevelled  than 
usual,  and  bringing  with  him  a  feeling 
of  home  and  real  comfort  of  which 
poor  Susy  was  sadly  in  need  at  that 
moment. 

It  was  the  simplest  thing  in  the 
world.  He  had  started  off  then  and 


there,  hearing  that  Susanna  was  gone 
to  her  mother  ;  he  had  come  to  see  if 
he  could  help  to  bring  Mrs.  Marney 
back  ;  he  had  left  his  bag  in  the  train. 
.  .  .  While  Susy  walked  on  with  her 
arm  in  his,  listening  to  his  explana- 
tions, Madame  du  Pare  poured  out  her 
pent-up  indignation  to  Max  who  also 
came  out  to  receive  them.  He  had 
been  at  home  all  day  finishing  a  couple 
of  sketches  ordered  by  M.  Hase  for 
his  pictorial  newspaper ;  he  had  been 
up  once  or  twice  to  see  Mrs.  Marney, 
whom  he  thought  very  ill. 

"  You  must  tell  her  nothing,  except 
that  you  failed  to  find  Marney,"  he 
said  compassionately,  "  but  for  God's 
sake,  mamma,  leave  this  place  and 
try  to  get  your  friends  to  go.  The 
sooner  the  better  for  us  all.  The 
Federals  are  sure  to  come  down  upon 
Neuilly  another  day,  and  it  may  be 
too  late.  I  must  go  back  to  my  work 
now,  for  I  have  no  time  to  lose." 


To  be  continued. 


473 


TARENTIJM. 

L'antica  storia  cui  non  e  conta 
Del  gran  Taranto  ? "  .  .  . 

— Delizie  Tarantine,  CARDUCCI. 


THE  modern  town  of  Taranto 
occupies  the  site  of  the  Acropolis  of 
the  famous  and  splendid  Tarentum, 
already  a  place  of  some  importance 
when  the  Spartan  Parthenii  arrived 
there  707  years  B.C.  Of  the  queen  of 
the  Ionian  sea,  once  so  rich  that  the 
value  and  magnificence  of  the  spoils 
taken  by  Fabius  Maximus  astonished 
the  Roman  citizens,  little  now  remains 
but  the  name  and  immense  mounds  of 
rubbish,  which  are  at  length  being 
scientifically  examined  by  Professor 
Viola,  on  behalf  of  the  Italian  Govern- 
ment. 

Taranto  lies  like  a  ship  on  the 
water,  an  island  town.  The  streets 
are  narrow  and  tortuous,  and  the 
houses  high ;  some  of  the  palaces  in 
the  upper  town  are  handsome  in  a 
baroque,  rococo  style,  and  being  all 
built  of  white  stone,  recall  Malta.  A 
feature  peculiar  to  Taranto  is  the 
elaborate  carving  of  the  lunettes  above 
the  doorways,  all  made  of  wood  and 
most  fantastic  in  design ;  a  baboon's 
head  is  a  favourite  centrepiece.  There 
are  a  few  fine  gargoyles,  and  here  and 
there  an  old  balcony  suggests  serenades, 
and  flowers  fluttering  down,  and 
poignards  gleaming. 

The  most  important  ruin  of  ancient 
Tarentum  is  a  fine  column  of  a  Doric 
temple,  and  a  fragment  of  its  com- 
panion, encased  in  the  wall  of  a  little 
courtyard  in  the  Oratory  of  the  Con- 
gregation of  the  Trinity  in  the  Strada 
Maggiore.  Professor  Viola  tells  me 
that  the  measurements  exactly  corre- 
spond with  those  of  the  columns  of  the 
temple  of  Diana  at  Syracuse.  The 
height  of  the  column  is  27  feet  8  inches, 
of  which  9  feet  10  inches  are  buried 
underground.  The  abacus  measures 
1  foot  10  inches  in  height,  and  10  feet 


7  inches  in  width.  It  probably  be- 
longed to  the  temple  of  Poseidon,  the 
titular  deity  of  Tarentum,  and  was 
evidently  one  of  the  most  important 
buildings  of  the  Acropolis.  The  size 
of  this  column  may  be  imagined  by 
two  people  having  lived  on  the  top  of 
the  capital  in  a  small  house,  which  was 
only  demolished  a  few  years  ago,  and 
replaced  by  a  pergola  overgrown  with 
vines,  and  with  seats  underneath  for 
enjoying  the  bel  fresco. 

San  Domenico,  with  a  fine  Norman 
doorway,  stands  high  above  the  steep 
street  of  the  same  name,  on  the  top  of 
a  treble  flight  of  steps,  flanked  by  two 
quaint  old  saints.  Unfortunately  the 
Tarentines  have  the  eastern  passion 
for  whitewash,  and  have  whitened  the 
doorway  and  the  rose  window  above. 
The  ceiling  is  all  painted,  and  the 
pilasters  of  the  church  bear  the  cross 
of  the  Knights  of  Malta.  The  seats 
of  the  choir  are  of  fine  intarsia  work, 
and  in  the  centre  is  the  following 
modest  inscription  : — 

"  Qualunque  sia  dell'  opra  il  lavorio, 
Jl  difetto  e  dell'  norn,  il  buon  di  Dio. 

