The Mirror of Literature, Amusement, and Instruction, Vol. 20,
by
Various
THE MIRROR OF LITERATURE, AMUSEMENT, AND INSTRUCTION.
Vol. 20, No. 570.] SATURDAY, OCTOBER 13, 1832. [PRICE 2d.
* * * * *
THE ISLE OF WIGHT.
[Illustration: (Wilkes's Cottage.)]
NOTES FROM A PEDESTRIAN EXCURSION IN THE ISLAND.
By a Correspondent.
Although the roads of the island have within the last twenty years
been rendered passable for vehicles of all kinds, even to stage
coaches, yet by far the best mode of inspecting this English Arcadia
is to travel through it on foot, commencing at Ryde.
From this town a footpath leads across the park and grounds of St.
John's into the high road which may be followed to Brading. About a
mile from that place is Nunwell, the seat of Sir W. Oglander; and
opposite is a delightful view of Bembridge (the birthplace of Madame
de Feuchares) and Brading Harbour, which at high water presents to the
eye a rich, deep, green colour, with an increased effect from being
surveyed through the long line of tall elms on the road side. Brading
boasts of a mayor and corporation, and formerly sent a member to
parliament, which privilege was abolished by Queen Elizabeth. The town
is of high antiquity, as is also the church, which tradition says was
the first built in the island. It contains few monuments of interest
or note, but the surrounding burial-ground can boast of a collection
of epitaphs and inscriptions which are above mediocrity. The following
to the memory of Miss Barry by the Rev. Mr. Gill has been rendered
celebrated by the admirable music of Dr. Calcott:
Forgive, blest shade, the tributary tear,
That mourns thy exit from a world like this;
Forgive the wish that would have kept thee here,
And stayed thy progress to the realms of bliss.
No more confined to grov'ling scenes of night--
No more a tenant pent in mortal clay;
Now should we rather hail thy glorious flight,
And trace thy journey to the realms of day.
On a rising ground at the end of the town is the Mall; at the entrance
of which the earth reverberates to the tread of horses' feet in a
manner similar to that produced by riding over a bridge or hollow. It
is most probably occasioned by a natural cleft in the chalk beneath
the gravel road. Here the tourist should rest to enjoy a scene of
unrivalled beauty. On the left, below the road, lies the town of
Brading, and more remote, St. Helen's Road, and the opposite coasts of
Portsmouth and Southsea. In front, at the foot of the hill, are the
rich levels, with the sinuous river Yar slowly winding towards the
harbour, with the full broad front of Bembridge Down interrupting the
marine view, which is again presented on the right from the village of
Sandown to the extremity of Shanklin. At the foot of Brading Hill the
road divides itself into two branches. The one to the right leads
direct to Shanklin, over Morton Common: the other to the left lies
through Yarbridge to Yaverland and Sandown. We recommend the latter,
as the farm-house and church at Yaverland are worthy of notice. The
former is a fine capacious stone building, of the time of James I.,
containing some well executed specimens of carved oak. The church is
annexed to the house, and has a curious semicircular doorway. Culver
Cliffs, about a mile and a half from Yaverland, may be approached by a
footpath across the fields, which will also lead to Hermit's Hole, a
cavern of great depth in the side of the cliff. These cliffs were much
celebrated for a choice breed of falcons, which were esteemed so
highly by Queen Elizabeth, that she procured the birds regularly from
the Culver Cliffs, and they were trained with much care for her
majesty's own use. On the shore beneath, but more towards Sandown,
near what is called the Red Cliff, (from the colour of the soil,) many
fossil remains have been lately discovered; some of animals of a
gigantic size.
Sandown Fort is the next object in the road to Shanklin. "It commands
the bay from which it derives its name, and is a low, square building
flanked by four bastions, and encompassed by a ditch. A small garrison
is kept in it. This fort commands the only part of the coast of the
island where an enemy could land. A castle was built near this by
Henry VIII., and its establishment in that monarch's reign was, a
captain, at 4s. per day; an under captain, at 2s.; thirteen soldiers,
at 6d. per day each; one porter, at 8d.; one master gunner, at 8d.;
and seven other gunners, at 6d. per day. Fee 363l. 6s. 8d. It was
erected to defend the only accessible place of debarkation on the
coast from the hostile visits the island had in this and the preceding
reign been so often subjected to; but, from the encroachments of the
sea, it was deemed necessary, in the time of Charles I. to remove the
old structure, and with the materials to construct the present
building. The arms of Richard Weston, Earl of Portland, are carved in
the panels of the chimney-piece in the drawing-room, with the
supporters, and collar of the Garter, and implements of war."[1]
[1] From Sheridan's _Guide to the Isle of Wight_--one of the
best books of the kind that has lately fallen under our
notice.
About half a mile from the Fort is Sandown Cottage, formerly the
elegant retreat of the celebrated John Wilkes, the chief star in the
political horizon, during the administration of the Earl of Bute. The
cottage is situated as the Engraving shows, near the shore of Sandown
Bay, which extends about six miles, the eastern extremity being
terminated by the chalky cliffs of Culver, and the south-western by
the craggy rocks of the mountainous part of Dunnose. The house is
small, and has been elegantly fitted up; in the gardens were some
detached and pleasant apartments, constructed with floorcloth of
Kensington manufacture. But the labours of Wilkes's retirement have
been swept away, and there is scarcely a relic
Where once the garden smiled.
Shanklin may be approached by the sea shore at low water or by Lake
and Hillyards, if the high road be preferred. At this delightful
village seem assembled all the charms of rural scenery, hill, wood,
valley, corn field and water; aided by the wide extended ocean,
reaching to the eastern horizon, with the majestic white cliffs of
Culver at the extremity of the bay on the left, and the long range of
cliffs of every hue and colour gradually declining in height as the
eye glances along to the cottages of Sandown, and then again
imperceptibly rising to their highest point of elevation.
The situation of the village of Shanklin is as romantic as any of the
lovers of nature can desire. The salubrity of the atmosphere and the
proximity of the village to the sea may account for the extraordinary
growth of the myrtle-tree, which attains here an astonishing height.
Virgil tells us this plant is best cultivated on the sea side; but
every maritime situation is not congenial, unless a protection is
afforded from the cold northerly winds.
The chief attraction of Shanklin is the Chine. This is a natural
fissure or cleft in the earth, running from the village to the sea in
a circuitous direction and increasing in width and depth as it
approaches the shore. It was most probably formed by the long
continued running of a stream of water from the adjoining hills; this
now forms a cascade at the commencement of the path which has been
formed in the side to facilitate strangers in exploring their way
through the rocks and underwood. But the admirers of sublime nature
will mourn the ruthless devastation that has thus been made,
ostensibly for the public benefit, to serve private interest. In the
Chine is a chalybeate spring, highly impregnated with iron and alum,
and of course beneficial in cases of debility and nervous affections.
C.R.S.
* * * * *
LINES TO ----.
Life's earliest sweets are wasted,
And time impatient flies;
The flowers of youth are blasted,
Their lingering beauty dies.
Yet my bosom owns a pleasure,
That no icy breath can chill;--
'Tis thy friendship, dearest treasure,
For my hopes are with thee still.
Though mine eye, by sorrow shaded,
Drops the solitary tear,
O'er remember'd joys, now faded,
To young love and rapture dear.
E'en the retrospective feeling,
Leaves a momentary thrill;
All the wounds of sorrow healing,
For my hopes are with thee still.
Though I've bid adieu to pleasure,
With her giddy, fleeting train;
And her song of joyous measure,
I may never raise again.
Yet the chilling gloom of sadness,
Waving o'er me, brooding ill,
Emits one ray of gladness,
For my hopes are with thee still.
When the reckless world is sleeping,
And the star of eve shines gay;
While the night winds softly creeping
O'er the waters, die away;
When the moonbeams softly playing,
Silver o'er the glistening rill;
'Tis to thee my thoughts are straying,
For my hopes are with thee still.
When the fragrant breath of morning
Wanders o'er the silent dews;
And flowers the vale adorning,
Do their balmy sweets diffuse.
When the orb of day appearing,
From behind the distant hill,
Gilds the landscape bright and cheering,
E'en my hopes are with thee still.
_Leeds._
J.B. WALKER.
* * * * *
ANTIQUITY OF MALT LIQUOR.
