Chapter III: Part 3

‘Jeffrey,’ said his most generous fellow labourer, a few days after
the Review appeared, ‘is the person who will derive most honour from
this publication, as his articles in this number are generally known,
and are incomparably the best; I have received the greater pleasure
from this circumstance, because the genius of that little man has
remained almost unknown to all but his most intimate acquaintances.
His manner is not at first pleasing; what is worse, it is of that cast
which almost irresistibly impresses upon strangers the idea of levity
and superficial talents. Yet there is not any man, whose real
character is so much the reverse; he has, indeed, a very sportive and
playful fancy, but it is accompanied with an extensive and varied
information, with a readiness of apprehension almost intuitive, with
judicious and calm discernment, with a profound and penetrating
understanding.’ This confident passage from a private journal of the
20th November, 1802, may stand as a remarkable monument of the
prescience of Francis Horner.

Yet it was also the opinion of this candid and sagacious man that he
and his fellows had not gained much character by that first number of
the Review. As a set-off to the talents exhibited, he spoke of the
severity—of what, in some of the papers, might be called the
scurrility—as having given general dissatisfaction; and he predicted
that they would have to soften their tone, and be more indulgent to
folly and bad taste. Perhaps it is hardly thus that the objection
should have been expressed. It is now, after the lapse of nearly half
a century, admitted on all hands that the tone adopted by these young
Edinburgh reviewers was in some respects extremely indiscreet; and
that it was not simply folly and bad taste, but originality and
genius, that had the right to more indulgence at their hands. When
Lord Jeffrey lately collected Mr. Jeffrey’s critical articles, he
silently dropped those very specimens of his power which by their
boldness of view, severity of remark, and vivacity of expression,
would still as of old have attracted the greatest notice; and
preferred to connect with his name, in the regard of such as might
hereafter take interest in his writings, only those papers which, by
enforcing what appeared to him just principles and useful opinions, he
hoped might have a tendency to make men happier and better. Somebody
said by way of compliment of the early days of the Scotch Review, that
it made reviewing more respectable than authorship; and the remark,
though essentially the reverse of a compliment, exhibits with
tolerable accuracy the general design of the work at its outset. Its
ardent young reviewers took a somewhat too ambitious stand above the
literature they criticised. ‘To all of us,’ Horner ingenuously
confessed, ‘it is only matter of temporary amusement and subordinate
occupation.’

Something of the same notion was in Scott’s thoughts when, smarting
from a severe but not unjust or ungenerous review of Marmion, he said
that Jeffrey loved to see imagination best when it is bitted and
managed, and ridden upon the _grand pas_. He did not make sufficient
allowance for starts and sallies and bounds, when Pegasus was
beautiful to behold, though sometimes perilous to his rider. He would
have had control of horse as well as rider, Scott complained, and made
himself master of the ménage to both. But on the other hand this was
often very possible; and nothing could then be conceived more charming
than the earnest, playful, delightful way in which his comments
adorned and enriched the poets he admired. Hogarth is not happier in
Charles Lamb’s company, than is the homely vigour and genius of Crabbe
under Jeffrey’s friendly leading; he returned fancy for fancy to
Moore’s exuberance, and sparkled with a wit as keen; he ‘tamed his
wild heart’ to the loving thoughtfulness of Rogers, his scholarly
enthusiasm, his pure and vivid pictures; with the fiery energy and
passionate exuberance of Byron, his bright courageous spirit broke
into earnest sympathy; for the clear and stirring strains of Campbell
he had an ever lively and liberal response; and Scott, in the midst of
many temptations to the exercise of severity, never ceased to awaken
the romance and generosity of his nature.