"  RAPHAEL  MONTEANNI, 
"  Terrse  Lequilarum,  F.H.  A.D.  MCCLXXXVII." 

("  "Whatever  is  the  fatigue  of  this  work, 
The  faults  are  due  to  the  man,  the  good  is 
of  God.") 

Just  as  we  were  coming  out  of  San 
Domenico  the  impressive  strains  of  a 
funeral  march  rose  from  the  street 
below,  and  we  waited  on  the  top  of  the 
steps  for  the  procession  to  pass.  All 
the  confraternities  were  there  in  their 
quaint  mediaeval  dresses,  as  it  was  the 
burial  of  a  person  of  some  consequence. 
First  came  the  "  Addolerati,"  who 
wore  long  white  cotton  robes  with  a 
hood  tight  over  the  face,  and  holes  cut 


474 


Tarentum. 


for  the  eyes  ;  they  looked  most  ghostly 
figures,  quite  unfit  to  be  abroad  in  the 
bright  sunlight.  Then  followed  the 
"  Carmeliti,"  with  cream-coloured 
mohair  capes,  and  large,  black,  broad- 
brimmed  hats,  trimmed  with  blue  silk 
ribbon.  After  them  came  the  "  San 
Gaetani  "  in  blue  silk  capes  and  white 
hoods  covering  the  face  ;  and  then  the 
bearded  Capucine  monks,  and  the 
Pasquilini  monks  who  are  clean  shaven. 
The  regular  clergy  and  the  canons  of 
the  cathedral  in  capes  of  ermine  and 
purple  silk  preceded  the  coffin,  borne 
on  the  shoulders  of  members  of  the 
different  confraternities. 

I  was  lucky  enough  to  be  in  Ta- 
rento  during  Holy  Week,  and  thus 
saw  the  procession  on  Good  Friday, 
which  is  very  curious,  and  a  source  of 
great  pride  to  the  Tarentines.  The 
crowd  were  most  orderly  and  good 
tempered,  and  anxious  to  explain 
everything  to  a  foreigner.  A  pleasant 
young  sailor  lad  told  me  that  he  had 
heard  that  at.  Rome,  where  the  Pope 
was,  they  once  had  processions,  but 
never  one  to  be  compared  to  this. 

The  sight  was  most  picturesque  as 
the  procession  wound  round  down  the 
hill  from  the  "  Borgo  Nuovo,"  as  the 
new  part  of  Tarento  is  called,  a  mot- 
ley, many-coloured  crowd,  the  'brilli- 
ant yellow,  red,  and  salmon-coloured 
handkerchiefs  the  women  wear  tied 
over  their  heads  and  under  their  chins, 
and  the  heavy  gold  chains  and  neck 
ornaments  they  delight  in,  glistening 
in  the  fitful  sun  ;  the  life-size  painted 
figures  swaying  high  above  the 
crowd,  and  ever  and  anon  stopping  as 
the  bearers  rested. 

The  municipal  band  playing  a  solemn 
funeral  march  headed  the  procession, 
followed  by  a  large  black  flag  ;  then 
came  two  of  the  confraternity  of 
the  "  Carmeliti,"  they  were  bare-foot, 
and  bore  long  white  staves  in  their 
hands,  representing  the  apostles. 
Then,  borne  high  on  the  shoulders  of 
four  brothers  of  the  confraternity  of 
the  "  Addolerati,"  in  white  cotton 
flowing  robes  and  bare  legs  and  feet, 
was  a  platform  with  the  instruments 


of  the  Passion.  The  next  Mistero, 
as  they  call  the  painted  images,  was 
a  life-size  statue,  either  of  wood  or 
papier-mache,  of  Christ  kneeling,  His 
hands  extended  and  His  face  turned 
towards  heaven  ;  a  small,  winged 
angel,  by  some  arrangement  of  wires, 
hovered  over  Him,  bearing  a  gold 
cup  in  one  hand.  Two  of  the  repre- 
sentatives of  the  apostles  walked 
between  this  figure  and  the  next, 
which  was  a  most  ghastly  representa- 
tion of  Christ  being  scourged — an 
emaciated  figure  tied  to  a  pillar,  with 
the  flesh  all  livid,  lacerated  and  bloody. 
The  bearers  of  this  figure  and  of  all  the 
following  ones  had  crowns  of  thorns  on 
their  heads,  as  had  also  the  four  at- 
tendants, who,  dressed  in  their  holi- 
day best,  carried  strong  staves  with 
an  iron  crescent  at  the  top  to  rest  the 
poles  of  the  platform  upon,  which  was 
a  considerable  weight  and  hurt  the 
bearers'  shoulders,  for  they  borrowed 
handkerchiefs  from  friends  in  the 
crowd  to  bind  round  the  poles  as  they 
staggered  along  with  difficulty. 

Christ  in  a  long  crimson  robe,  with 
His  hands  tied  and  crowned  with  thorns, 
was  the  next  figure,  attended  as  usual 
by  two  bare-footed  apostles.  After 
this  came  the  crucifix,  so  heavy 
that  ten  bearers  had  evident  difficulty 
in  carrying  it.  All  round  the  base  of 
the  cross  were  stuck  petroleum  lamps, 
to  be  lit  at  sundown,  and  which  were 
strangely  incongruous  in  such  an  old- 
world  scene. 