Malt liquor appears to have had its origin in the attention paid by an
eastern sovereign to the comfort and health of his soldiers; as we are
informed by the historian Xenophon, that "the virtuous Cyrus" having
observed the good effects that water in which parched barley had been
steeped, produced, exhorted and commanded his troops to drink this
liquor; the historian entitled it "_Maza_." It is highly probable that
Cyrus adopted this drink to counteract the ill effects of impure and
foul water (which had done lasting injury to other warriors of his
time), which is so common in warm, sunny climates; as Pliny informs
us, that if water be impure or corrupted, by putting fried barley into
it, in less than two hours, it will be pure and sweet; that its bad
effects will have evaporated, and that it then may be drunk with
perfect safety; he further adds that, this is the reason why we are in
the habit of "putting barley-meal into the 'wine-strainers' through
which we pass our wines, that they may be refined, purified, and drawn
the sooner." The information conveyed to our readers by Pliny, may be
made of great practical use and benefit by mariners, to whom sweet
water is such a desideratum; and is as important to those who traverse
the arid deserts of Africa, where sweet water is so seldom found.
That the ancients used the "juice of the grape," and that almost as a
common drink, has never been doubted by the most cursory reader of
history; the knowledge of this liquor being nearly coeval with the
first formation of society. In the Book of Genesis we read that Noah
after the flood planted a vineyard, "_manufactured_" wine, and got
intoxicated with this "nectar fit for gods." Beer can likewise boast
of as great antiquity. Its use was not unknown by the Egyptians; as we
are informed by Herodotus that the people of Egypt made use of _a kind
of wine_ made from dried barley, because no vines grew in that
country. According to Tacitus, in his time beer was the common drink
of the Germans, who drank it in preference to that more stimulating
(if not more nutritious) liquor, wine. We are also informed by Pliny,
that it was made and was in common use amongst the Gauls, and by many
of their neighbours. The name he gave to this drink was "_cerevisia_"
which evidently alludes to the article from which it was composed.
Although these nations held this liquor in such estimation, there has
been no record to inform us of their mode of preparing it.
Ale was introduced into our country centuries ago, by our Saxon
ancestors, and it was not long ere it became the favourite and common
drink of all classes of society. Their habit of drinking it out of
skulls, at their feasts, is well known to the reader of romance. It
was then, as it is now, commonly sold at houses of entertainment to
the people. After the Norman Conquest, the vine was very extensively
planted in England, but was drunk alone, as a chronicle of that time
says, "by the wise and the learned;" the people did not lose their
relish for the beverage of their forefathers, and wine was never held
in much respect by them. Hops had hitherto not been used in the
composition of beer; but about the fifteenth century they were
introduced by the brewers of the Netherlands with great success; from
them we adopted the practice, and they came into general use about two
centuries afterwards. Some historians have affirmed that Henry VI.
forbade the planting of hops; but it is certain that "bluff King Hal"
ordered brewers to put neither hops _nor sulphur_ into their ale. The
taste of the nation in the reign of Henry VI. seems to have changed,
as we find in the records of that time that extensive "privileges"
(_monopolies_ these _enlightened_ times would have called them) were
annexed to hop-grounds. In the reign of James I. the produce of
hop-grounds were insufficient for the consumption, and a law was made
against the introduction of "spoilt hops." Walter Blithe, in his
_Improver Improved_, published in 1649, (3rd edit. 1653) has a chapter
upon improvements by plantations of hops, which has this striking
passage. He observes that "hops were then grown to be a national
commodity; but that it was not many years since the famous city of
London petitioned the Parliament of England against two nuisances; and
these were, Newcastle coals, in regard to their stench, &c., and hops,
in regard they would _spoyl the taste of drink_, and endanger the
people: and, had the Parliament been no wiser than they, we had in a
measure pined, and in a great measure starved; which is just
answerable to the principles of those men who cry down all devices, or
ingenious discoveries, as projects, and therefore stifle and choak
improvements." According to a late writer, in the year 1830, there
were 46,727 acres occupied in the cultivation of hops in Great Britain
alone.
Thirty millions of bushels of barley are annually converted into malt
by the breweries of Great Britain; and upwards of eight millions of
barrels of beer (of which more than four-fifths are strong) are brewed
annually. This enormous consumption attests the fondness of the people
for the beverage of their forefathers.
E.J.H.
* * * * *
A PERSIAN FABLE.
_Imitated from the Latin of Sir W. Jones._
Whoe'er his merit under-rates,
The worth which he disclaims, creates.
It chanc'd a single drop of rain
Slip'd from a cloud into the main:
Abash'd, dispirited, amaz'd,
At last her small, still voice she rais'd:
"Where, and what am I?--Woe is me!
What a mere drop in such a sea!"
An oyster, yawning where she fell,
Entrap'd the vagrant in his shell;
And there concocted in a trice,
Into an orient pearl of price.
Such is the best and brightest gem,
In Britain's royal diadem.[2]
E.B.J.
[2] See page 330.
* * * * *
FINE ARTS.
* * * * *
HOSPITAL OF ST. CROSS, HANTS.
(_Concluded from page 219._)
_Interior of the Church._
Dr. Milner considers the entire fabric as the work of Bishop de Blois,
with the exception of the front and upper story of the west end, which
are of a later date, and seem to have been altered to their present
form about the time of Wykeham. The vaulting of this part was
evidently made by the second founder, Beaufort, whose arms, together
with those of Wykeham, and of the Hospital, are seen in the centre
orbs of it: that at the east end, by the Saxon ornaments with which it
is charged, bespeaks the workmanship of the first founder, De Blois.
"The building before us," Dr. Milner further observes, "seems to be a
collection of architectural essays, with respect to the disposition
and form, both of the essential parts and of the subordinate
ornaments. Here we find the ponderous Saxon pillar, of the same
dimensions in its circumference as in its length, which, however
supports an incipient pointed arch. The windows and arches are some of
them short, with semicircular heads; and some of them immoderately
long, and terminating like a lance; others are of the horse-shoe form,
of which the entry into the north porch is the most curious
specimen:[3] in one place, (on the east side of the south transept,)
we have a curious triangular arch. The capitals and bases of the
columns vary alternately in their form, as well as in their ornaments:
the same circumstance is observable in the ribs of the arches,
especially in the north and south aisles, some of them being plain,
others profusely embellished, and in different styles, even within the
same arch. Here we view almost every kind of Saxon and Norman
ornaments, the chevron, the billet, the hatched, the pillet, the fret,
the indented, the nebule, and the wavey, all superbly executed."[4]
[3] The writer of the paper in _The Crypt_, already referred
to, observes that the above arch is not what he
understands by _horse-shoe_: "it is, in fact, one of those
short, wide doorways, used both early and late, the
proportions of which we know not how to describe better
than as the earliest pointed arch curtailed of about
one-half its usual height betwixt the base and capital.
The entrance to St. John's House, Winton, is a good
example."
[4] Milner's Winchester, vol. ii. p. 149.
The lower part of the Nave, as we have already seen, is the most
ancient, and allowed to be the work of De Blois. A portion is included
within the choir by throwing back a high wooden screen, within which
reclines the full-length figure, in brass, of John de Campden, the
friend of Wykeham, who appointed him master of the Hospital. "The
arches which separate the nave from its aisles are pointed; but the
columns are of enormous compass, their circumference being equal to
their height; the capitals are varied, the bases square, and three out
of the four decorated at the angles with huge bosses of flowers. The
roof is simple, with the arms of Beaufort, Wykeham, and others, at the
intersections of the ribs, which spring from corbel heads." The great
western window consists of four parts; on each side are two lights
terminating in a distinct arch; in the centre, one light of larger
dimensions; and over these, a Catherine wheel composed of three
triangles. The whole is filled with painted glass, a small portion of
which is ancient; the remainder was presented in 1788, by Dr. Lockman,
the late master. Dr. Milner terms it curious: but the critic of _The
Crypt_ refers to it as "an exemplification of how much trash and
vulgarity in the art can be crowded into a certain compass."[5]
Beneath this window stands a double doorway, surmounted by a small
quatrefoil window of like colours, enclosed within a pointed arch. The
exterior view of this portal is very fine, and Messrs. Brayley and
Britton place it next to the east end, (which is hardly of later date
than 1135,) in gradation of style, and refer to it as "an elegant
specimen of the time of King John, or the early part of the reign of
Henry the Third."[6] Dr. Milner describes this portal as "one of the
first specimens of a canopy over a pointed arch, which afterwards
became so important a member in this style of architecture:" he also
refers to the window above it as "one of the earliest specimens of a
great west window, before transoms, and ramified mullions, were
introduced; and therefore the western end of the church must have been
altered to receive this and the door beneath it, about the beginning
of the thirteenth century, the eastern extremity of the church being
left, as it still continues, in its original state. There is a plain
canopy, without any appearance of a pediment over the arch of this
window, like that over the portal."[7]
[5] We should imagine _The Crypt_ Correspondent to be no
enthusiastic admirer of ancient painted glass, unless of
the first order of execution. It must be confessed that
some ancient specimens have been immoderately over-rated,
and the olden art has altogether been enveloped in such
mystery as to cause _modern_ attempts to be unfairly
estimated.