His own idea of the more grave critical claims put forth by him in his
early days, found expression in later life. He had constantly
endeavoured, he said, to combine ethical precepts with literary
criticism. He had earnestly sought to impress his readers with a
sense, both of the close connection between sound intellectual
attainments, and the higher elements of duty and enjoyment; and of the
just and ultimate subordination of the former to the latter. Nor
without good reason did he take this praise to himself. The taste
which Dugald Stewart had implanted in him, governed him more than any
other at the outset of his career; and may often have contributed not
a little, though quite unconsciously, to lift the aspiring young
metaphysician somewhat too ambitiously above the level of the luckless
author summoned to his judgment seat. Before the third year of the
review had opened, he had broken a spear in the lists of metaphysical
philosophy even with his old tutor, and with Jeremy Bentham, both in
the maturity of their fame; he had assailed, with equal gallantry, the
opposite errors of Priestley and Reid; and, not many years later, he
invited his friend Alison to a friendly contest, from which the
fancies of that amiable man came out dulled by a superior brightness,
by more lively, varied, and animated conceptions of beauty, and by a
style which recommended a more than Scotch soberness of doctrine with
a more than French vivacity of expression.

For it is to be said of Jeffrey, that when he opposed himself to
enthusiasm, he did so in the spirit of an enthusiast; and that this
had a tendency to correct such critical mistakes as he may
occasionally have committed. And as of him, so of his Review. In
professing to go deeply into the _principles_ on which its judgments
were to be rested, as well as to take large and original views of all
the important questions to which those works might relate,—it
substantially succeeded, as Jeffrey presumed to think it had done, in
familiarising the public mind with higher speculations, and sounder
and larger views of the great objects of human pursuit; as well as in
permanently raising the standard, and increasing the influence, of all
such occasional writings far beyond the limits of Great Britain.

Nor let it be forgotten that the system on which Jeffrey established
relations between his writers and publishers has been of the highest
value as a precedent in such matters, and has protected the
independence and dignity of a later race of reviewers. He would never
receive an unpaid-for contribution. He declined to make it the
interest of the proprietors to prefer a certain class of contributors.
The payment was ten guineas a sheet at first, and rose gradually to
double that sum, with increase on special occasions; and even when
rank or other circumstances made remuneration a matter of perfect
indifference, Jeffrey insisted that it should nevertheless be
received. The Czar Peter, when working in the trenches, he was wont to
say, received pay as a common soldier. Another principle which he
rigidly carried out, was that of a thorough independence of publishing
interests. The Edinburgh Review was never made in any manner tributary
to particular bookselling schemes. It assailed or supported with equal
vehemence or heartiness the productions of Albemarle-street and
Paternoster-row. ‘I never asked such a thing of him but once,’ said
the late Mr. Constable, describing an attempt to obtain a favourable
notice from his obdurate Editor, ‘and I assure you the result was no
encouragement to repeat such petitions.’ The book was Scott’s edition
of Swift; and the result one of the bitterest attacks on the
popularity of Swift, in one of Jeffrey’s most masterly criticisms.

He was the better able thus to carry his point, because against more
potent influences he had already taken a decisive stand. It was not
till six years after the Review was started that Scott remonstrated
with Jeffrey on the virulence of its party politics. But much earlier
even than this, the principal proprietors had made the same complaint;
had pushed their objections to the contemplation of Jeffrey’s
surrender of the editorship; and had opened negotiations with writers
known to be bitterly opposed to him. To his honour, Southey declined
these overtures, and advised a compromise of the dispute. Some of the
leading Whigs themselves were discontented, and Horner had appealed to
him from the library of Holland House. Nevertheless, Jeffrey stood
firm. He carried the day against Paternoster-row, and unassailably
established the all-important principle of a perfect independence of
his publishers’ control. He stood as resolute against his friend
Scott; protesting that on one leg, and the weakest, the Review could
not and should not stand, for that its _right leg_ he knew to be
politics. To Horner he replied by carrying the war into the Holland
House country with inimitable spirit and cogency. ‘Do, for Heaven’s
sake, let your Whigs do something popular and effective this session.
Don’t you see the nation is now divided into two, and only two
parties; and that _between_ these stand the Whigs, utterly
inefficient, and incapable of ever becoming efficient, if they will
still maintain themselves at an equal distance from both. You must lay
aside a great part of your aristocratic feelings, and side with the
most respectable and sane of the democrats.’