An  immense  black  cross,  with  yards 
upon  yards  of  white  drapery  most 
artistically  arranged  upon  the  arms, 
was  the  next  Mistero,  and  now  the 
crowd,  which  had  been  rather  apathet- 
ic, showed  signs  of  interest  and  some 
slight  emotion.  All  the  men  bared 
their  heads  as  a  huge  bier,  borne  by 
some  twenty  men,  came  slowly  along. 
It  was  covered  with  a  black  velvet 
pall,  and  on  this  was  laid  the  body  of 
our  Lord,  covered  with  a  fine  muslin 
veil,  all  embroidered  with  large  golden 
rosettes,  rather  the  shape  of  sun- 
flowers. Four  apostles  attended  at 
the  corners  of  the  bier,  and  on  either 


Tarentum. 


475 


side  walked  two  Tarentine  nobles,  in 
full  evening  dress  and  bare-headed. 
They  are  called  the  "  Cavalieri  di 
Cristo,"  and  were  as  much  out  of 
keeping  as  the  petroleum  lamps.  A 
crowd  of  priests  of  different  grades 
followed  behind,  and  the  procession 
wound  up  with  a  figure  of  the  Virgin 
Mary  in  a  black  silk  dress,  holding  a 
heart  pierced  with  an  arrow  in  her 
right  hand,  and  an  elaborately  em- 
broidered handkerchief  trimmed  with 
lace  in  the  other.  She  was  attended 
by  the  two  last  apostles. 

My  pleasant  young  Tarentine  sailor 
told  me  that  the  privilege  of  carrying 
the  Misteri  and  having  bruised  shoulders 
for  many  a  long  day  afterwards,  was 
put  up  to  auction,  the  average  price 
being  fifty  francs,  which  went  towards 
the  expenses.  Another  curious  cus- 
tom is  that  one  church  steals  from 
another  the  honour  of  starting  and  ar- 
ranging the  procession.  Each  church 
has  its  own  confraternity,  out  of  whose 
member  the  twelve  apostles  are  chosen. 
They  must  never  leave  their  places 
near  the  Misteri  in  a  procession,  and 
are  jealously  watched  by  all  the  less 
fortunate  confraternities.  Some  six 
years  ago  there  was  a  most  violent 
storm,  and  two  of  the  unhappy  bare- 
legged and  bare-footed  apostles  took 
refuge  for  a  moment  in  a  cafe.  The 
"  Carmeliti "  instantly  rushed  into 
their  places,  and  have  held  the  privi- 
lege for  their  church  in  the  Borgo 
Nuovo  ever  since. 

It  is  obligatory  for  the  precession  to 
visit  the  little  church  attached  to  the 
convent  "  Delle  Pentite,"  where  the 
figure  of  the  Madonna  Addolerata  is 
placed  on  a  table  near  her  altar,  and 
all  the  the  other  Misteri  defile  before 
her,  making  the  round  of  the  church 
one  by  one.  Unfortunately  the  rain 
had  begun  to  fall  fast,  and  the  thunder 
growled  ominously  before  the  proces- 
sion could  reach  the  "  Pentite,"  and 
it  crowded  pell-mell  into  another 
church.  We  went  on  to  the  convent, 
and  saw  the  ghostly  figures  of  the 
nuns  flitting  hither  and  thither  be- 
hind the  lattice  ^windows  high  above 


the  church.  I  was  evidently  an  ob- 
ject of  some  curiosity  to  them,  as  well 
as  to  the  small  boys,  who  speculated 
as  to  whether  I  was  a  princess  or  a  man 
from  some  "  far  countrie." 

Meanwhile  the  rain  fell  heavily  out- 
side, and  the  sky  looked  like  lead,  so 
we  determined  to  go  to  dinner,  and 
asked  our  nice  sailor  lad  to  join  us. 
He  appeared  astonished,  and  at  first 
refused,  but  on  my  pressing  him  he 
accepted,  and  was  a  most  pleasant 
companion,  behaving  with  that  charm- 
ing, easy  good  breeding  so  character- 
istic of  the  lower  classes  in  Italy,  whose 
innate  courtesy  might  serve  as  a  model 
to  most  gentlefolk. 

From  him  I  learnt  that  the  un- 
happy bearers,  the  apostles,  the  Cava- 
lieri, and,  in  short,  all  who  belonged 
to  the  procession,  would  have  to  stay 
in  the  small  church  where  they  had 
taken  refuge  until  the  next  morning  at 
ten,  if  the  rain  did  not  cease  before 
eleven  that  evening  and  admit  of  the 
performance  at  the  "  Pentite,"  which 
took  an  hour,  and  must  be  concluded 
before  midnight.  It  poured  all  the 
night,  and  I  did  not  envy  the  crowd  of 
people  who  were  stewing  in  the  little 
church. 

