Chapter XVII: Epilogue: Chief Editor’s Note (1)

“We are happy to say that poor Minette is not dead, a telegram has just been handed to us intimating that she escaped as if by a miracle the sad end which menaced her.

“Both mistress and maid died suddenly before the fatal bag was finished. Their death is an event most unaccountable, unless it was brought about to meet the exigency of this romantic tale. Minette, by means best known to the author of this faithful history, soon recovered, and was restored to her sister, with whom she lived happily for many years, enjoying neither riches nor poverty. Minette’s tranquillity was broken for a time by the news that Brisquet had first associated himself with a desperate gang of nocturnal serenaders, and ended his midnight exploits and his life by falling from a roof into the street. Bébé seeing Minette a lonely widow, was filled with compassion, and tried to persuade her to wed one of the friends of Pompon. All her efforts were vain. Minette remained unmoved, saying, ‘One only loves once. There are those for whom I might die, but with whom I must refuse to live. Besides, my resolution is taken—I shall end my days in widowhood.’ ” {295}

{296}

CELEBRATED TRIALS.

I am an old Crow, a member of the Bar of the animal kingdom. At the urgent request of my friends and a wide circle of admirers, and owing to the shortcomings of law reporters, I have resolved to set before you a succinct account of the last assizes. They created a great sensation; it could hardly be otherwise, since the happy thought had suggested itself of selecting most of the judges and jurymen from members of my own tribe, and these, by their grave solemnity of countenance, and by their black attire, presented an imposing spectacle to the crowd, for it was but natural to infer that creatures so skilled in ransacking dead bodies would be peculiarly apt in drawing conclusions as to the moral decomposition of prisoners.

A Stork was appointed President, his cold-blooded patience and stolidity rendering him not unworthy of that honour. Perched motionless on his chair with his eyes half shut, his breast puffed out, his head thrown back, he carefully watched for any contradictory statements made by the accused, and looked as if in ambush on the borders of some swamp. The post of Attorney-General had fallen to a wry-necked Vulture. This personage, if he ever possessed any sensibility, had long forgotten its influence. Ardent and pitiless, his only thought was to obtain success, or in other words conviction; his claws and beak were ever ready to attack but never to defend. The court of assizes was a field of battle, and the prisoner a foe who must be subdued at any price. He proceeded to a criminal trial like a soldier to an assault, throwing himself into the case like a gladiator into the arena. In short, the Vulture makes an admirable Attorney-General. {297} The inhabitants of the holes, nests, copses, molehills, and neighbouring marshes flocked in crowds to attend these judicial ceremonies, while Geese, Bitterns, Buzzards, and Magpies swelled the throng. {298} This is the way of the world. Seats were reserved for the representatives of the press—Ducks and Parrots most of them. With what eagerness these gentry hurried to their places! A reporter pounces upon a horrible trial as if it were his lawful prey. When such an occasion presents itself, the regular staff find themselves no longer obliged to task their imaginations, to cudgel their well-worn brains. Copy is supplied to them ready-made, needing no fresh spice to suit the public taste, but rather abounding in dramatic incidents, such as the journalists could never have invented themselves; so the editor can proudly cry out to his printer, “Strike off 10,000 additional sheets!”

It is needless to describe in detail the whole business of the session. We will set aside the proceedings against a jolly Dog, who in a moment of excitement bit the tail off a rival in front of a tavern; against a Peacock for assuming an aristocratic title not his own, a Magpie for theft, a Cat for unlawful trespass on private tiles, a French Cock for stirring up hatred against the constituted government, a Fox for fraudulent bankruptcy. We will content ourselves by noticing the two leading trials, saying with a Rat of our acquaintance, who had gnawed his knowledge out of a book-worm’s library, _Musa mehi causus memora_.

In a recent issue of “The Microcosm,” a journal much patronised by the Ducks, one might have read the following words:—

“A crime has just been committed of a nature so diabolical as to rouse the indignation of the whole country. It is deeply to be regretted that at the moment when the confederated animals had sworn to maintain eternal friendship and peace, a Toad should be found foully poisoned in a field. Justice is making investigation; she investigated to such good purpose that two Sheep, three Snails, and four Lizards, all equally guiltless, were arrested on suspicion, and not released until they had been detained for ninety days in precautionary imprisonment. May Providence protect you, my friends, from having any idle charge ever laid at your doors. The first thing to be done will be to lock you up in a cell; there you will be detained in custody, that you may be interrogated, and even cross-questioned, about family antecedents and occupation, your mode of spending your leisure, and how you have been employed on certain days, at certain hours, for some months past. After it has been duly established that you are innocent, you will be politely requested to go back to your domicile. During all this time your affairs have languished and fallen into disorder, creditors {299} have become furious, debtors have flown, your family has been injured, and calumnies of all sorts have been kindly set afloat concerning you, for we may always find plenty of animals who will say, ‘Where there’s smoke there must be fire.’ ”