The vigorous wisdom of the advice was amply proved by subsequent
events, and its courage nobody will doubt who knows anything of what
Scotland was at the time. In office, if not in intellect, the Tories
were supreme. A single one of the Dundases named the sixteen Scots
peers, and forty-three of the Scots commoners; nor was it an
impossible farce, that the sheriff of a county should be the only
freeholder present at the election of a member to represent it in
Parliament, should as freeholder vote himself chairman, should as
chairman receive the oaths and the writ from himself as sheriff,
should as chairman and sheriff sign them, should propose himself as
candidate, declare himself elected, dictate and sign the minutes of
election, make the necessary indenture between the various parties
represented solely by himself, transmit it to the Crown-office, and
take his seat by the same night’s mail to vote with Mr. Addington! We
must recollect such things, when we would really understand the
services of such men as Jeffrey. We must remember the evil and
injustice he so strenuously laboured to remove, and the cost at which
his labour was given. We must bear in mind that he had to face day by
day, in the exercise of his profession, the very men most interested
in the abuses actively assailed, and keenly resolved as far as
possible to disturb and discredit their assailant. ‘Oh, Mr. Smith,’
said Lord Stowell to Sydney, ‘you would have been a much richer man if
you had come over to us!’ This was in effect the sort of thing said to
Jeffrey daily in the Court of Session, and disregarded with generous
scorn. What it is to an advocate to be on the deaf side of ‘the ear of
the Court,’ none but an advocate can know; and this, with Jeffrey, was
the twenty-five years’ penalty imposed upon him for desiring to see
the Catholics emancipated, the consciences of dissenters relieved, the
barbarism of jurisprudence mitigated, and the trade in human souls
abolished.

The Scotch Tories died hard. Worsted in fair fight they resorted to
foul; and among the publications avowedly established for personal
slander of their adversaries, a preeminence so infamous was obtained
by the Beacon, that it disgraced the cause irretrievably. Against this
malignant libeller Jeffrey rose in the Court of Session again and
again, and the result of its last prosecution showed the power of the
party represented by it thoroughly broken. The successful advocate, at
length triumphant even in that Court over the memory of his talents
and virtues elsewhere, had now forced himself into the front rank of
his profession; and they who listened to his advocacy found it even
more marvellous than his criticism, for power, versatility, and
variety. Such rapidity yet precision of thought, such volubility yet
clearness of utterance, left all competitors behind. Hardly any
subject could be so indifferent or uninviting, that this teeming and
fertile intellect did not surround it with a thousand graces of
allusion, illustration, and fanciful expression. He might have
suggested Butler’s hero,

‘—who could not ope
His mouth but out there flew a trope,’

with the difference that each trope flew to its proper mark, each
fancy found its place in the dazzling profusion, and he could at all
times, with a charming and instinctive ease, put the nicest restraints
and checks on his glowing velocity of declamation. A worthy Glasgow
baillie, smarting under an adverse verdict obtained by these
facilities of speech, could find nothing so bitter to advance against
the speaker as a calculation made with the help of Johnson’s
Dictionary, to the effect that Mr. Jeffrey, in the course of a few
hours, had spoken the whole English language twice over!

But the Glasgow baillie made little impression on his fellow citizens;
and from Glasgow came the first public tribute to Jeffrey’s now
achieved position, and legal as well as literary fame. He was elected
Lord Rector of the University in 1821 and 1822. Some seven or eight
years previously he had married the accomplished lady who survives
him, a grandniece of the celebrated Wilkes; and had purchased the
lease of the villa near Edinburgh which he occupied to the time of his
death, and whose romantic woods and grounds will long be associated
with his name. At each step of his career a new distinction now
awaited him, and with every new occasion his unflagging energies
seemed to rise and expand. He never wrote with such masterly success
for his Review as when his whole time appeared to be occupied with
criminal prosecutions, with contested elections, with journeyings from
place to place, with examinings and cross-examinings, with speeches,
addresses, exhortations, denunciations. In all conditions and on all
occasions, a very atmosphere of activity was around him. Even as he
sat, apparently still, waiting to address a jury or amaze a witness,
it made a slow man nervous to look at him. Such a flush of energy
vibrated through that delicate frame, such rapid and never ceasing
thought played on those thin lips, such restless flashes of light
broke from those kindling eyes. You continued to look at him, till his
very silence acted as a spell; and it ceased to be difficult to
associate with his small but well-knit figure even the giant-like
labours and exertions of this part of his astonishing career.