[6] Beauties of England, vol. vi. p. 111.
[7] Essays on Gothic Architecture, 1802, p. 144, 148.
"In the North Aisle, a little to the left as you enter from the porch,
stands a very ancient granite font, perhaps of Saxon workmanship; the
basin is round, but the exterior form is square, and, although mounted
on mean stone, still maintains its station upon a raised space of
Saxon brick; a circumstance worthy of remark, as the original
situation of the font has of late occasioned some little controversy.
It is also curious, that the walls on the south side should be far
less massive than those on the north, though both unquestionably of
the same aera. The windows in each aisle are, for the most part,
circular, and each is decorated occasionally with Norman capitals and
groinings."[8] The aisles, on each side, are much lower than the body
of the nave, and in the north aisle is a cinquefoil arch, with Gothic
canopy and crockets, resting on short columns of Purbeck stone, over
an elegant altar tomb. A modern inscription assigns it to "Petrus de
Sancta Maria, 1295."
[8] _The Crypt_, No. vii. p. 168.
The transepts display a variety of arches and windows, of irregular
arrangement, both round and pointed. Some of those in the south seem
to have opened into chancels or recesses, and some probably were mere
cupboards: but in the north wall of the opposite transept are two
arches communicating with the _sick chambers_ of the Hospital, by
opening which "the patients, as they lay in their beds, might attend
to the divine services going forward." Both these transepts are
profusely enriched with embattled and other mouldings. One window on
the east side of each has been so contrived as to throw the light in a
sloping direction into the body of the church, instead of reflecting
it directly, and to less purpose, on the opposite wall; that in the
north retains a portion of its painted glass, but the corresponding
one in the south has been blocked up.
We have already spoken of the aisles attached to the sides of the
choir, and their beautiful embellishments. Each is decorated with
three circular-headed windows, and exhibits a few traces of its
ancient altars. That towards the north contains a very curious
piscina, fixed upon a pillar, and with small holes pierced round a
raised centre, precisely resembling a modern sink. There are likewise
the remains of several pedestals, on which images may be supposed to
have once stood.
"The choir extends, according to modern arrangement, beyond the tower
into the nave itself. The tower rises very nobly upon four slender
columns, terminating in pointed arches but with Norman capitals. The
lantern is lighted by four lancet windows on each side, the two centre
ones not being open. The oaken roof is plain, and supported by very
large beam-heads. Eastward from this point, the vaultings of the roof
are square, with broad, simple groinings. Beneath, are two ranges of
windows, running quite round the chancel, and decorated with an
amazing variety of mouldings. Those below form the grand
characteristic of this venerable pile, being likewise _circular; but
so intersecting one another as to form perfect and beautiful pointed
arches_." This then is the hypothesis of Dr. Milner towards the
settlement of the controverted origin of the _pointed_ or _English_
style of architecture. It is, probably, the most reasonable of all
solutions. Sir Christopher Wren's account of a Saracenic origin was
vague and unsupported; and Warburton's deduction from groves and
interlacing boughs, though ingeniously illustrated by the late Sir
James Hall, has more prettiness than probability. Dr. Milner's
"intersecting hypothesis," as it is technically termed, is brief and
simple: "De Blois," he says, "having resolved to ornament the whole
sanctuary of his church with intersecting semicircles, conceived the
idea of opening them, by way of windows, which at once produced a
series of highly-pointed arches." Hence arose the seeming paradox,
that "the intersection of two circular arches in the church of St.
Cross, produced Salisbury steeple." Conclusive as this hypothesis may
appear, it has been much controverted, and among its opponents have
been men of great practical knowledge in architecture. Messrs. Brayley
and Britton observe "though the specimens referred to by Dr. Milner
may not entirely warrant the above supposition, yet they clearly mark
the gradation by which the Saxon and Norman styles of architecture
were abandoned, for the more enriched and beautiful order that has
conferred so much celebrity on the ecclesiastical architects of this
country."[9] The clever writer in _The Crypt_ remarks "the history of
the science appears so easy and natural according to Dr. Milner's
hypothesis, and so many difficulties must be softened down, so many
discordances reconciled, according to any other, as to go a very great
way towards establishing the credibility of his idea. Here then is a
complete history of an invention, for which every quarter of the globe
has been ransacked. And, be it remembered, that the pointed arch did
not first display itself in those magnificent proportions, which would
have accompanied it from the beginning, if brought over from foreign
climes in its full perfection; but exactly in that want of proportion,
which was the natural result of the intersection."[10]
[9] Beauties of England, vol. vi. p 110.
[10] The specimens at St. Cross were considered by Dr. Milner
to be the earliest instances of the experiment, but the
Abbey of Clugny, and several other edifices have disputed
its claim to priority.--_The Crypt_, No. 8.
To return to the choir. On each side of the altar is curious and
elegant Gothic spire-work; and traces may be seen of ancient stone
work, all that now remains of the high altar. The wooden altar-screen
is described as "execrable enough"; but sixteen stalls in the choir,
which are referred to the time of Henry VII., are ingeniously
ornamented with "carved figures of illustrious scripture
personages."[11]
[11] These have been engraved by Mr. Carter, for his Specimens
of Ancient Sculpture, together with the Brass in memory
of John de Campden, &c.
The pavement throughout the church is still chiefly composed of glazed
tiles, "called and supposed to be Roman; though upon some of them we
clearly see the hatched and other Saxon ornaments," and upon others
the monosyllables HAVE MYNDE (_Remember_) in the black letter
characters used in the fifteenth century. There are passages running
round each story, and communicating with the tower; but, "with all its
magnificence, the general aspect of the interior is sadly disfigured
by a thick coating of yellow ochre." (_The Crypt._)
Such is the venerable pile of St. Cross, surrounded by some of the
finest scenery in the county. Our Correspondent _P.Q._ earnestly
observes "it was in and near this hospital that he was educated; in
its noble church he was a chorister, and his feelings of veneration
for the whole establishment, dedicated to the highest of Christian
virtues, will never be effaced." Would that every heart beamed with so
amiable a sense of gratitude. Reverting to the ancient purposes of the
foundation it is to be feared they are not realized with the poet's
prediction: that
Lasting charity's more ample sway,
Nor bound by time, nor subject to decay,
In happy triumph shall for ever live.--PRIOR.
* * * * *
THE NATURALIST.
* * * * *
THE PEARL IN THE OYSTER.
Cowper eloquently says
There is glory in the grass, and splendour in the flower;
and the imagery might have been extended to the irridescent pearl
within the rudely-formed shell of the oyster. Poets have feigned that
pearls are
Rain from the sky,
Which turns into pearls as it falls in the sea;
we need scarcely add that science has exploded this imaginative
fertility.
Pearl is, in fact, a calcareous secretion by the fish of bivalve
shells; and principally by such as inhabit shells of foliated
structure, as sea and fresh water muscles, oysters, &c. A pearl
consists of carbonate of lime, in the form of nacre, and animal matter
arranged in concentric layers around a nucleus; the solution
indicating no trace of any phosphate of lime. To this lamellar
structure the irridescence is to be ascribed. Each layer is _presumed_
to be annual; so that a pearl must be of slow growth, and those of
large size can only be found in full-grown oysters. The finest and
largest are produced from the Meleagrina margaratifera, (_Lamarck_,) a
native of the sea, and of various coasts. A considerable number are
likewise taken from the Unio margaratifera, which inhabits the rivers
of Europe; and, it is singular, as remarked by Humboldt, that though
several species of this genus abound in the rivers of South America,
no pearls are ever found in them. The pearls are situated in the body
of the oyster, or they lie loose between it and the shell; or, lastly,
they are fixed to the latter by a kind of neck; and it is said they do
not appear until the animal has reached its fourth year.
Naturalists have much disputed the formation of pearls. Mr. Gray
justly observes they are merely the internal nacred coat of the shell,
which has been forced, by some extraneous cause, to assume a spherical
form. Lister, on the other hand, states "a distemper in the creature
produces them," and compares them with calculi in the kidneys of man.