Those who were arrested on suspicion in this instance were found to exhibit no traces of guilt. The inquiry was pushed with the greatest energy and activity under the direction of a pair of Tortoises, but the longer their examination continued, the more profound became the darkness and mystery which shrouded the Toad’s death. At last a Mole came tumbling up from under his hill, and stated that he had seen an enormous Viper—_monstrum horrendum_, as my friend the Rat would say—darting at the Toad. When brought face to face with the remains of the deceased, he swore positively to its identity. The Bulldogs were instantly despatched in search of the Viper, and falling valiantly upon him during his sleep, brought him before the judges.

The court is opened; the indictment is read; the Ant, a distinguished analyst, who had been ordered to examine the contents of the stomach, proceeds to read his analysis—marked attention.

“Gentlemen, our duty has been to examine the body and intestines of the unfortunate Toad, and to ascertain beyond doubt whether they contained traces of the poisonous matter distilled in the fangs of the Viper, called by the learned _Viperium_.

“This substance, combined with diverse oxides, acids, and simple bodies, forms variously _Viperates_, _Viperites_, or _Viperures_.

“We have analysed, with the greatest care, the stomach, the liver, the lungs, and the encephalic mass of the victim, using a variety of reagents pilfered from a homœopathic chemist who carried his medicine-chest in his pocket. After heating and evaporating to dryness the pancreatic juice and other substances contained in the stomach, we obtained a sweet solid body, which we treated with two milligrammes of distilled water; by placing the whole in a glass retort, and submitting it to ebullition for two hours and twenty-five minutes, we obtained no result. But this same substance treated successively with acetates, sulphates, nitrates, prussiates, and chlorates, yielded a liquid of a blue apple green colour which, when combined with certain powerful reagents, deposited a powder of an indefinite but most characteristic colour. This powder can be nothing but _Viperium_ in its pure state.”

Such a lucid and conclusive report deeply impressed the audience. {300}

This trial, which ended in the conviction of the Viper, would doubtless have excited greater interest had not public attention been drawn away by important political matters, and by the account of a still greater trial which took place about the same time.

The announcement of this affair appeared in the page of “The Microcosm” consecrated to the horrible, headed, as usual, “Another dreadful Tragedy.”

“A Ewe and her Lamb, setting a noble example to other domesticated animals, had escaped from their fold. Both were at once placed under the special protection of the Free Confederation of Animals, in spite of which they have been basely murdered.

“A wolf, believed by all to be the true assassin, has been arrested, thanks to the zeal and energy of the commander of the Bulldogs.”

The point of importance was to ascertain how the Sheep came by its death. Accordingly, to place this question beyond doubt, a Turkey was appointed to hold a _post-mortem_ examination. Now this Turkey was among the most learned of birds. He had won a title by his marvellous skill, and had gained a well-deserved reputation by researches—unhappily inconclusive—into that important problem _Quare opium facit dormire_.

This eminent practitioner stated that the Sheep had certainly not succumbed to an attack of cholera as some had falsely reported, but from a wound six inches in length having been made in her neck, nearly severing the head from the trunk.

The trial was impatiently awaited, and at last came on for hearing. From break of day an immense multitude besieged the entrance to the court, but the authorities had taken measures to prevent disorder. At ten o’clock the accused is brought in; he looks pale, his dark eyes have lost their lustre, his attire though decent has nothing _recherche_ about it. One can scarcely make out his features, which seem to shun the curious gaze of the public. An old Crow, who out of twenty applicants obtained the honour of defending the prisoner, was in his place in his professional robes prepared to enter upon his task. At length the examination commenced.

_Q._ “Prisoner, stand up! Your name and surname?”

_Ans._ “Canis Lupus.”

_Q._ “Your age?”

_Ans._ “Twelve years.” {301}

_Q._ “Your profession?”

_Ans._ “Botanist.”

_Q._ “Your dwelling?”

_Ans._ “The woods.”

“The charges against you, Canis Lupus, will be read over.”

The indictment was read amid profound silence, after which the presiding judge resumed examination of the prisoner.