At length, in 1829, he was elected Dean of the Faculty of Advocates;
and thinking it unbecoming that the official head of a great law
corporation should continue the editing of a party organ, he
surrendered the management of the Edinburgh Review. In the year
following, he took office with the Whigs as Lord Advocate, and
replaced Sir James Scarlett in Lord Fitzwilliam’s borough of Malton.
In the next memorable year he contested his native city against a
Dundas; not succeeding in his election, but dealing the last heavy
blow to his opponent’s sinking dynasty. Subsequently he took his seat
as Member for Perth, introduced and carried the Scotch Reform bill,
and in the December of 1832 was declared member for Edinburgh. He had
some great sorrows at this time to check and alloy his triumphs.
Probably no man had gone through a life of eager conflict and active
antagonism with a heart so sensitive to the gentler emotions, and the
deaths of Macintosh and Scott affected him deeply. He had had
occasion, during the illness of the latter, to allude to him in the
House of Commons; and he did this with so much beauty and delicacy,
with such manly admiration of the genius and modest deference to the
opinions of his great Tory friend, that Sir Robert Peel made a journey
across the floor of the house to thank him cordially for it.

The House of Commons nevertheless was not his natural element, and
when, in 1834, a vacancy in the Court of Session invited him to his
due promotion, he gladly accepted the dignified and honourable office
so nobly earned by his labours and services. He was in his
sixty-second year at the time of his appointment, and he continued for
nearly sixteen years the chief ornament of the Court in which he sat.
In former days the judgment-seats in Scotland had not been unused to
the graces of literature: but in Jeffrey these were combined with an
acute and profound knowledge of law less usual in that connection; and
also with such a charm of demeanour, such a play of fancy and wit
sobered to the kindliest courtesies, such clear sagacity, perfect
freedom from bias, consideration for all differences of opinion; and
integrity, independence, and broad comprehensiveness of view in
maintaining his own; that there has never been but one feeling as to
his judicial career. Universal veneration and respect attended it. The
speculative studies of his youth had done much to soften all the
asperities of his varied and vigorous life, and now, at its close,
they gave to his judgments a large reflectiveness of tone, a moral
beauty of feeling, and a philosophy of charity and good taste, which
have left to his successors in that Court of Session no nobler models
for imitation and example. Impatience of dulness _would_ break from
him, now and then; and the still busy activity of his mind might be
seen as he rose often suddenly from his seat, and paced up and down
before it; but in his charges or decisions nothing of this feeling was
perceptible, except that lightness and grace of expression in which
his youth seemed to linger to the last, and a quick sensibility to
emotion and enjoyment which half concealed the ravages of time.

If such was the public estimation of this great and amiable man, to
the very termination of his useful life, what language should describe
the charm of his influence in his private and domestic circle? The
affectionate pride with which every citizen of Edinburgh regarded him
rose here to a kind of idolatry. For here the whole man was known—his
kind heart, his open hand, his genial talk, his ready sympathy, his
generous encouragement and assistance to all that needed it. The first
passion of his life was its last, and never was the love of literature
so bright within him as at the brink of the grave. What dims and
deadens the impressibility of most men, had rendered his not only more
acute and fresh, but more tributary to calm satisfaction, and pure
enjoyment. He did not live merely in the past, as age is wont to do,
but drew delight from every present manifestation of worth or genius,
from whatever quarter it addressed him. His vivid pleasure where his
interest was awakened, his alacrity and eagerness of appreciation, the
fervour of his encouragement and praise, have animated the hopes and
relieved the toil alike of the successful and the unsuccessful, who
cannot hope, through whatever chequered future may await them, to find
a more generous critic, a more profound adviser, a more indulgent
friend.