But, as observed by a more recent inquirer,[12] "though they are
accidental formations, and, of course, not always to be found in the
shellfish which are known usually to contain them, still they are the
products of a regular secretion, applied, however, in an unusual way,
either to avert harm or allay irritation. That, in many instances they
are formed by the oyster, to protect itself against aggression, is
evident; for, with a plug of this nacred and solid material it shuts
out worms and other intruders which have perforated the softer shell,
and are intent on making prey of the hapless inmate: and it was
apparently the knowledge of this fact that suggested to Linnaeus his
method of producing pearls at pleasure, by puncturing the shell with a
pointed wire. But this explanation accounts only for the origin of
such pearls as are attached to the shell; while the best and greatest
number, and, indeed, the only ones which can be strung, have no such
attachment, and are formed in the body of the animal itself. 'The
small and middling pearls,' says Sir Alexander Johnston, 'are formed
in the thickest part of the flesh of the oyster, near the union of the
two shells; the large pearls almost loose in that part called the
beard.' Now, these may be the effect merely of an excess in the supply
of calcareous matter, of which the oyster wishes to get rid; or, they
may be formed by an effusion of pearl, to cover some irritating and
extraneous body." The reality of the latter theory is strengthened, if
not proved by the Chinese forcing the swan muscle to make pearls by
throwing into its shell, when open, five or six minute mother-of-pearl
beads, which, being left for a year, are found covered with a crust
perfectly resembling the real pearl. Such is one method of getting
artificial pearls. The extraneous body which naturally serves for the
nucleus, appears to be very often, or, as Sir E. Home says, always, a
blighted ovum or egg. This theory which, however, is here but partly
explained, has been fully adopted by Sir E. Home:--"if," says the
enthusiastic baronet, "I shall prove that this, the richest jewel in a
monarch's crown, which cannot be imitated by any art of man, either in
the beauty of its form or the brilliancy and lustre produced by a
central illuminated cell, is the abortive egg of an oyster enveloped
in its own nacre, of which it receives annually a layer of increase
during the life of the animal, who will not be struck with wonder and
astonishment?" And, we must add, that the proofs are very much in
favour of this conclusion.
[12] The writer of An Introduction to the Natural History of
Molluscous Animals, in a Series of Letters: one of the
most delightful contributions to the _Magazine of Natural
History_, since the establishment of that valuable
journal.
* * * * *
ROMAN TOMBS.
"Tombs," observes the clever author of _Rome in the Nineteenth
Century_, "formed a far more prominent feature in ancient communities
than in ours. They were not crowded into obscure churchyards, or
hidden in invisible vaults, but were sedulously spread abroad in the
most conspicuous places, and by the sides of the public ways." Hence
we may add, the "_Siste Viator_" (traveller, stop!) so common upon
tombs to this day. But why are not tombs placed by the roadside in our
times? "It would seem," says the writer just quoted, "as if these
mementos of mortality were not so painful or so saddening to Pagans as
to Christians; and, that death, when believed to be final dissolution,
was not so awful or revolting as when known to be the passage to
immortality. I pretend not to explain the paradox, I only state it;
and, certain it is, that every image connected with human dissolution,
seems now more fearful to the imagination, and is far more sedulously
shunned, than it ever was in times when the light of Christianity had
not dawned upon the world."[13]
[13] Rome in the Nineteenth Century, vol. ii. letter 36.
The _high-ways_ do not, however, appear to have been the earliest
sites of tombs. According to Fosbroke, "the veneration with which the
ancients viewed their places of sepulture, seems to have formed the
foundation upon which they raised their boundless mythology; and, as
is supposed, with some probability, introduced the belief in national
and tutelary gods, as well as the practice of worshipping them through
the medium of statues; for the places where their heroes were
interred, when ascertained, were held especially sacred, and
frequently a temple erected over their body, hallowed the spot. It was
thus that the bodies of their fathers, _buried at the entrance of the
house_, consecrated the vestibule to their memory, and gave birth to a
host of local deities, who were supposed to hold that part of the
dwelling under their peculiar protection. Removed from the
dwelling-houses to the highways, the tombs of the departed were still
viewed as objects of the highest veneration."[14]
[14] Encyclopaedia of Antiquities, p. 64.
Our readers may remember that the ancient Romans never permitted the
dead to be buried within the city,[15] a practice well worthy the
imitation of its modern inhabitants. One of the Laws of the Twelve
Tables was
Hominem mortuum in urbe ne sepelito, neve urito,
(neither bury nor burn a dead body in the city.) But this law must be
understood with this limitation, that the Senate occasionally granted
exemption from it, to distinguished individuals, though so rarely,
that a tomb within the walls of Rome seems to have been considered a
reward of the most pre-eminent virtue.
[15] See an Interesting Inquiry on Burying in Vaults, by an
esteemed Correspondent, since deceased--in vol. xv. of
_The Mirror_.
The tombs of the Romans were characterized by their impressive
grandeur. The Roman satirists, Juvenal and Horace, censure the pomp
and splendour of the tombs, particularly those on the Via Appia. "On
that 'Queen of Ways,' and way to the Queen of Cities, were crowded the
proud sepulchres of the most distinguished Romans: and their
mouldering remains still attest their ancient grandeur." Again, "those
who have traced the long line of the Appian Way, between its ruined
and blackening sepulchres, or stood in the Street of Tombs that leads
to the Gate of Pompeii, and gazed on the sculptured magnificence of
these marble dwellings of the dead, must have felt their solemnity,
and admired their splendour."[16]
[16] Rome, &c., vol. ii.
Antiquarian writers have carefully classified the Roman tombs. We
have, however, only space to remark generally, that the sepulchres
were either square, circular, or pyramidal buildings, and with one
entrance only, which was invariably on the side farthest from the
public road. They usually consisted of a vault in which the urns and
sarcophagi were deposited, and a chamber above, in which the statues
or effigies of the dead were placed, and the libations and obsequies
performed. These sepulchres were usually places of family interment,
but sometimes they were solitary tombs. Of the latter description is
the _Tomb of Caecilia Metella_, which is generally acknowledged to be
the most beautiful sepulchral monument in the world. It consists of a
round tower formed of immense blocks of Tiburtine stone, fixed
together without cement, and adorned with a Doric marble frieze, on
which are sculptured rams' heads festooned with garlands of flowers.
"That they are rams' heads, must be evident to any one who will take
the trouble to examine them, though they are usually denominated the
heads of oxen, because the tomb itself is vulgarly called Capo di
Bove. But this name is obviously derived from an ox's head, (the arms
of the Gaetani family, by whom it was converted into a fortress,)
which was affixed many centuries ago on the side of the tower next the
Appian Way, and still remains there; and, accordingly, the vulgar name
is Capo di Bove, 'the head of the ox,' in the singular--not in the
plural."
[Illustration: (_Tomb of Caecilia Metella_.)]
Forsyth refers to this tomb as the only one of the ancient structures
that bears the name of its tenant; this does not appear to be correct.
The beautiful tower rests upon a square basement, which has been
despoiled of its exterior coating by Popes and other purloiners, but
the greatest part of it is buried beneath the soil. The wall of the
tower itself, the interior of which is entirely built of brick, is 20
feet at least in thickness. The sepulchral vault was below the present
level of the earth, and it was not until the time of Paul III. that it
was opened, when the beautiful marble sarcophagus of Caecilia Metella,
now in the Palazzo Farnese, was found in it. A golden urn, containing
the ashes, is said to have been discovered at the same time. That
Caecilia Metella, for whose dust this magnificent monument was raised,
was the daughter of Metellus, and the wife of Crassus, is all we know.
"Her husband, who was the richest and meanest of the Romans, had
himself no grave. He perished miserably with a Roman army in the
deserts of the East, in that unsuccessful expedition against the
Parthians which has stamped his memory with incapacity and shame."[17]
The rude battlements on the top of the tower, and all the old walls
and fortifications which surround it, are the work of the Gaetani
family, who long maintained their feudal warfare here. Forsyth
observes:--"Crassus built this tomb of travertine stone 24 feet thick,
to secure the bones of a single woman; while the adjoining castle had
but a thin wall of soft tufo to defend all the Gaetani from the fury
of civil war." Eustace says: "The solidity and simplicity of this
monument are worthy of the republican era in which it was erected, and
have enabled it to resist and survive the lapse and incidents of two
thousand years."[18]
[17] Rome, &c., vol. ii.
[18] Classical Tour, vol. i., p. 407.
Next is the grey pyramidal Tomb of Caius Cestius, in the fields called
_Prati del Popolo Romano_, on the western side of the Aventine Hill.
This ancient monument remains entire, an advantage which it owes
partly to its form, well calculated to resist the action of the
weather, and partly to its situation, as it is joined to the walls of
the city, and forms part of the fortification. Its base is about 90
feet square, and it rises, according to Eustace, about 120 feet in
height. It is formed, or at least encrusted, with large blocks of
white marble; a door in the base opens into a gallery terminating in a
small room, ornamented with paintings on the stucco, in regular
compartments. In this chamber of the dead, once stood a sarcophagus
that contained the remains of Cestius. "At the base of the pyramid
stand two marble columns, which were found beneath the ground, and
re-erected by some of the popes. One foot, which is all that remains
of the colossal statue in bronze of Caius Cestius, that formerly stood
before his tomb, is now in the Museum of the Capitol."[19]
[19] Rome, &c., vol. ii.--From the monument we learn that he
was the contemporary of Caesar and Augustus, but his name
does not appear in the annals, or the literature of that
eventful and enlightened period; of his wealth, and of
his pride, this magnificent tomb is a sufficient record:
but of his merits or his virtues, no trace remains. The
inscription only tells us he was one of the seven
Epulones, whose office was to furnish and to eat the
sacred banquets offered to Jupiter and the Gods.