_Q._ “Canis Lupus, what have you to say in your defence?”

_Ans._ “I am innocent of the crime laid to my charge. I own, my lord, for a long time I was accustomed to destroy Sheep, but in so doing I consulted less my inclination than my hatred for man. If the death of a Sheep or Lamb gave me pleasure, it was simply because I knew that I thus carried off from my oppressors a portion of their daily food.

“For some time past I have looked upon Sheep with the tenderest solicitude, without in any way permitting this sentiment to interfere with my hatred for mankind. Picture my horror, my indignation, when a few days back I beheld the innocents of whose death I am accused, pursued by a butcher who struck them down without pity. I flew to their aid, the infamous executioner taking to his heels in terror. Just at that moment when I was preparing to bind up the wounds, the officers of the court apprehended me as if I were a vulgar assassin! Hereafter I propose to sue for false imprisonment and damages.”

The prisoner resumed his seat, placing his paw on his eyes. His address awakened the sympathies of the audience, especially of the fair sex.

“How well he spoke!” said a Crane.

“What wonderful grace and eloquence!” exclaimed a speckled Magpie.

“It is a thousand pities that a youth so handsome should be condemned,” said a Woodcock, sighing, “Ah me! ah me!”

It would almost seem that in order to please some ladies one must be a villain, but if one wishes to touch their hearts, hypocrisy must be called in to add attractiveness to crime. Let us, however, return to our mutton.

The judge replied—

“Prisoner, your version of the occurrence is full of contradictions and must be set aside as utterly false. It is opposed to the sworn testimony of the witnesses we are about to examine. Let us assure you, once for {302} all, you will never be able to persuade your fellow-brutes that you are capable of one spark of generosity. Your antecedents are deplorable.”

_Prisoner._ “Alas! I have always been the victim of calumny.”

“You appear to have been reared in a hotbed of crime. At two years old you bit the mother who nursed you.”

_Prisoner._ “She bit me first.”

“Later in life you fell a-quarrelling with one of your neighbours and called him a Toad!”

_Prisoner._ “He had called me an Alligator.”

“Three years ago you were seen prowling round the royal rabbit warren, a place which no animal of your species is permitted to enter.”

_Prisoner._ “My lord, I never set foot inside it.”

“Perhaps not, but you intended to get in there, and to create a disturbance inside. The gentlemen of the jury will know how to take all these circumstances into account.”

The hearing of the witnesses followed, the Wolf cross-examining each with great ability—calm with some, ardent, jocular, or sarcastic with others, always ready with a reply to any damaging statement. Little by little, nevertheless, his strength failed him; to the strain of over-excitement there succeeded a sudden prostration, and at last he fainted away.

The trial had to be adjourned till the following week. For some days the Wolf was too feeble to appear. Never has an illustrious animal, the head of a family or a prince adored by his people—as official proclamations assure us—excited so keen a public interest during sickness as did this unlucky Wolf. The _habitues_ of the court feared lest a sensational prosecution should be lost to them. The judge’s heart bled lest this important and popular trial should come to an end, depriving him of the opportunity of summing up, and so dealing with the evidence as to present to the jury the distorted form of justice seen through the illusive medium of the law. The executioner, his keen blade athirst for a victim, trembled lest it should be robbed of its proper prey. The Vulture general dreaded lest his eloquent speech should have to be shelved, again undelivered—a speech that had cost him three weeks of close study.

Every morning the press published a bulletin of the Wolf’s condition. {303}

“The accused suffers dreadfully, and is closely confined to bed. He has always a number of Leeches near him; nevertheless he seems calm and resigned.”

“The prisoner had a bad night. Several Geese of the aristocracy have sent to the prison to inquire after his health.”

“The accused recovers slowly, he devotes his hours of convalescence to reading and writing. The chief subject of his study is the ‘Proverbial Philosophy of Martin Tupper.’ He has used during his captivity two thousand nine hundred and twenty-one sheets of paper. He is composing a drama in seventeen acts, entitled ‘Virtue’s Triumph,’ also a philosophical treatise on the desirability of abolishing capital punishment.”

The following verses were penned by the prisoner, and will doubtless be read with the interest they deserve:—

I.

“Ah, hapless is the prisoner’s fate in convict cell condemned to pine,
While birds abroad their songs uplift, and fields in summer’s glory shine.
If breeze-borne from the far-off flock, the fitful tinkling bells are heard,
If corn-fields wave their nodding ears, by wanton zephyrs lightly stirred,
All these the wretch’s sorrows swell, he scents but may not see the flowers,
And darker grows the lonely gloom which broods o’er all his friendless hours.