The  Marina,  re-christened  Via  Gari- 
baldi, is  picturesque  but  decidedly 
dirty  ;  the  side  streets  are  so  narrow 
that  it  was  a  perpetual  source  of  specu- 
lation to  me  what  a  Tarentine  does 
when  he  becomes  fat.  Some  of  these 
alleys  are  only  two  feet  wide,  and 
populous  as  rabbit-warrens.  The  in- 
habitants do  not  look  healthy,  their 
faces  are  pale  and  pasty,  but  the 
teeth  are  splendid,  and  the  hair  black 
as  a  raven's  wing,  while  the  Greek 
blood  comes  out  in  the  almost  uni- 
versally beautiful  ears  and  graceful 
head  so  well  poised  on  the  shoulders. 
Now  and  then  one  meets  a  girl  who 
might  have  posed  for  Praxiteles,  or  a 
youth  who  looks  as  though  he  had 
stepped  out ;  of  a  Greek  vase.  Occa- 
sionally the  Saracen  blood  shows 
strongly,  as  a  swarthy  fisherman  strolls 
along,  his  brown  net  thrown  over  one 
shoulder. 


476 


Tarentum. 


Earrings  are  generally  worn  by  the 
men  in  and  about  Taranto.  The 
trainieri  or  carters  have  very  charac- 
teristic gold  circlets,  shaped  like  a  half 
moon,  which  stand  out  from  the  face 
and  are  decidedly  becoming. 

Taranto  was  made  into  an  island  by 
Ferdinand  I.  of  Arragon,  who  in  1480 
cut  through  a  narrow  tongue  of  land 
to  secure  the  town  from  the  attacks  of 
the  Turks  after  the  storming  of 
Otranto  and  the  massacre  of  the 
inhabitants.  The  noble  castle  built 
by  Charles  V.- — now,  alas  !  being  de- 
stroyed by  the  Italian  Government,  in 
order  to  build  an  Admiralty — flanks 
the  canal  at  its  entrance  into  the 
Ionian  Sea.  At  the  other  end  the  fine 
round  tower  which  guarded  the  Mare 
Piccolo  has  disappeared  under  the 
crowbar  and  pickaxe.  The  canal  is 
to  be  widened  and  deepened  to  admit 
the  largest  ironclads,  and  Taranto 
is  destined  to  become  what  it  once 
was — the  great  seaport  of  Southern 
Italy,  and  to  see  the  Mare  Piccolo 
again  teem  with  shipping  as  of  old. 
The  canal  is  cut  where  Hannibal 
dragged  the  ships  across  the  land, 
when  the  Roman  garrison  held  the 
citadel  and  prevented  the  Tarentine 
vessels  from  leaving  the  inner  port. 

Near  the  village  of  Statte  on  the 
slope  of  the  hill  is  a  masseria  or 
farmhouse  called  Triglio,  where  there 
is  an  enormous  cistern  which  collects 
the  infiltrations  from  a  very  large 
extent  of  country.  The  aqueduct  is 
tunnelled  through  the  rock  for  about 
four  miles,  and  its  course  is  marked 
by  spiracoli  or  air-holes.  It  is  a 
marvellous  piece  of  work  as  the 
labourers  must  have  cut  their  way 
through  the  living  rock,  bent  double, 
the  measurements  being  only  four  feet 
high  and  two  feet  three  inches  wide. 
The  last  three  miles  of  the  aqueduct 
is  supported  on  203  arches  of  irregular 
size,  and  of  modern  construction.  The 
water  is  excellent  and  the  supply 
unlimited. 

The  peasants  have  a  curious  legend 
relating  to  the  aqueduct ;  they  say 
that  the  wizard  Virgil  disputed  with 


the  witches  for  the  dominion  of 
Taranto,  and  tried  to  gain  the  affec- 
tion of  the  inhabitants.  A  most  dire 
drought  afflicted  the  whole  country, 
so  Virgil  thought  water  would  be  the 
greatest  boon  he  could  confer  on  the 
city.  One  night  he  set  to  work  and 
made  the  aqueduct  ere  morning.  Before 
he  had  finished  the  witches  discovered 
what  he  was  doing,  and  they  began  to 
construct  the  aqueduct  of  Saturo,  but 
dawn  broke  ere  they  had  got  half  way 
to  the  city,  and  they  heard  the  applause 
and  joyous  acclamations  of  the  Taren- 
tines  at  the  sight  of  the  clear,  bright 
water  brought  into  their  town  by 
Virgil.  The  Avitches  were  beaten,  and 
their  aqueduct  still  remains  half 
finished  and  in  ruins. 

The  first  date  we  can  establish  in 
the  history  of  Tarentum  is  the  defeat 
of  its  inhabitants  by  the  Messapians 
mentioned  by  Diodorus  in  B.C.  473. 
The  city  suffered  considerably  on  its 
capture  by  Hannibal,  but  nothing  in 
comparison  to  the  degradation  it  under- 
went when  taken  by  Fabius  Maximus 
in  207.  He,  however,  opposed  its 
proposed  reduction  to  a  condition 
similar  to  that  of  Capua,  and  Taren- 
tum remained  the  seat  of  the  Praetor 
and  the  chief  town  of  Southern  Italy. 
During  the  civil  wars  between  Octa- 
vian  and  Antony  and  S.  Pompeius 
it  is  often  mentioned  as  a  naval 
station  of  importance,  and  in  B.C.  36 
an  agreement  between  Octavian  and 
Antony  was  arranged  to  which  Tacitus 
alludes  as  the  Tarentinumfoedus. 