The situation of this tomb is one of melancholy picturesqueness. The
meadows in which it stands are planted with mulberry-trees. They were,
as implied by their name, formerly a resort of the Roman people in
hours of gladness: they are no longer devoted to the enjoyment of the
living, but to the repose of the dead; "bright and beautiful in the
first days of the year was the verdure that covered the meadows of the
Roman people."[20] They are now the burial-place of Protestants, and
consequently, of foreigners only: by far the greatest part of the
strangers interred here are English.
[20] Rome, &c., vol. ii.
[Illustration: (_Tomb of Caius Cestius_.)]
Time has changed the colour and defaced the polish of the marble
pyramid. The grey lichen has crept over it, and wild evergreens hang
from its crevices. But, what it has lost in splendour it has gained in
picturesque beauty; and there are few remains of antiquity within the
bounds of the Eternal City, that the eye rests upon with such
unwearying admiration as this grey pyramid.
Lastly is the reputed _Tomb of the Horatii and Curatii_.
Its identity has been much controverted, and the Cut shows it to be a
ruinous pile capped with luxuriant foliage. It will, nevertheless,
serve to illustrate the stupendous character of the ancient Roman
tombs.
[Illustration: (_Tomb of the Horatii and Curatii_.)]
The theatre of the celebrated combat between the Horatii and Curatii
lies about five miles from the city of Rome. Several tombs stand on
the side of the hillock that borders these fields, but no one in
particular is _there_ pointed out as belonging to the unhappy
champions. The monuments, however, existed in Livy's time, and Eustace
supposes that "as their forms and materials were probably very plain
and very solid, they must have remained for many ages after, and may
be some of the many mounds that still stand in clusters about the very
place where they fell." This explanation will not, however, refer to
the above engraving, as the buildings in the distance will show.
* * * * *
NEW BOOKS.
* * * * *
BOYHOOD AND EDUCATION OF JAMES THE FIRST.
(_From Lives of Scottish Worthies_, vol. 2.)
[James I. king of Scotland was born in 1394. In 1405, he was sent by
his father, Robert III., to France to escape the danger to which he
was exposed by the ambition of his uncle, but being taken by an
English squadron, he and his whole suite were carried prisoners to the
Tower of London. Here he received an excellent education from Henry
IV. of England, who placed him under the care of Sir John de Pelham,
constable of Pevensey Castle, to which the youthful and royal captive
was conducted. Pelham was a man of note, both as a statesman and a
warrior, and on all occasions, Henry appears to have manifested for
him a high esteem and consideration. The youthful portrait of James is
thus drawn by Mr. Tytler in the above-named work.]
He had just reached the age of eleven years, when the young candidate
for knighthood was usually taken out of the hands of the women to whom
his infancy and extreme boyhood had been intrusted and when it was
thought proper for him to commence his education in earnest. It was at
this age that the parents selected some veteran and able soldier of
noble family, under whose roof their son was placed, and in whose
castle, commencing his services in the capacity of a page, he received
his instruction in the exercises and accomplishments befitting his
condition. Thus Edward the Black Prince delivered his young son
Richard, afterwards Richard II., to Sir Guiscard d'Angle as his
military tutor; esteeming him one of the most experienced and
distinguished knights in his service. We read also that Henry IV.
intrusted the education of his son Henry, afterwards the great Henry
V., to Sir Thomas Percy, a brave and veteran warrior, afterwards Earl
of Worcester; and on the same principle the English king, although,
for reasons of state, he determined to retain the King of Scotland in
his own hands, generously selected for him a military governor, whose
character was a guarantee for his being brought up in a manner
suitable to his royal rank.
It was soon seen that the pupil was not unworthy of the master. In all
athletic and manly exercises, in the use of his weapons, in his skill
in horsemanship, his speed in running, his strength and dexterity as a
wrestler, his firm and fair aim as a jouster and tourneyer, the young
king is allowed by all contemporary writers to have arrived at a pitch
of excellence which left most of the competitors of his own age behind
him; and, as he advanced to maturity, his figure, although not so tall
as to be majestic or imposing, was, from its make, peculiarly adapted
for excellence in such accomplishments. His chest was broad and full,
his arms somewhat long and muscular, his flanks thin and spare, and
his limbs beautifully formed; so as to combine elegance and lightness
with strength. In throwing the hammer, and propelling, or, to use the
Scottish phrase, "putting" the stone, and in skill in archery, we have
the testimony of an ancient chronicler, that none in his own dominions
could surpass him; so that the constable of Pevensey appears to have
done ample justice to his youthful charge.
But this formed only one division of his education. To skill in these
warlike exercises, every youthful candidate for honour and for
knighthood was expected to unite a variety of more pacific and elegant
accomplishments, which were intended to render him a delightful
companion in the hall, as the others were calculated to make him a
formidable enemy in the field. The science of music, both instrumental
and vocal; the composition and recitation of ballads, roundelays, and
other minor pieces of poetry; an acquaintance with the romances and
the writings of the popular poets of the times; were all essential
branches in the system of education which was then adopted in the
castle of every feudal chief; and from Pelham, who had himself been
brought up as the squire of the Duke of Lancaster, we may be confident
that the Scottish king received every advantage which could be
conferred by skilful instructors, and by the most ample opportunities
of cultivation and improvement. Such lessons and exhibitions, however,
might have been thrown away upon many; but James had been born with
those natural capacities which fitted him to excel in them. He
possessed a fine and correct musical ear; a voice which was rich,
flexible, and sufficiently powerful for chamber music; and an
enthusiastic delight in the art, which, unless controlled by strong
good sense, and a feeling of the higher destinies to which he was
called, might have led to a dangerous devotion to it. The peril of
such over-cultivation of this fascinating art does not appear to have
been so common in those days as in our own. The brave and accomplished
military leader, Sir John Chandos, sang sweetly, and solaced his
master, Edward III., on a voyage, by his ballads; the same veteran
soldier did not think himself demeaned by introducing a new German
dance into England; and the Count de Foix frequently requested his
secretaries, in the intervals of severer occupation to recreate
themselves by chanting songs and roundelays.[21]
[21] Archaeologia, vol. xx. p. 59.
Cut off for a long and tedious period from his crown and his people,
James could afford to spend many hours in each tedious day of his
captivity in the cultivation of accomplishments to which, under other
circumstances, it would have been criminal to have given up so much of
his time. And this will easily account for that high musical
excellence to which he undoubtedly attained, and will explain the
great variety of instruments upon which he performed. Besides, to use
the words of a learned and amusing writer, it is well known that
"music constituted a part of the quadrivium, a branch of their system
of education, and it was more or less cultivated by persons of all
conditions;"--churchmen studied it by profession; and the students at
the Inns of Court learned singing and all kinds of music. Richard II.
understood something of the practical part of it; for, on the day of
his departure for Ireland, he assisted at divine service; with the
canons of St. George, and chanted a collect. An old annalist,
enumerating the qualifications of Henry IV., describes him as of
shining talents in music [_in musica micans_]; whilst Stow says of
Henry V., "he delighted in songs, meeters, and musical instruments."[22]
These examples appear amply sufficient to defend King James from any
imputation of over-refinement or effeminacy in the cultivation of an
art which was the favourite amusement of such monarchs as Henry IV.
and his illustrious son.
[22] Ibid pp. 60, 61.
But during the leisure which was afforded by his tedious captivity, it
is certain that James applied himself to severer studies than either
his military exercises or his cultivation of music. He was acquainted
with the Latin language, as far, at least, as was permitted by the
rude and barbarous condition in which it existed previous to the
revival of letters. In theology, oratory, and grammar, in the civil
and the canon laws, he was instructed by the best masters; and an
acquaintance with Norman French was necessarily acquired at a court,
and amongst a people, where it was still currently spoken, and highly
cultivated. Devoted, however, as he was to these pursuits, James
appears to have given his mind with a still stronger bias to the study
of English poetry, choosing Chaucer and Gower for his masters in the
art, and entering with the utmost ardour into the great object of the
first of these illustrious men,--the improvement of the English
language, the production of easy and natural rhymes, and the
refinement of poetical numbers, from the rude compositions which had
preceded him.[23] In the concluding stanza of the King's Quair, a work
composed by the Scottish King shortly before his return to his
kingdom, he apostrophizes Gower and Chaucer as his dear masters, who
sat upon the highest steps of rhetoric, and whose genius as poets,
orators, and moralists, entitled them to receive the most exalted
honour.