II.

“Soft coos the plaintive dove, the waves in whispering throbs their music pour,
Each after each in cadence breaks, and dies in rippling on the shore;
The woods and winds their voices blend, no heed the cheerless captive pays;
No joy to him the sunbeam brings, which o’er the smiling meadow plays.
Unhappy outcast! not for thee does universal gladness reign,
These joys were all in mockery sent to wring thy breast with deadlier pain.

III.

“The world outside, the busy world, its dear familiar rounds may tread,
But vain are dreams of pleasant life, when life’s long-lingering hope has fled.
Then, prisoner, cease to shake thy bars: no mercy cold mute iron shows;
In torments, terrors, threats, and tears, thy few remaining days must close.
Thy doom is sealed; the gaolers stern may never more their grip relax,
Until the headsman comes to claim thee for his hungry axe.”

I avow, ye gentlemen of the press, that the sort of enthusiasm of which this miserable Wolf became the object, inspired me with sad reflections. I have heard of unfortunate Nightingales, who for long years together have poured forth the most sublime songs without ever rising {304} from obscurity, or obtaining a wider fame than that embraced in their native woodland shade, and yet this Wolf, because he has committed a foul crime, saw his clumsy doggerel rapturously applauded. I know of some good animals who, though they have proved themselves heroes of virtue, have never got a single line from the public press. Nevertheless the minutest sayings and doings of this condemned wretch have been chronicled to please the public craving. Mammas who would have thought twice before placing the fables of Florian in the hands of their daughters—mammas strict even in the choice of their own reading, have in the family circle freely discussed details which initiated their children into all the refinements of crime and depravity. Without ignoring evil, could not the reports of crime be so framed as to avoid the ghastly pomp and morbid parade with which they appear in the newspapers?

If an editor were to confine himself exclusively to the relation of good actions, he would frequently have to supply blank sheets to his readers.

As soon as the prisoner was able to appear at the bar, the proceedings began anew, and continued eight days. Twenty-eight witnesses were heard for and against the Wolf, while judges, jurymen, counsel, and defendants poured out their questions, interruptions, and observations in a never-ceasing flood. The result was that the whole affair, clear and simple as it had been at first, became gradually so confused as to be almost incomprehensible.

Most lawsuits are like the water of a fountain—the more it is stirred up, the muddier it grows.

The prisoner had used so many subterfuges to rivet attention, he became so thoroughly the lion of the day, that a profound feeling of sympathetic emotion prevailed when the Vulture delivered himself of the concluding speech for the prosecution.

“Gentlemen of the jury,” he said, “before I enter upon the details already submitted to your intelligent consideration, my duty commands me imperiously to put to you a question as grave as it is important. I ask you with feelings of the deepest grief and bitterest pain—I ask you, what is society coming to? In truth, gentlemen, turn where we will, look in which direction we may, we discover nothing but disorder—disorder, gentlemen, among quadrupeds, among bipeds, among geese, though they may use but one leg at a time. What we see is neither more nor less than symptoms of disorganisation, from bottom to top, from root to core. Yes, gentlemen, the social fabric is being {305} undermined, the social body is corrupting; it totters to its fall, and fall it will, gentlemen, unless you are able to rear up a barrier which shall arrest its dreadful downward progress towards moral dissolution.”

The orator proceeded to view the crime in every possible light, showing how such atrocities were committed in ancient times, how they might be committed at any time by anybody, and how the guilt of this particular crime had been clearly brought home to the prisoner.

The counsel for the defence replied in an effective series of vigorous croaks, having first declared that in his opinion the finest spectacle on earth was that of innocence overtaken by misfortune.

At half-past twelve the jurors retired to a silent copse to deliberate, and soon returning, found the culprit guilty on all the charges of the indictment.

The judge touchingly inquired of the felon whether he had any objection to the sentence of death being passed upon him, to which the prisoner replied with a feeble grin.

“The Wolf is condemned to be hanged.”

The immense crowd remained gloomy and speechless, not a word, not even a bleat disturbed the scene, not a tail gave an involuntary wag. One would have imagined, when viewing all eyes bent on the Wolf, and all beaks hushed and dumb, that the assembly had been suddenly turned to stone, or that an electric shock had struck them all motionless for ever.