Brundusium  rather  destroyed  the 
importance  of  Tarentum,  and  we  do 
not  find  any  mention  of  the  city  until 
after  the  fall  of  the  Western  Empire, 
when  it  played  an  important  part  in 
the  Gothic  wars.  Taken  by  Belisarius 
and  retaken  by  Totila  in  A.D.  549, 
Tarentum  remained  in  the  hands  of  the 
Goths  until  wrested  from  them  by 
Narses.  In  661  Romoaldus,  Duke  of 
Beneventum,  took  it  from  the  Byzan- 
tine Empire,  and  it  fell  successively 
into  the  hands  of  the  Saracens  and  of 
the  Greek  Emperors,  until  taken  by 
Robert  Guiscardi  in  1063.  Ever  since 


Tarentum. 


477 


Taranto  has  formed  part  of  the  kingdom 
of  Naples. 

The  view  seawards  off  "  La  Ring- 
hiera,"  now  called  Corso  Cavour,  is 
most  beautiful.  At  a  little  distance 
from  the  high  sea-wall  on  which  one 
stands  is  a  powerful  fresh-water  spring, 
rising  with  such  force  in  the  sea  that 
a  small  boat  cannot  get  near  it,  and  a 
ship  loses  her  anchor  if  let  go  beside 
the  "  Ring  of  Saint  Cataldo."  Shoals 
of  porpoises  race  and  tumble,  glinting 
in  the  bright  sun,  and  the  gulls  flap 
lazily  over  the  sea,  which  literally 
swarms  with  fish.  Watching  the  por- 
poises gambol  below,  Taras,  the  son  of 
Poseidon  and  of  the  lovely  nymph 
Satura,  the  fabled  founder  of  the  city, 
rises  in  one's  imagination  on  his  dol- 
phin from  the  waves,  and  irresistibly 
one  recalls  the  splendour  of  the  proud 
Tarentum,  whose  schools  were  so 
famous  that  Plato  came  from  Athens 
to  visit  them,  and  was  received  by 
Archytas,  the  mathematician,  the 
astronomer,  the  philosopher,  and  the 
brilliant  writer,  who  was  seven  times 
named  Strategos,  and  who,  by  the 
ascendency  of  his  eloquence,  his  vir- 
tues, and  his  talents,  improved  the 
laws  of  his  country  and  made  them 
respected.  A  great  general,  he  held 
the  Lucanians  in  check,  and  the 
Tarentine  arms,  during  his  supremacy, 
were  victorious ;  her  navy  swept  the 
Ionian  sea  and  the  whole  basin  of  the 
Adriatic,  and  the  political  and  com- 
mercial influence  of  Tarentum  was  at 
its  highest  point. 

One  thought  of  the  great  city  which 
could  send  forth  an  army  of  30,000 
foot  and  5,000  horse,  and  whose 
citizens  dared  to  insult  the  Roman 
ambassador,  Lucius  Posthumius  Me- 
gellus,  who  went  to  Tarentum  to 
demand  reparation  for  grievous  in- 
juries. The  Roman  spoke  bad  Greek 
and  roused  the  laughter  of  the  flip- 
pant Tarentines,  who  at  length  hissed 
him  out  of  the  theatre,  as  though  he 
had  been  a  bad  actor.  A  buffoon, 
known  as  the  Pint-pot,  from  his 
constant  drunkenness,  with  indecent 


gestures,  bespattered  his  senatorial 
gown  with  filth.  Lucius  held  it  aloft, 
saying,  "Men  of  Tarentum,  it  will 
take  not  a  little  blood  to  wash  this 
gown." 

For  ten  years  Tarentum,  aided  by 
Pyrrhus,  maintained  the  war  against 
Rome,  and  at  first,  thanks  to  the 
superior  talents  of  their  ally,  and  still 
more  to  his  elephants,  so  finely  de- 
scribed by  Lord  Macaulay — 

' '  Beside  him  stalks  to  battle 
The  huge  earth-shaking  beast, 
The  beast  on  whom  the  castle 
With  all  its  guards  doth  stand  ; 
The  beast  who  hath  between  his  eyes 
The  serpent  for  a  hand — " 

the  Greeks  had  this  advantpge  ,  but 
near  Beneventum  Pyrrhus  was  com- 
pletely defeated,  and  Tarentum  lost 
its  independence  for  ever. 

The  names  of  Pythagoras,  who  founded 
an  asylum  with  Archytas ;  of  Livius 
Andronicus,  the  Tarentine  Greek,  who 
gave  the  first  rudiments  of  the  regular 
drama  to  Rome ;  of  Rinthon,  the 
founder  of  a  new  kind  of  burlesque — 
farce  ;  of  the  philosopher  and  musician 
Aristoxenes,  pupil  of  Xenophilus  and 
of  Aristotle,  of  whose  453  volumes 
we  only  possess  the  Elements  of  ffar- 
inony,  the  oldest  treatise  extant  on 
music,  come  before  our  minds,  and  we 
search  in  vain  for  a  modern  counter- 
part to  so  much  that  is  glorious  in 
story.  Modern  Taranto  can  only  boast 
of  one  famous  child,  the  graceful  and 
charming  musician  Paisiello. 