[23] Ellis's Specimens, vol. i. p. 205.
Unto the hymis of my maisteris dere,
Gowere and Chaucere, that on steppis satt
Of rhetorick, quhill thai war lyvand here,
Superlative as poets laureate,
In moralitee and eloquence ornate,
I recommend my buik in lynis seven,
And eke their saulis unto the blisse of hevin.
* * * * *
THE BATTLE OF WATERLOO.
(_From the Private Correspondence of a Woman of Fashion._)
Bruxelles, June 24, 1815.
On the first day we had so little idea of the vicinity of the
engagement, that I drove out with a Belgian family in an open carriage
towards the Bois de Soignies. But we were obliged to retreat
precipitately, and take another direction across the country, and pass
through a different _barriere_ through the town to my residence. They
wished me to accept an instant asylum with them. The house of Monsieur
D'H---- was built over part of the old palace; and he had prepared one
of the extensive _caves_ for his family, in the event of the town
being given up to the sword and rapine. I promised to avail myself of
their kind offer, should the peril become more urgent; but I resolved
to remain another day in our villa. Towards five the following
morning, I was roused from the sofa on which I had thrown myself, by
the trampling of horses, and the cries of the people of the suburbs. I
flew to the window and beheld a troop of Belgians in full flight,
covered, not with glory, but with dust, galloping towards the town! I
heard the gates close against them, and saw them scamper over the
plain towards Lacken. The mob increased; their shrieks of terror rent
the air,--"Les Francois sont ici! Ils s'emparent de la porte de la
ville!" mingled with the cries of the women, and with those of my
little household, who all rushed into my chamber, expecting me to save
them. In the midst of this terror, I heard the well-known voice of the
commander of the town, Colonel Jones, vociferating with all the energy
and passion of a Welchman. In my distraction, I ran out to him; he
_stormed_, and explained in no gentle terms, that it was a false
alarm, caused by the _sudden nervous affection_ of the troop of
Belgians I had seen in flight. He commanded me to quit my house, and
kindly sent me a carriage to secure my entrance into the town. We were
cheered in the hurry of quitting our rural abode, by the arrival of
some thousands of British troops; many of the poor fellows, heated and
languid, entered asking for water to quench their thirst. From them I
learnt that they had returned to England from America, and, without
being permitted to land, were immediately ordered to Ostend. I felt
what might be their influence on the fate of that day, and selfishly
partook of their impatience to arrive on the field of battle. The
whole of Saturday we believed the battle lost; and _there are those_
who think that it _was, but_ for the mysterious conduct of Grouchy, or
the treason of the estafettes sent to summon him to advance.
The English families continued to fly towards Ostend: the roads and
inns were crowded; the living bewailing their temerity, close to the
chambers of the dead! Your brother and sister were at Antwerp, in the
next room to the unfortunate Duc de Brunswick. The awful hours passed
tardily with me, in pangs for the soldier and his chiefs. On Saturday
the 17th, to add to the accumulating horrors of our critical
situation, the very elements vented forth their wrath, in the most
tremendous thunder and lightning; the rain poured in torrents; all
nature was at fearful strife, and God's anger was apparent; for it
seemed as if the very heavens were warring against man's quarrel; and
in my agony I exclaimed with Macbeth--
"'Twas a rough night--"
as I listened to the pelting storm, crouching on a mattress by the
side of my weeping _emigree_, imploring me for words of comfort.
Towards morning the rain abated, but gloomy clouds ushered in that
eventful day. At two o'clock I dined with Monsieur D'H----, whose
daughter-in-law, la Comtesse de P----'s first-born son, had seen the
light of this world only a few hours before--while at dinner, the
servants rushed into the room in disorder, exclaiming, "All is over!"
A detachment of dragoons, which passed a few hours ago to join the
enemy, are returned! We rose precipitately; Mr. D'H---- took a key
from a drawer, and commanded us to follow him. We traversed rapidly
the chamber of the invalid lady, each inconsiderately repeating to
her--"All is lost!" We ascended a dilapidated staircase, and passing
through a small trap-door, what was my astonishment, when I found
myself in the Park! There we beheld the said detachment of
dragoons--an affrighted mob; and many sinister-looking persons, who
seemed well satisfied at the evidence of our fears. The gentlemen
rushed out of the adjoining _cafe_, the English calling for their
servants and horses, (many of whom, by the way, who had never
possessed any;) one of these _fainted_--no heart of oak was _he_, when
our ancient Briton, the commandant, Colonel Jones, again presented
himself, _vif et emporte_. The spectators exclaimed--"que cela venoit
de la trop rapide circulation de son sang." _N'importe_: the choleric
Colonel, blustering, restored us to comparative tranquillity, as he
brandished on high his sword, giving it an after-sweeping movement, as
if to _moissonner nos tetes_; my valiant compatriot extended on the
pavement was the only head in security. The Colonel commanded the
misled dragoons to return; and it appeared that they had encountered
some miscreants, disguised as British officers, who gave them a forged
official order to retreat "the battle being lost!" We descended
through our trap-door, and re-assured our friend the Comtesse, who
seemed to have received our intelligence (_en passant_) with as
perfect calmness as that in which lay her new-born babe.
To add to my discomfort, deep and loud were the murmurs on Sunday
against the Duke. The merchants said his Grace ought not to have
lingered in the _salons_ of amusement one instant after he had been
apprised that Napoleon had quitted Paris, whose gigantic strides all
Europe had experienced during many long years. They even denounced his
life; while others, more moderate but equally incensed, had commenced
a written remonstrance to the British Government: in such an excited
state were men's minds!--Victory silenced these despairing
murmurers--success casts its vivid radiance over the hero's fame; what
so potent as its influence!
I took leave of my Belgian friends, who promised to come for me (in
case of a fatal termination), to share their safety, and partake of
the good cheer they had prepared for our seclusion in the devastated
_caves_ of that palace, which in olden time were filled with the
finest produce of Rhenish vintages. At three o'clock entered the good
Abbe Bernard, holding up to view a paper with large characters
imprinted--"The French flying!--the City saved!--Victory!" Never shall
I forget my sensations at that joyful, yet awful moment of restored
peace to mankind! The bells of the different churches chimed the
exhilarating note of victory! The good priest announced that _Te Deum_
was celebrating, and invited me to accompany them to the noble
cathedral, St. Gudule. "What signify forms?" the good man said: "let
us lift up our hearts in grateful thanksgiving to the only true God!"
That noble temple of the Almighty was already thronged. Voices, so
late stricken in terror, now soared aloft in celestial sounds to the
throne of Heaven!--all was congratulation. But, alas, profound regrets
soon mingled with my joyful sensations, as I cast my eyes around, and
encountered only mangled objects, who, chilled and exhausted, were
crowding into the town (and are still arriving on _this_, the 6th
day). We were addressed, with solicitations, by enfeebled heroes, to
be shown to hospitals. We found it impossible to return to our villa,
from the confusion of military baggage, &c. &c., while the English,
even females of rank, with eager curiosity were hastening to the scene
of carnage! The noise of their chariot-wheels, mingling with the moans
of the dying, and the cries of parents and relatives in search of
their sons and their kindred, formed a scene that must have moved the
coldest heart, and that _never_ can be _effaced_ from my memory!
In traversing La Grande Place, I was attracted to a kind of military
vehicle, by the voice of plaintive distress appealing for my succour,
reiterating the word _compatriote_. On approaching, I beheld a
handsome and interesting-looking female, in equestrian costume;--by
her side were two servants, and two very fine saddle-horses. A tent,
and some baggage-wagons, belonging to some regiment, appeared to be
included in her train. She announced herself to me as the wife of
Captain ----, aid-de-camp to General C----: by some mistake of orders,
fatal to her peace of mind, the baggage of her husband's regiment had
not been included in the general orders for following the army.
Anguish was expressed on her fine countenance. She knew only that we
were victorious; but she knew not whether her husband was to be
numbered with the dead, or with the living. She was without resource,
and unacquainted with the French language. She appealed to my
protection, and pointed to her servants to corroborate her statement.
Fatigued in mind as I was, yet how impossible to hesitate an instant!