The present year opened upon Francis Jeffrey with all hopeful promise.
He had mastered a severe illness, and resumed his duties with his
accustomed cheerfulness; private circumstances had more than
ordinarily interested him in his old Review; and the memory of past
friends, giving yet greater strength to the affection that surrounded
him, was busy at his heart. ‘God bless you!’ he wrote to Sydney
Smith’s widow on the night of the 18th of January; ‘I am very old, and
have many infirmities; but I am tenacious of old friendships, and find
much of my present enjoyments in the recollections of the past.’ He
sat in Court the next day, and on the Monday and Tuesday of the
following week, with his faculties and attention unimpaired. On the
Wednesday he had a slight attack of bronchitis; on Friday, symptoms of
danger appeared; and on Saturday he died, peacefully and without pain.
Few men had completed with such consummate success the work appointed
them in this world; few men had passed away to a better with more
assured hopes of their reward. The recollection of his virtues
sanctifies his fame; and his genius will never cease to awaken the
gratitude, respect, and pride of his countrymen.

HAIL AND FAREWELL!

THE YOUNG JEW OF TUNIS.

People are glad to be assured that an interesting story is true. The
following history was communicated to the writer by a friend, residing
in the East, who had it from the French Consul himself. It reminds one
of the Arabian Nights.

In the year 1836, a Jewish family residing in Algiers were plunged in
the greatest distress by the death of the father. A son, two
daughters, and a mother were by this calamity left almost destitute.
After the funeral, the son, whose name was Ibrahim, sold what little
property there was to realise and gave it to his mother and sisters;
after which, commending them to the charity of a distant relative, he
left Algiers and departed for Tunis, hoping that if he did not find
his fortune, he would at least make a livelihood there.

He presented himself to the French Consul with his papers, and
requested a license as a donkey-driver. This was granted, and Ibrahim
entered the service of a man who let out asses, both for carrying
water and for hire.

Ibrahim was extremely handsome and very graceful in his demeanour;
but, being so poor, his clothes were too ragged for him to be employed
on anything but drudgery that was out of sight. He used to be sent
with water-skins to the meanest parts of the town.

One day, as he was driving his ass laden with water up a narrow
street, he met a cavalcade of women riding (as usual in that country)
upon donkeys covered with sumptuous housings. He drew on one side to
allow them to pass by, but a string of camels coming up at the same
instant, there ensued some confusion. The veil of one of the women
became slightly deranged, and Ibrahim caught sight of a lovely
countenance.

He contrived to ascertain who the lady was and where she lived. She
was Rebecca, the only daughter of a wealthy Jew.

From this time, Ibrahim had but one thought; that of becoming rich
enough to demand Rebecca in marriage. He had already saved up a few
pieces of money; with these he bought himself better clothes, and he
was now sometimes sent to conduct the donkeys hired out for riding.

It so chanced, that one of his first expeditions was to take Rebecca
and her attendants to a mercer’s shop. Either from accident or
coquetry, Rebecca’s veil became again deranged, and again Ibrahim
beheld the heavenly face beneath it. Ibrahim’s appearance, and his
look of burning passionate love, did not displease the young Jewess.
He frequently attended her on her excursions, and he was often
permitted to see beneath the veil.

Ibrahim deprived himself almost of the necessaries of life, and at
length saved enough money to purchase an ass of his own. By degrees he
was able to buy more, and became a master employing boys under him.

When he thought himself sufficiently well off in the world, he
presented himself before the family of Rebecca, and demanded her in
marriage; but they did not consider his prospects brilliant, and
rejected his proposals with contempt. Rebecca, however, sent her old
nurse to him (just as a lady in the ‘Arabian Nights’ might have sent a
similar messenger) to let him know that the family contempt was not
shared by her.