To  the  east  of  the  town  of  Taranto, 
overlooking  the  Mare  Piccolo,  which 
is  divided  into  two  basins  by  the  pro- 
montories of  "  II  Pizzone  "  and  "  Punta 
della  Penna,"  are  hills  formed  almost 
entirely  of  shells  of  the  murex.  The 
Tarentine  red-purple  dye  was  cele- 
brated, and  is  supposed  to  have  owed 
its  peculiar  hue  to  the  use  of  two 
kinds  of  shell-fish,  Murex  trunculus, 
which  was  the  one  used  at  Tyre,  and 
Murex  brandaris,  used  at  Laconia. 
'  Pliny  says  the  murex  were  caught  by 
pandering  to  their  greediness.  Small 
nets  with  a  fine  mesh  were  used,  and 


Tarentum. 


into  these  were  put  small  shell-fish 
called  mitole,  which  had  been  kept 
out  of  the  water  until  half  dead. 
When  lowered  into  the  sea  they  gape 
wide  open  with  thirst  and  delight, 
when  the  murex  rushes  up,  and  find- 
ing that  he  cannot  push  his  long 
spiny  snout  through  the  meshes  of 
the  net,  he  thrusts  his  lance-like 
tongue  into  the  open  shells  of  the 
mitole,  which  instantly  closes,  catch- 
ing the  enemy  in  a  vice.  When  the 
nets  were  drawn  up  the  murex  hung 
in  clusters,  and  were  sorted  according 
to  size.  The  small  ones  were  pounded 
and  the  larger  broken,  and  the  fish 
extracted  with  an  iron  hook ;  the 
colour -bags  were  cut  out  and  thrown 
into  salt.  Three  days  were  sufficient 
for  maceration,  and  the  fresher  the 
murex  the  finer  was  the  dye. 

Sixteen  miles  in  circumference,  the 
Mare  Piccolo  resembles  an  inland  lake  ; 
its  sapphire-blue  water  reflects  the 
sun's  rays,  and  it  is  so  perfectly  clear 
that  one  can. distinguish  the  founda- 
tions of  many  an  old  building  far 
beneath  the  boat.  Fragments  of  fine 
Greek  vases  are  often  hauled  up  in 
the  nets,  and  now  and  then  an  old 
coin  is  found  along  the  beach.  Fish- 
ing-boats, piled  high  with  faggots  of 
lentisk  covered  with  the  spawn  of 
oysters  and  mussels,  are  perpetually 
snooting  from  under  the  bridge,  com- 
ing in  from  the  open  sea  to  deposit 
their  precious  burden  in  the  quiet 
depths  of  the  inner  port.  The  wealth 
of  shell  fish  is  astounding ;  there  are 
over  150  different  species,  and  ninety- 
three  kinds  of  fish  come  at  different 
times  of  the  year  to  spawn  in  the 
inland  sea.  The  fishing  is  worth  over 
5,000,000  francs  per  annum.  Tall 
poles  stand  out  of  the  Mare  Piccolo 
in  every  direction,  whence  are  sus- 
pended, under  the  water,  row  upon 
row  of  rope  made  of  grass,  into  the 
strands  of  which  are  stuck  the  spat 
of  oysters  and  mussels.  The  ropes 
of  mussels,  called  cozze  nere  at  Taranto, 
are  sold  all  over  Italy ;  razor-fish, 
cockles,  date-mussels,  sea-urchins,  the 


various  murex,  and  other  shell-fish 
are  eaten  raw,  and  go  by  the  generic 
name  of  frutti  di  mare,  or  sea  fruit. 
The  little  market-place  is  picturesque, 
but  dirty,  and  all  kinds  of  fish  and 
shells  are  on  sale.  The  elegant  little 
sea-horses  are  common,  and  the  beau- 
tiful shells  of  the  Pinna  nobilis,  for 
which  they  still  fish  with  the  peculiar 
net  called  penuetico,  identical  with 
the  pernilegum  described  by  Pliny. 

The  silky  beard  of  the  lana-pesce, 
as  the  fishermen  call  the  pinna,  is 
woven  into  gloves  and  scarves  as  a 
curiosity ;  in  ancient  times  the  trans- 
parent robes  of  the  dancing  girls  were 
made  of  it,  and  it  was  valued  as  a 
costly  and  beautiful  material,  being 
either  dyed  purple  or  left  the  natural 
beautiful  golden-brown  hue.  Fish 
culture  and  fishing  have  been  culti- 
vated in  Taranto  by  thejigli  del  mare 
(sons  of  the  sea),  as  the  guild  of 
fishermen  are  called,  from  time  im- 
memorial, and  the  ancient  laws  were 
codified  in  the  fifteenth  century  by 
the  last  prince  of  Taranto,  John  An- 
tony de  Balzo,  in  the  Libra  JRosso,  or 
Red  Book. 

On  calm  summer  days  the  fairy-like 
argonaut  sails  about  on  the  Mare 
Piccolo,  and  one  is  tempted  to  regret 
that  a  scene  so  peaceful  and  so  fraught 
with  classical  memories  should  be  des- 
tined to  become  a  busy  arsenal  and 
seaport. 