The Wolf was hanged this morning, gentlemen, and some zoophytes took good care to avail themselves of the opportunity for a demonstration in favour of the abolition of capital punishment. I confess that their arguments have little effect on me. I cannot conceive why they made so much fuss to save a wretch who destroyed his brother. It is to punish him more severely, they say, that they would permit him to live! How they deceive themselves! The convict always cherishes the consoling hope of being one day able to escape. It may be he will settle down contentedly to the undisturbed round of prison life. From a wretched outcast who gained a precarious subsistence by crime, he comes to take pleasure in his banishment. The burden of care has been lifted from his back. His wants are provided for by the State, and he need no longer dread the horrors of dying from hunger. The punishment inflicted has given him at last a recognised position in society.

If the penalty of death is to cease to be carried into effect, the nations {306} of Europe, and the world at large, must commence by the abolition of war, for on the field of battle thousands of innocent lives are sacrificed as the penalty of the guilt or misgovernment of a single individual.

Let kings and emperors so raise the moral tone of their statesmen and subjects as to enable them practically to carry out the Divine command, “Thou shalt not kill.”

Twenty-two different portraits of the Wolf were issued, no one of them resembling another, yet all guaranteed likenesses.

The complete account of the trial, drawn up by a clever shorthand writer, was sold by thousands. The memory of the Wolf was also enshrined in verse and recited in the streets.

I.

“Give ear, Jays, Hawks, and Magpies,
Attend, all Kites and Crows, {307}
A story we shall now unfold
More black than ye suppose.

II.

“The story of a guilty deed,
For harpies vile befitted,
Which cunning Wolf with crafty tongue
And keen-edged tooth committed.

III.

“A tender Lamb one joyous morn
Beside its mother played,
The Wolf came creeping up
And friendliest greeting made.

IV.

“The Ewe responsive welcome gave,
The Wolf lay down to sleep,
But soon he started up again
And slew that trustful Sheep.

V.

“ ‘Help, mother dear!’ the Lambkin cried,
But oh! its cry was vain,
With cruel fangs the unsparing Wolf
Straight clove its neck in twain.

VI.

“But never while misdeeds abound
Shall wakeful vengeance fail,
Two Watch-Dogs bold, who guard the fold,
That guilty Wolf assail.

VII.

“ ‘Now, comrades,’ cries the wily Wolf,
‘Some healing balm obtain,
In yonder cave ‘tis stored;’ but soon
He found such tricks were vain.

VIII.

“For up and spake each trusty Hound,
‘Thou felon Wolf, say true,
Who bade thee slay this blameless Lamb,
And kill its mother too?’

IX.

“ ‘I cure, not kill,’ the Wolf replied,
‘Vex not a poor physician;
Such lies, base curs, would place my name
In quite a false position.’ {308}

X.

“The Watch-Dogs drag the prisoner off,
The courts his death decree,
Now hanged in chains his body swings
On yonder gallows-tree.

MORAL.

“Whene’er your steps incline to stray
Along the sinner’s wicked way,
A warning from this story take,
And know that truth sublime—
Each creature is a criminal
When he commits a crime.”

{309}

THE BEAR; OR, A LETTER FROM THE MOUNTAINS.

“When introduced to the world, I brought with me a craving for solitude, doubtless bestowed for some wise purpose. But instead of directing my faculties to an end which answered my vocation in the harmony of beings, like most gifted natures, I followed my own inclinations.

“Soon after the event which brought me to light, a fall from a lofty tree lamed me for life, and contributed not a little to render me a prey to fits of melancholy.

“Our den was the favourite resort of Bears of the surrounding district. My father was a splendid hunter, and entertained his convives sumptuously with the produce of the chase. Life in those days seemed to be one endless round of dancing, gaiety, and feasting. As for myself, I remained a stranger to my father’s guests, whose visits bothered me. Although the good cheer was not wholly distasteful, the frequent and vulgar eating, drinking, and roaring bouts were odious to my nature. This repugnance was not to be attributed to a finely-strung organisation, although modern philosophy points to our organisation as the source and cause of our positive and negative affections.

_Note._—This letter was meant for private circulation only; the young Bear from whom it was received thought he might venture, without offence, to divulge the secrets of friendship—more especially as the writer had died, leaving this, among other manuscripts, to his care. A dead Bear is not likely to complain of ingratitude.—ED. {310}

“My love of silence and solitude at last settled into the gloomy moroseness of a _misunderstood Bear_, which has always passed as the token of incomprehensible genius, or of virtue too pure for the world. Years of self-examination, added to a growing feeling of dissatisfaction, convinced me at last that pride was the parent of my brood of sickly imaginings, whose ghostly food was the moonbeams, and the sighing of the mountains, as they whispered about me to the passing wind. Before resipiscence, it was needful I should suffer misfortune.