Ibrahim was more determined than ever to obtain her. He went to a
magician, who bade him return to Algiers, and declared that if he
accepted the _first_ offer of any kind which he should receive after
entering the city, he would become rich and obtain the desire of his
heart.

Ibrahim sold his asses and departed for Algiers. He walked up and down
the streets till nightfall, in expectation of the mysterious offer
which had been foretold—but no one came.

He had, however, been observed by a rich widow, somewhat advanced in
years, a Frenchwoman and the widow of an officer of engineers. She
dispatched an attendant to discover who he was and where he lived, and
the next day sent for him to her house. His graceful address
fascinated her even more than his good looks, and she made him
overtures of marriage: offering at the same time to settle upon him a
handsome portion of her wealth.

This was not precisely the mode in which Ibrahim had intended to make
his fortune; but, he recollected the prediction of the magician, and
accepted the proposal.

They were married, and for twelve months Ibrahim lived with his wife
in great splendour and apparent happiness. At the end of that time he
professed to be called to Tunis by indispensable business, which would
require his presence for some time. His wife made no opposition,
though she was sorry to lose him, and wished to accompany him; but
that he prohibited, and departed alone: taking with him a good supply
of money.

He again presented himself before the French Consul at Tunis, who was
surprised at the change in his appearance. His vest of flowered silk,
brocaded with gold, was girded round the waist by a Barbary sash of
the richest silk; his ample trowsers of fine cloth were met by red
morocco boots; a Cashmere shawl of the most radiant colours was
twisted round his head; his beard, carefully trimmed, fell half-way
down his breast; a jewelled dagger hung at his girdle; and an ample
Bournooz worn over all, gave an additional grace to his appearance,
while it served to conceal his rich attire, which far exceeded the
license of the sad-coloured garments prescribed by law to the Jews.

He lost no time in repairing to the house of Rebecca. She was still
unmarried, and again he made his proposals; this time it was with more
success. He had all the appearance of a man of high consideration; and
the riches which he half-negligently displayed, took their due effect.
He had enjoyed a good character when he lived at Tunis before, and
they took it for granted that he had done nothing to forfeit it. They
asked no questions how his riches had been obtained, but gave him
Rebecca in marriage.

At the end of six months, the French Consul received inquiries from
Algiers about Ibrahim; his wife, it was said, had become alarmed at
his prolonged absence.

The Consul sent for Ibrahim, and told him what he had heard. Ibrahim
at first appeared disturbed and afterwards indignant. He denied in the
strongest terms that he had any other wife than Rebecca, but owned
that the woman in question had fallen in love with him. He also denied
that he had given her any sort of legal claim upon him. The French
Consul was perplexed; Ibrahim’s papers were all regular, he had always
led an exemplary life in Tunis, he denied his marriage, and there was
no proof of it.

Had Ibrahim retained the smallest presence of mind, no harm could have
befallen him. In that land of polygamy, his two wives (even though one
were European) would have caused little scandal. His domestic position
was somewhat complicated but by no means desperate. On departing from
the Consul’s house, however, he would seem to have become possessed by
a strange panic not to be explained by any rules of logic, and to have
gone mad straightway. His one idea was that he was hurried on by
destiny to—murder Rebecca!

This miserable wretch, possessed by the fixed idea of destroying
Rebecca, made deliberate preparations for carrying it into effect. But
with the strange fanaticism and superstition which formed a main part
of his character, and which forms a part of many such characters in
those countries, he determined to give her a chance for her life; for,
he seems to have thought in some confused, wild, mad, vain way, that
it might still be the will of Providence that she should live.

He concerted measures with the captain of a Greek vessel, whom he
induced by heavy bribes to enter into his views. He gave it out that
he was going to Algiers, to put an end to the ridiculous report which
had been raised, and to destroy the claim which had been set up by his
pretended wife.