I immediately conducted her to the librarian, who gave me a room; and
I sent for refreshments, and fain would have persuaded her to attempt
seeking some repose; but her mental sufferings were too great to
permit her to remain tranquil. She declared that nothing should
prevent her following the army to Paris, beseeching me to obtain
permission for her to ride on with the first detachment that quitted
the city. I was obliged to comply, for there is no reasoning with the
anxious mind of an attached wife! and I presented myself before our
choleric commandant. Being in black, I was mistaken for a hapless
widow, and all pressed to offer me service. I found Captain W----, who
immediately interested himself, and I had the supreme pleasure of not
only obtaining an escort, but of receiving the certain assurance of
her gallant husband's safety. She spent the evening with us, and
created a general interest. She had accompanied her husband in the
campaigns in Spain, soon after a marriage _purement d'inclination_.
Captain ---- had been brought up to the Bar; but the mania of war
seized him, and he preferred figuring in the _Army List_, and
practising military tactics, to studying _Burn's Justice_ and
_Blackstone's Commentaries_. She would not lose sight of her new
friend; and at four o'clock on Tuesday morning I conducted her to the
Porte de Namur, where I found the promised escort with two officers,
to whom I could assign her with confidence. She sprang into her saddle
with an alacrity, that expressed she was going to join the husband of
her affection; and she promised to present him to me in Paris.
Old C----, one of the "all-talented Whigs," who you know is half a
buffoon, was a torment to us during the fearful period of the three
days--running to and fro, standing in every body's way, seeking and
reporting news, exclaiming, "but the battle cannot be lost--I do not
see the army in retreat," &c. &c. At length, the battle over, England
victorious, the Duke on Monday rode quietly into Bruxelles, to make
arrangements for the wounded, &c. C---- rushes to his apartment to
make his compliments.
"Thirty thousand men lost!" replied the Duke.
"But what a victory!"
"Thirty thousand men killed!--hard case!"--still answered the Duke,
with his usual simplicity of expression when speaking of his own
exploits. C----, who knew not what diffidence was, nor could discover
its merits in another, retreated in evident disappointment at his
compliments of felicitation having the appearance of being so little
appreciated; almost doubtful, whether Wellington was in truth a hero,
or whether the battle was really gained!
The interiors of the churches are divided in stalls, the wounded
placed in them on layers of straw, and women and surgeons are seen
administering to their ills. The Belgians have thrown open their
houses, and officers and soldiers are promiscuously placed in their
decorated _salons_, and served with equal assiduity. The French seemed
to have fought with redoubled rancour on these terrible days; even the
nature of the wounds are without parallel in history. The light carts
I saw preparing some weeks since, were sent off to the frontiers;
therefore, to add to the sufferings of these brave men, they are
brought in upon the rough wagons employed in agriculture. This is the
sixth day, and they are still arriving in all kinds of conveyances.
Our carriage was stopped in la Rue de Montagne last evening; the cause
originated in two wagons filled with the wounded and the dying,
recently discovered! Some of the inhabitants, with candles, were
groping anxiously, in search of their relations, and administering
various restoratives to those they knew not, until another church
could be hastily prepared to receive them. Hundreds of French
prisoners are brought in,--many of them quite boys, and in peasants'
habits, apparently forced by cruel conscriptions to become warriors
_malgre eux_, and forming a remarkable contrast to those hardy and
athletic frames, who seem destined by nature for the military career.
Here were these poor recruits, a few weeks since dragged from their
native hearths, constrained by regal power to illustrate themselves by
the sword--when their hearts and characters were formed for domestic
cares, and those agricultural labours which sweetened their rustic
meal, and only trying to evade their direst enemy--the recruiting-sergeant
of Napoleon!
But there is another distinctive mark in those veteran French
soldiers, whom we see conveyed into Bruxelles, wounded and prisoners.
They seem to retain a ferocious expression, even at the moment of
sinking into the feebleness of death, and while every human succour is
rendering to them. They cast a furtive glance around, and their
countenances indicate all the horror of their minds at their late
reverses, and to be thinking less of the bodily pains they are
enduring, than of their incapability to revenge themselves upon their
victors! Such was the scene exhibited this morning on the steps of the
hotel opposite to my apartment.
* * * * *
THE PUBLIC JOURNALS.
* * * * *
JULIUS CAESAR--HIS SUPERSTITION.
[A curious paper, entitled _The Caesars_, will be found in
_Blackwood's Magazine_ for the present month. It is full of attractive
lore, and contains, to our thinking, a masterly estimate of the actual
character of Caesar. It displays very considerable learning, research,
and knowledge of life, or that treasure which we call world-knowledge.
It is not a cut-and-dry classical character "by way of abstract," but
such a whole-length portrait as we wish to see drawn of every great
man of antiquity, respecting whose merits mankind are, as it were,
still groping in comparative ignorance or misconception. We quote two
interesting passages--one embodying the personal portrait of
Caesar--the other the superstitious weakness commonly attributed to
him.]
In person, Caesar was tall, fair, and of limbs distinguished for their
elegant proportions and gracility. His eyes were black and piercing.
These circumstances continued to be long remembered, and no doubt were
constantly recalled to the eyes of all persons in the imperial
palaces, by pictures, busts, and statues; for we find the same
description of his personal appearance three centuries afterwards, in
a work of the Emperor Julian's. He was a most accomplished horseman,
and a master (_peritissimus_) in the use of arms. But, notwithstanding,
his skill in horsemanship, it seems that, when he accompanied his army
on marches, he walked oftener than he rode; no doubt, with a view to
the benefit of his example, and to express that sympathy with his
soldiers which gained him their hearts so entirely. On other
occasions, when travelling apart from his army, he seems more
frequently to have rode in a carriage than on horseback. His purpose
in making this preference must have been with a view to the transport
of luggage. The carriage which he generally used was a _rheda_, a sort
of gig, or rather curricle, for it was a four-wheeled carriage, and
adapted (as we find from the imperial regulations for the public
carriages, &c.,) to the conveyance of about half a ton. The mere
personal baggage which Caesar carried with him, was probably
considerable, for he was a man of the most elegant habits, and in all
parts of his life sedulously attentive to elegance of personal
appearance. The length of journeys which he accomplished within a
given time, appears even to us at this day, and might well therefore
appear to his contemporaries, truly astonishing. A distance of one
hundred miles was no extraordinary day's journey for him in a _rheda_,
such as we have described it. So elegant were his habits, and so
constant his demand for the luxurious accommodations of polished life,
as it then existed in Rome, that he is said to have carried with him,
as indispensable parts of his personal baggage, the little lozenges
and squares of ivory, and other costly materials, which were wanted
for the tesselated flooring of his tent. Habits such as these will
easily account for his travelling in a carriage rather than on
horseback.
The courtesy and obliging disposition of Caesar were notorious, and
both were illustrated in some anecdotes which survived for generations
in Rome. Dining on one occasion at a table where the servants had
inadvertently, for sallad-oil, furnished some sort of coarse lamp-oil,
Caesar would not allow the rest of the company to point out the
mistake to their host for fear of shocking him too much by exposing
the mistake. At another time, whilst halting at a little _cabaret_,
when one of his retinue was suddenly taken ill, Caesar resigned to his
use the sole bed which the house afforded. Incidents, as trifling as
these, express the urbanity of Caesar's nature; and hence one is the
more surprised to find the alienation of the Senate charged, in no
trifling degree, upon a failure in point of courtesy. Caesar neglected
to rise from his seat, on their approaching him in a body with an
address of congratulation. It is said, and we can believe it, that he
gave deeper offence by this one defect in a matter of ceremonial
observance, than by all his substantial attacks upon their privileges.
What we find it difficult to believe, however, is not that result from
the offence, but the possibility of the offence itself, from one so
little arrogant as Caesar, and so entirely a man of the world. He was
told of the disgust which he had given, and we are bound to believe
his apology, in which he charged it upon sickness, which would not at
the moment allow him to maintain a standing attitude. Certainly the
whole tenor of his life was not courteous only, but kind; and, to his
enemies, merciful in a degree which implied so much more magnanimity
than men in general could understand, that by many it was put down to
the account of weakness.
* * * * *
We find that though sincerely a despiser of superstition, and with a
frankness which must sometimes have been hazardous in his age, Caesar
was himself superstitious. No man could have been otherwise who lived
and conversed with that generation and people. But if superstitious,
he was so after a mode of his own. In his very infirmities Caesar
manifested his greatness; his very littlenesses were noble.
"Nec licuit populis parvum te, Nile, videre."