“My parents were grieved by my monomania. I had indeed determined to leave them, and seek some distant secluded spot in which I might remain undisturbed and alone. Conscience smote me in vain; my project was at last confided to a friend of the family, who after I had left broke the news to my parents, telling them I had voluntarily renounced the world. Never shall I forget stealing like a thief from the home of my childhood. The morning mist rose over the mountain from the valleys in blinding masses. Soon settling into clouds, one of pearly whiteness, fringed with the golden light of dawn, floated like a curtain in front of my old home.

“It was a glorious scene; I could dimly descry my father returning from the chase laden with a store of game. Snow mantled the heights, and an icy wind rising with the sun shook the dark pines. The violence of the wind increased, the clouds were driven, torn into shreds, against the jagged rocks, and scattered like flames of living fire flying over the pine forests. The wind, after a fearful blast and deep-drawn sigh, paused as if to view the sport, then rising suddenly, lifted the vapour from the hollows, chasing it from its warm bed up the snowy steeps, and spreading it out in a dark veil across the sun. In the deep gloom the voices of a thousand fiends seemed to rise from vale and crag. The caverns and gorges were filled with the spirits of a gathering storm, shrieking and clamouring like a crowd at the gates of hell, impatient to be let loose to lay waste the land. At last they burst forth; onward they came, guided by a sword of lightning that shivered a great rock close to my feet, and pierced the heart of my favourite tree. I rolled over in a faint of panic fear, and awoke to see the wreck of many a green sapling, the pathways strewn with leaves, branches, and the trunks of giant pines. The storm had abated, and in its track left angry torrents leaping from the once dry rocks, gathering force and roaring in brown torrents down through the chasms, to flood and wreck {311} the smiling plains beneath. This is not all, for a sentimental Bear is a great observer.

“The sun again shone upon the scene with the brightness of hope to the torn breast of Nature, for every green thing took heart and expanded beneath its welcome rays. As for me, nothing daunted, I started and pursued my way until I found a spot inaccessible to everything but sweet solitude and myself.

“During live years my only visitor was an Eagle who perched on a stunted tree not far off. No other living creature had ventured to invade my horizon.

“My occupations were very simple. At dawn I sat on a ledge of rock watching sunrise. The freshness of the morning filled me with a sense of newness of life, and a vividness of imagination whose fruit was a palingenesian poem, in which I meant to express all the griefs of those who had raised the cup of happiness to their lips, only to find it empty and polluted.

“During the day I studied the healing properties of plants, while my evenings were devoted to watching the stars appear one by one in the sky. My heart expanded when gazing on the moon and the sweet planet Venus, and I even at times imagined I must have had some hand in creating the stars and moon, in order that they might shine for my special benefit. Five years were passed in dreaming, after which my eyes opened to behold the vanity of a Bear. My illusions vanished, and objects appeared in their true colours. A sense of loneliness took hold of me, the stars lost their lustre, the flowers and grasses their ethereal fragrance and heavenly hues. I considered my limbs, my claws, my coat, and behold they were made for climbing, crawling, clutching, and covering my nakedness. I found I could neither climb to high heaven nor clutch the stars; on the contrary, my attributes were practical, brutish, and earthly. These mortifying but useful discoveries compelled me to seek other scenes—to return, in fact, to the world and rejoin my fellows.

“Back I accordingly made my way, and, all unused to the craft of wise Bears, became a prey to the cunning of men.

“I started one morning early to carry out my resolution, and had not proceeded far when strange sounds smote my ear, voices shouting, ‘A Bear! a Bear!!’ Pausing to listen where the sounds came from, I was suddenly struck and stunned by an invisible weapon which sent me rolling over on the ground, where I was immediately surrounded by {312} four savage Dogs, followed by three more savage men. In spite of the pain of my wound I struggled bravely, but was at last overpowered, and fainted from loss of blood.

“Upon recovering I found myself tied to a tree with a rope fastened to a ring in my nose. To this day I have never been able to make out how that solid metal ring was spirited into my nose. Verily the skill of man passeth the knowledge of Bears! Homer says the man who has lost his liberty has lost half his soul. I had sustained that loss, and had gained a permanent ornament, so fixed that to regain my liberty I must sacrifice my snout. There was no help for it, I had been rudely pulled up to survey my changed position. Wherein did the change consist? Sun, moon, and stars were still above me, but they had no longer the same interest for me; they were simply sun, moon, stars, and nothing more—heavenly bodies having their own affairs to look after, while I had mine, which proved all-absorbing. Formerly the beautiful in nature was my constant feast; there it was still around me, but it had lost its old fascination and power of feasting the senses.