He embarked with Rebecca, without any attendants, on board the Greek
vessel, which was bound for Algiers. Rebecca was taken at once into
the cabin, where her curiosity was excited by a strange-looking black
box which stood at one end of it. The black box was high and square,
and large enough to contain a person sitting upright. The lid was
thrown back; and she saw that the box was lined with thick cotton
cloth, and contained a small brass pitcher full of water and a loaf of
bread. Whilst she was examining these things, Ibrahim and the Captain
entered; they neither of them spoke one word; but, coming behind her,
Ibrahim placed his hand over her mouth, and muffling her head in her
veil, lifted her into the box with the assistance of the captain, and
shut down the lid, which they securely fastened. They then carried the
box between them upon deck, and lowered it over the side of the
vessel. The box had holes bored in the lid; it was very strong; and so
built as to float like a boat.

The Greek vessel continued her course towards Algiers. Either the crew
had really not noticed the strange proceedings of Ibrahim and the
Captain, or (which is more probable) they were paid to be silent. It
is certain that they did not attempt to interfere.

The next morning, as a French steamer, the Panama, was bearing towards
Tunis, something like the hull of a small vessel was seen drifting
about directly in their course. They picked it up, as it floated
athwart the steamer’s bow; and were horrified to hear feeble cries
proceeding from the interior. Hastily breaking it open, they found the
unhappy Rebecca nearly dead with fright and exhaustion. When she was
sufficiently recovered to speak, she told the captain how she had come
into that strange condition, and he made all speed on to Tunis.

The French Consul immediately dispatched a swift sailing steamer to
Algiers with Rebecca and her nearest friends on board, bearing a
dispatch to the governor, containing a hasty account of all these
things. The steamer arrived first. When the Greek vessel entered the
port, Ibrahim and the Captain were ordered to follow the officer on
guard, and in a few moments Ibrahim stood face to face with his
victim. To render the complication more complete, the French wife
hearing that a steamer from Tunis had arrived with dispatches, went
down to the governor’s house to make inquiries after her husband.

At first, Ibrahim nearly fainted; but he soon regained his insane
self, and boldly confessed his crime. Addressing himself to Rebecca,
he said:

‘I confided thee to the sea, for I thought it might be the will of
Providence to save thee! If thou hadst died, it would have been
Providence that decreed thy fate, but thou art saved, and I am
destroyed.’

Both the wives wept bitterly. Their natural jealousy of each other was
merged into the desire to save the fanatic from the consequence of his
madness. Rebecca attempted to deny her former statement, and used
great intercession with her relatives to forego their vengeance. The
Frenchwoman made interest with the authorities too, but it was all,
happily, in vain. The friends of Rebecca were implacable and insisted
on justice.

Ibrahim works now in the gallies at Toulon. The captain is under
punishment also. The magician, it is to be feared, is practising his
old trade.

This is, perhaps, as strange an instance as there is on record, of an
audacious and besotted transference of every responsibility to
Providence. As though Providence had left man to work out nothing for
himself! It is probable that this selfish monomaniac made the same
pretext to his mind for basely marrying the widow, whom he intended to
desert. There is no kind of impiety so monstrous as this; and yet
there is, perhaps, none encountered so frequently, in one phase or
other, in many aspects of life.

* * * * *

_To be Published Monthly, with the Magazines,
Price 2d., or Stamped, 3d.,_

THE HOUSEHOLD NARRATIVE

OF

CURRENT EVENTS.

CONDUCTED

BY CHARLES DICKENS.

BEING

A Monthly Supplement to ‘HOUSEHOLD WORDS.’

Published at the Office, No. 16, Wellington Street North, Strand.
Printed by BRADBURY & EVANS, Whitefriars, London.

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TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES

● Fixed typos; non-standard spelling and dialect retained.
● Renumbered footnotes.
● Enclosed italics font in _underscores_.
● The caret (^) serves as a superscript indicator, applicable to
individual characters (like 2^d) and even entire phrases (like
1^{st}).