At  the  further  extremity  from  the 
town,  two  small  brooks,  the  Cervaro 
and  the  Rascho,  enter  the  Mare 
Piccolo  ;  and  opposite  the  Monte  de' 
Coccioli,  the  hill  formed  of  murex 
shells,  stands  the  church  of  the  "  Ma- 
donna del  Galesio,"  on  the  little  stream 
of  Le  Citrezze,  the  ancient  Galesus. 
Formerly  it  was  well  wooded,  but  now 
the  flat  banks  of  the  tiny  river  are  but 
scantily  cultivated  with  cotton.  Two 
hundred  yards  from  where  the  Citrezze 
flows  into  the  Mare  Piccolo  rise  two 
powerful  fresh-water  springs,  now 
called  Citro  and  Citrello,  with  suffi- 
cient force  to  prevent  any  small  boat 
from  approaching  close.  On  the  left 


Tarentum. 


479 


bank  of  this  streamlet  Virgil  met  the 
old  Corycian  swain,  who 

"  With  unbought  dainties   used  to   pile  his 

board," 

thanks  to  his  skill  in  agriculture. 
Horace  sings  of 

"  Galerus,  thy  sweet  stream  I'll  choose, 
Where  flocks  of  richest  fleeces  bathe  : 
Phalantus  there  his  rural  sceptre  sway'd, 
Uncertain  offspring  of  a  Spartan  maid. 

"  No  spot  so  joyous  smiles  to  me 

Of  this  wide  globe's  extended  shores  ; 
Where  nor  the  labours  of  the  bee 
Yield  to  Hymettus'  golden  stores, 
Nor  the  green  berry  of  Venafran  soil 
Swells  with  a  riper  flood  of  fragrant  oil." 

Martial  and  Pliny  talk  of  the  excel- 
lent leeks  of  Tarentum  ;  Varro  praises 
its  honey  as  the  best  in  Italy.  The 
salubrity  of  the  climate  and  the  fer- 
tility of  the  soil  were  celebrated. 
Pears,  figs,  oil,  wine,  corn,  and  fine 
white  salt  were  among  the  products ; 
and  the  breed  of  horses  was  famous, 
and  supplied  the  Tarentine  light 
cavalry  (Tapavrlvof)  so  noted  in  the 
armies  of  Alexander  the  Great  and 
his  successors. 

The  Tarentine  wool  has  been  praised 
by  many  classical  writers.  Varro 
speaks  of  its  softness,  while  Strabo 
praises  its  lustre ;  Pliny,  Horace,  and 
Martial  all  laud  it,  and  Columella  de- 
scribes the  great  care  taken  of  the 
sheep.  They  were  never  allowed  to 
graze  with  their  heads  turned  towards 
the  sun,  for  fear  of  blindness,  or  let 
out  while  the  dew  was  on  the  grass. 
Their  wool  was  washed  with  wine, 
oiled  and  combed,  and  then  covered 
with  a  cloth.  The  breed  had  degene- 
rated in  the  time  of  Queen  Joan  II., 
who  in  1415  issued  an  edict  to  relieve 
the  guild  of  wool  manufacturers  from 
various  imposts  and  taxes,  in  order  to 
improve  the  quality  of  the  produce. 

The  sheep  now  seen  in  Apulia  are 
small,  and  give  little  wool ;  they  are 
almost  universally  black,  with  curiously 
brilliant  yellow  eyes,  and  agile  as 
deer. 

Tarantismo  is  still  implicitly  be- 
lieved in,  not  only  by  the  common 


people,  but  by  most  of  the  Apulian 
gentry.  I  have  never  seen  a  case,  as 
the  tarantola  only  becomes  venomous 
when  the  weather  is  hot.  The  women 
gleaning  in  the  corn-fields  are  most 
liable  to  be  bitten,  as  they  wear  but 
scant  clothing,  on  account  of  the  in- 
tense heat.  The  .following  account, 
which  differs  considerably  from  any 
hitherto  given,  is  from  an  eye-witness, 
a  Tarentine  gentleman,  who  has  seen 
many  cases. 

There  are  various  species  of  the  in- 
sect, and  two  different  kinds  of 
tarantismo,  the  wet  and  the  dry. 
A  violent  fever  attacks  the  person 
bitten,  who  sits  moaning  and  swaying 
backwards  and  forwards.  Musicians 
are  called,  and  begin  playing ;  if  the 
air  does  not  strike  the  fancy  of  the 
tarantata,  as  the  patient  is  called, 
she  moans  louder,  and  says  "  No,  no, 
not  that."  The  fiddler  instantly 
changes,  and  the  tambourine  beats  fast 
and  furious  to  indicate  the  difference 
of  the  time.  "When  at  last  the 
tarantata  gets  an  air  to  her  liking, 
she  springs  up  and  begins  to  dance 
frantically.  If  she  has  the  dry  ta- 
rantismo, her  friends  try  to  find  out 
the  colour  of  the  tarantola  that  has 
bitten  her.  and  adorn  her  dress  and  her 
fingers  with  ribbons  that  recall  the  tints 
of  the  insect — white  or  blue,  green, 
red,  or  yellow.  If  no  one  can  indicate 
the  colour,  she  is  decked  with  streamers 
of  every  hue,  which  flutter  wildly  about 
as  she  dances  and  tosses  her  arms  in 
the  air.  The  ceremony  generally 
begins  in  the  house,  but  what  with 
the  heat  and  the  concourse  of  people, 
it  often  ends  in  the  street. 