“The truth is, I had never really renounced the world. For a time I was the slave of morbid fancies, and had no more given up the flesh-and-blood interest in life, than does the Buddhist bonze, who, while he courts seclusion and broods over the ethics of his creed, is careful to nourish and cherish the material part of his being.

“Here I was, by a mere fluke of misfortune, brought face to face with my real self, a heavy-footed, full-grown, and withal sentimental Bear. Many days passed in a sort of stupor of despair, followed by the sweet inward confession of my sins, which brought resignation and a calm I had never before experienced. If anything could replace the loss of liberty, it was the repose of my new life, for my master showed me uniform kindness. I was commensal of his house by day, and by night was consigned to a stable with some other socially-disposed animals.

“Soon after daybreak I was taken to the doorway, where, seated beneath a plane-tree, the hours passed pleasantly in playing with my master’s children, who showed me much affection, while the thoroughfare along the highroad procured endless amusement.

“On fête-days the rustics came to dance under the tree; for my master was an innkeeper, and his house a favourite resort.

“There the noise of jingling glasses and songs of gay spirits sounded from dawn to sunset. I had always a formal invitation to the dances, which commenced after the evening repast, and were kept up far into {313} the night. Usually I had the good fortune to open the ball with the prettiest girl of the crowd, by a dance similar to the one in vogue a Crete, invented for the amiable Ariadne. Since then I have been enabled to study the private life of men of rank, those on the upper range of the social ladder, and give it as my conviction that the poor mountaineers have a happier lot in life than those regarded by the world as the highly-favoured ones. The conclusion forces itself upon me, that men are happy just in proportion as they are ignorant. It is sad it should be so, as it brings them down to the level of the beast, and tempts some to regard even the Bear, owing to the simplicity of his nature and habits, as an infinitely happier animal than man. My rustic life lasted six months, during which time I followed the example of Apollo, deprived of his glory, guarding the flock of Admetus.

“One day, while I was seated as usual beneath the tree, a postchaise drawn by four horses stopped at the door, and I learned that its occupant, who had the air of a travelling aristocrat, was a poet of noble birth and European fame, who had been voyaging in search of adventure. This personage left the carriage to take some refreshment, and during his stay I seemed to be the subject of a conversation which ended in the stranger placing some pieces of gold in the hand of my master, who undid my chain and consigned me to the vehicle.

“The peaceful valley where I had spent so many happy days was leagues off before I recovered from my surprise. It is needless to remark that any change in my mode of life caused me much pain and anxiety. Believe me, dear reader, happiness is only to be found in the monotony of an uneventful life.

“As the scenes of my youth faded in the distance, sorrow took possession of my heart, and at last I bade adieu to my dear mountains. I felt for the first time that loss of one’s country is immortal, and that travels only produce fatigue of body and mind. Now I was enabled to comprehend how Calypso, arrayed in all her charms, could not tempt Ulysses to abandon his poor but much-loved Ithaca, or to relinquish the noble ambition which induced him to return and behold once more the smoke rising from his chimney.

“ ‘Vivite felices, quibus est fortuna peracta!
Vobis parta quies, nobis maris æquor arandum.’

“We embarked at Bayonne on board a ship setting sail for the British Isles, where I afterwards passed two years with my master in a Scottish {314} castle. This gifted man was to me a most interesting study; at once poet and misanthrope, his example sealed my fate for life, thoroughly curing me of the monomania which had forced me into seclusion. I had at the same time contracted a depraved habit of composing verses or rhymes, which I could not shake off, never fully realising that only a few gifted poets have been enabled to win fame by placing their sentiments on record. Like most half-fledged misunderstood poets, I suffered acutely, being no favourite either of the Muses or the public. Inspiration would not come, in spite of great agony and superbearish effort. It was in vain I lay on my back or rolled on my belly—rhythm, rhyme, and romance proved my severest taskmasters. I walked fast in the dark lanes of the garden, as Pope used to do, scaring the birds by the deep growlings that escaped my breast.

“Who would believe it? My poetic breakdown stirred the worst passions of my nature, and drove me to hate every successful songster—to hate past, present, and future—to hate every one and everything saving my own soured self.