That he placed some confidence in dreams, for instance, is certain;
because, had he slighted them unreservedly, he would not have dwelt
upon them afterwards, or have troubled himself to recall their
circumstances. Here we trace his human weakness. Yet again we are
reminded that it was the weakness of Caesar; for the dreams were noble
in their imagery, and Caesarean (so to speak) in their tone of moral
feeling. Thus, for example, the night before he was assassinated, he
dreamt at intervals that he was soaring above the clouds on wings, and
that he placed his hand within the right hand of Jove. It would seem
that perhaps some obscure and half-formed image floated in his mind of
the eagle, as the king of birds; secondly, as the tutelary emblem
under which his conquering legions had so often obeyed his voice; and,
thirdly, as the bird of Jove. To this triple relation of the bird his
dream covertly appears to point. And a singular coincidence appears
between this dream and a little anecdote brought down to us, as having
actually occurred in Rome about twenty-four hours before his death. A
little bird, which by some is represented as a very small kind of
sparrow, but which, both to the Greeks and the Romans, was known by a
name implying a regal station (probably from the ambitious courage
which at times prompted it to attack the eagle), was observed to
direct its flight towards the senate-house, consecrated by Pompey,
whilst a crowd of other birds were seen to hang upon its flight in
close pursuit. What might be the object of the chase, whether the
little king himself, or a sprig of laurel which he bore in his mouth,
could not be determined. The whole train, pursuers and pursued,
continued their flight towards Pompey's hall. Flight and pursuit were
there alike arrested; the little king was overtaken by his enemies,
who fell upon him as so many conspirators, and tore him limb from
limb.
If this anecdote were reported to Caesar, which is not at all
improbable, considering the earnestness with which his friends
laboured to dissuade him from his purpose of meeting the senate on the
approaching Ides of March, it is very little to be doubted that it had
a considerable effect upon his feelings, and that, in fact, his own
dream grew out of the impression which it had made. This way of
linking the two anecdotes, as cause and effect, would also bring a
third anecdote under the same _nexus_. We are told that Calpurnia, the
last wife of Caesar, dreamed on the same night, and to the same
ominous result. The circumstances of _her_ dream are less striking,
because less figurative; but on that account its import was less open
to doubt: she dreamed, in fact, that after the roof of their mansion
had fallen in, her husband was stabbed in her bosom. Laying all these
omens together, Caesar would have been more or less than human had he
continued utterly undepressed by them. And if so much superstition as
even this implies, must be taken to argue some little weakness, on the
other hand let it not be forgotten, that this very weakness does but
the more illustrate the unusual force of mind, and the heroic will,
which obstinately laid aside these _concurring_ prefigurations of
impending destruction; concurring, we say, amongst themselves--and
concurring also with a prophecy of older date, which was totally
independent of them all.
There is another and somewhat sublime story of the same class, which
belongs to the most interesting moment of Caesar's life; and those who
are disposed to explain all such tales upon physiological principles,
will find an easy solution of this, in particular, in the exhaustion
of body, and the intense anxiety which must have debilitated even
Caesar under the whole circumstances of the case. On the
ever-memorable night when he had resolved to take the first step (and
in such a case the first step, as regarded the power of retreating,
was also the final step) which placed him in arms against the state,
it happened that his head-quarters were at some distance from the
little river Rubicon, which formed the boundary of his province. With
his usual caution, that no news of his motions might run before
himself, on this night Caesar gave an entertainment to his friends, in
the midst of which he slipped away unobserved, and with a small
retinue proceeded through the woods to the point of the river at which
he designed to cross. The night was stormy, and by the violence of the
wind all the torches of his escort were blown out, so that the whole
party lost their road, having probably at first intentionally deviated
from the main route, and wandered about through the whole night, until
the early dawn enabled them to recover their true course. The light
was still grey and uncertain, as Caesar and his retinue rode down upon
the banks of the fatal river--to cross which with arms in his hands,
since the further bank lay within the territory of the Republic, _ipso
facto_ proclaimed any Roman a rebel and a traitor. No man, the firmest
or the most obtuse, could be otherwise than deeply agitated, when
looking down upon this little brook--so insignificant in itself, but
invested by law with a sanctity so awful, and so dire a consecration.
The whole course of future history, and the fate of every nation,
would necessarily be determined by the irretrievable act of the next
half hour.
In these moments, and with this spectacle before him, and
contemplating these immeasurable consequences consciously for the last
time that could allow him a retreat,--impressed also by the solemnity
and deep tranquillity of the silent dawn, whilst the exhaustion of his
night wanderings predisposed him to nervous irritation,--Caesar, we
may be sure, was profoundly agitated. The whole elements of the scene
were almost scenically disposed; the law of antagonism having perhaps
never been employed with so much effect: the little quiet brook
presenting a direct antithesis to its grand political character; and
the innocent dawn, with its pure untroubled repose, contrasting
potently, to a man of any intellectual sensibility, with the long
chaos of bloodshed, darkness, and anarchy, which was to take its rise
from the apparently trifling acts of this one morning. So prepared, we
need not much wonder at what followed. Caesar was yet lingering on the
hither bank, when suddenly, at a point not far distant from himself,
an apparition was descried in a sitting posture, and holding in its
hand what seemed a flute. This phantom was of unusual size, and of
beauty more than human, so far as its lineaments could be traced in
the early dawn. What is singular, however, in the story, on any
hypothesis which would explain it out of Caesar's individual
condition, is, that others saw it as well as he; both pastoral
labourers (who were present, probably, in the character of guides) and
some of the sentinels stationed at the passage of the river. These men
fancied even that a strain of music issued from this aerial flute. And
some, both of the shepherds and the Roman soldiers, who were bolder
than the rest, advanced towards the figure. Amongst this party, it
happened that there were a few Roman trumpeters. From one of these,
the phantom, rising as they advanced nearer, suddenly caught a
trumpet, and blowing through it a blast of superhuman strength,
plunged into the Rubicon--passed to the other bank--and disappeared in
the dusky twilight of the dawn. Upon which Caesar exclaimed:--"It is
finished: the die is cast: let us follow whither the guiding portents
from heaven, and the malice of our enemy alike summon us to go." So
saying, he crossed the river with impetuosity; and in a sudden rapture
of passionate and vindictive ambition, placed himself and his retinue
upon the Italian soil; and as if by inspiration from Heaven, in one
moment involved himself and his followers in treason, raised the
standard of revolt, put his foot upon the neck of the invincible
republic which had humbled all the kings of the earth, and founded an
empire which was to last for a thousand and half a thousand years. In
what manner this spectral appearance was managed--whether Caesar were
its author, or its dupe, will remain unknown forever. But undoubtedly
this was the first time that the advanced guard of a victorious army
was headed by an apparition; and we may conjecture that it will be the
last.
According to Suetonius, the circumstances of this memorable night were
as follows:--As soon as the decisive intelligence was received, that
the intrigues of his enemies had prevailed at Rome, and that the
interposition of the popular magistrates (the tribunes) was set aside,
Caesar sent forward the troops, who were then at his head-quarters,
but in as private a manner as possible. He himself, by way of masque,
(_per dissimulationem_) attended a public spectacle, gave an audience
to an architect who wished to lay before him a plan for a school of
gladiators which Caesar designed to build, and finally presented
himself at a banquet, which was very numerously attended. From this,
about sunset, he set forward in a carriage, drawn by mules, and with a
small escort (_modico comitatu_.) Losing his road, which was the most
private he could find (_occultissimum_), he quitted his carriage and
proceeded on foot. At dawn he met with a guide; after which followed
the above incidents.
* * * * *
THE GATHERER.
* * * * *
Matthew Lansberg used to say, "If you wish to have a shoe made of
durable materials, you should make the upper leather of the mouth of a
hard drinker, for that never lets in _water_."
* * * * *
_National Bull._--In the "printed directions respecting the
reading-room of the British Museum," we find the following sapient
veto put upon the readers:--"Readers will be allowed to take one or
more extracts from any printed book or manuscript; but no whole, or
_greater part_ (oh! poor Euclid!) of a manuscript is to be transcribed
without," &c.--_Morning Chronicle._
* * * * *
_Twins._--Lamerton Church, in Devonshire, is remarkable for having the
effigies of Nicholas and Andrew Tremaine, twins, who were so like each
other, that they could not be distinguished but by some outward mark.
The most singular part of their history, as it is told, is, that when
asunder, if one was merry, the other was so, and the contrary. And as
they could not endure to be separate in their lifetime, so neither at
their deaths; for, in 1564, they both served at Newhaven, when the one
being slain, the other stepped instantly into his place, and was slain
also.
T. GILL.
* * * * *
THE LATE SIR WALTER SCOTT, BART.
* * * * *
With the present Number, price Twopence,
AN ILLUSTRATED SUPPLEMENT,
Containing a MEMOIR of the LIFE & WRITINGS
of the late
SIR WALTER SCOTT, BART.
With Five Engravings.
* * * * *
_Printed and published by J. LIMBIRD, 143, Strand, (near Somerset
House,) London; sold by ERNEST FLEISCHER, 626, New Market, Leipsic;
G.G. BENNIS, 55, Rue Neuve, St. Augustin, Paris; and by all Newsmen
and Booksellers._
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