If  it  is  a  wet  tarantismo  the 
musicians  choose  a  spot  near  a  well, 
and  the  dancer  is  incessantly  deluged 
with  water  by  relays  of  friends,  who 
go  backwards  and  forwards  to  the  well 
with  their  picturesque  brown  earthen- 
ware jars.  My  informant  tells  me 
that  it  is  incredible  what  an  amount 
of  water  is  used  on  these  occasions. 
He  spoke  feelingly  as  drought  is  the 
great  enemy  of  the  Apulian  landowners, 


480 


Ta/rmtwrn. 


£ 


who  occasionally  lose  their  crops  and 
their  cattle  from  want  of  rain. 

When  the  tarantata  is  quite  worn 
out,  she  is  undressed  and  put  to 
bed.  The  fever  lasts  seventy-two 
hours,  and  the  state  of  nervous  ex- 
citement must  be  intense  to  sustain  a 
woman  under  such  fatigue  as  dancing 
for  three  whole  days.  If  the  musicians 
are  not  called  in,  and  the  person  bitten 
is  not  induced  to  dance,  the  fever  con- 
tinues indefinitely,  and  is  in  some  cases 
followed  by  death. 

There  is  a  master-mason  living  near 
Taranto  who  mocked  at  the  whole 
thing,  threatening  to  beat  any  of  his 
female  belongings,  who,  if  bitten  by  a 
tarantola,  dared  to  try  the  dancing 
cure.  As  ill-luck  or  Saint  Cataldo 
would  have  it,  he  was  himself  bitten, 
and  after  suffering  great  pain,  and 
being  in  a  high  fever  for  several 
days,  he  at  last  sent  for  the  musicians 
„  to  his  own  house,  carefully  locking  the 
doors  and  closing  the  windows.  But 
the  frenzy  was  too  strong,  and  to  the 
malicious  delight  of  the  women  he  was 
soon  seen  bounding  about  in  the  middle 
of  the  street,  shrieking  "  Le  femmine 
hanno  ragion  !  "  (The  women  are 
right.) 

A  favourite  ornament  at  these  mad 
dances  are  vine  branches  decked  with 
ribbons  of  various  hues,  which  makes 
one  suspect  that  there  may  still  linger 
vestiges  of  the  old  Bacchanalian  orgies 
in  these  Apulian  dances. 

The  small  terra-cotta  figures  and 
heads,  of  which  many  thousands  have 
been  dug  up  lately  at  Taranto,  have  a 
distinct  type  of  their  own,  and  are 
occasionally  very  beautiful.  The 
heads  are  remarkable  for  the  rather 


theatrical  exuberance  of  the  head- 
dress ;  heavy  wreaths  and  large  flowers 
like  rosettes  entwine  the  male  heads  as 
well  as  the  female.  The  tine  gold 
ornaments  in  the  museum  at  Naples, 
which  were  found  at  Taranto,  show  the 
same  love  of  exaggerated  magnificence. 
Ancient  writers  mention  many  works 
of  art  ordered  by  the  Tarentines  from 
the  great  Greek  artists  for  the  deco- 
ration of  their  city ;  the  Heracles  and 
the  Poseidon,  by  Lysippus  ;  the  Winged 
Victory,  which  was  taken  to  Rome, 
where  it  became  one  of  the  chief 
ornaments  of  the  Curia  Julia ;  Eu- 
ropa  on  the  Bull,  by  Pythagoras  of 
Rhegion,  and  many  others.  Let  us 
hope  that  some  of  these  treasures,  and 
the  great  candelabra  of  bronze,  with 
365  burners  sent  by  Dionysios  the 
younger,  to  be  placed  in  the  senate- 
house,  as  a  proof  of  his  friendliness  for 
Archytas,  as  well  as  the  "  irate  gods  " 
left  by  Fabius  Maximus  to  the  con- 
quered Tarentines,  may  come  to  light 
in  the  excavations  now  going  on.  The 
coins  of  Tarentum  are  among  the 
finest  in  the  world,  the  most  beautiful 
are  of  the  fifth  and  fourth  century 
B.C.  Taras  astride  on  his  dolphin, 
holding  the  trident  in  one  hand, 
figures  on  many ;  in  others  he  stands 
in  a  chariot  driving  two  horses,  which 
probably  refer  to  an  Agonistic  victory. 
Shell-fish  figure  largely  on  the  reverse 
sides  of  these  coins,  showing  that  the 
fishery  was  a  matter  of  great  import- 
ance even  in  those  days.  Mionnet 
gives  a  list  of  125  different  coins  of 
the  city,  a  proof  of  the  importance  and 
richness  of  "  imbelle  Tarentum." 

JANET  Ross. 


END    OF   VOL.    LII. 


LONDON  :    RICHARD    CLAY    AND    SONS,    BREAD   STREET   HILL 

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