“Since Solomon’s time many books have been written, but the book which shall faithfully picture the miseries of a literary life has yet to be penned. My master himself, with his acknowledged genius and inordinate—— I must not retail his troubles, as most worthy recipients of his kindness might be tempted to do. I shall content myself, as a faithful servant, by merely raising the corner of the veil. The Muses were his true loves, to whom he was fain to prove unfaithful when he sought the joys of domestic life, to lay the storms of his heart in the haven of home. But it was all too late, the experiment failed, and he fled to end his accumulated woes on a foreign shore.

“Here was a lofty example for me, an unfortunate poetaster, proving as it did that poetic genius, just in proportion to its intensity, dries up the font of social happiness and plays fearful havoc with common sense.

“Fortunately for me, as it gave me my liberty, whatever it may have done for himself, my gifted master, at the sound of the strife of Grecian insurrection, determined to leave England, resolved to seek a brilliant tomb. Some days before his departure, wishing to make a last appearance in London, he profited by the representation of Hamlet, one of his favourite plays, to show himself once more to the British public. We drove to the theatre in an open carriage, and found the place crowded as we seated ourselves in a stage-box. Our appearance {315} created a tremendous sensation, all eyes and eyeglasses were turned towards us; the ladies, bending over the balconies, recalled lovely flowers peeping out from rocky clefts. All were eager to get a glimpse of the great poet; so worshipful indeed was this well-dressed crowd, that the play was totally disregarded till the ghost of the prince stalked across the stage, and as a tribute to Shakespeare, the great character of the phantom was received with profound respect. The details of the tragedy appeared to be of a nature to familiarise the spectators with our presence, like the appropriate music which introduces and accompanies the hero in an opera. But the ghost was too signal an evidence of creative genius to be lightly passed over. This wonderful performance supplied all the metropolitan journals with a glowing leader. It is to these papers, for the past twenty years, we have been indebted for all the political, philosophical, religious, and literary achievements of learned Europe.

“Next day we embarked for France, and as good-luck would have it, my master made a roundabout journey to visit some ruins.

“One evening when he was seated at the foot of an old tower, I profited by the reverie in which he was plunged to make my escape. For four days and nights I fled from mountain to mountain without once looking behind. At last, on the evening of the fifth day, I again found myself in the Pyrenees. In an excess of joy I knelt down and kissed my native soil, after which I made for the cavern where I first breathed the air. It was inhabited by an old friend of the family, who told me that my parents were dead. After shedding a few tears to their memory, I took up my abode on Mount Perdu, and made myself a happy home.

“Although I am a poet in a small way, I love my wife, and find my children perfect; they are moulded very much after their father’s image. We do not see much company, almost none, save one or two desperate duns, who thought so well of me as to come over here all the way from London to “look me up,” as they say. Their excuse for intruding on my privacy is that they frequently pass my way, and it suddenly occurs to them they have each a trifling bill for Mr. Bear. These scraps of paper are the tender links which bind me to the past, and recall the licence of poetic inspiration. Happy is he who dwells at home, and who has never drifted into doggerel!

“All I now require is to be left alone to the use of my natural instincts, which have ripened under affliction, and to the enjoyment {316} of the attributes with which nature has endowed me. I have been long in discovering my true self. Now that I have found the rascal, I will keep watch over him, and prove to the world that my wandering life has not been wholly spent in pursuits of vanity.

“What more do I require? Does not the naïad of the rock distil from the elements an exhaustless store of water to quench my thirst? {317} The beloved tree of Cybele, does it not shelter my dwelling with its evergreen boughs? Above all, when the day’s toil is ended and I return laden with the trophies of the chase, have I not a devoted partner to welcome me home?

“I have now no ambition save one, and that is to make the acquaintance of that heavenly constellation which bears our noble name.”

{318}

THE SEVENTH HEAVEN.

_VOYAGE ABOVE THE CLOUDS._

CHAPTER OF DREAMS.

I.

I was dead.

Dead as one perhaps dies when uncertain whether it is better to live or to die; dead without knowing when or how. I had indeed died painlessly, pleasantly, and mysteriously.

So easily had my life left my body, so little had it suffered in quitting the form of clay, that at first my body did not perceive the change.

Of the precise moment when from a living Turtle-dove I became a corpse, I remember nothing, unless it be that before death the moon shone brightly in a cloudless sky; and when my astonished spirit made out that it had fulfilled its duty on earth, the moon had not ceased to shine, and the sky was still cloudless. Probably my death, far from quenching the light of the moon, or sending the sky into mourning, had made no visible change in earth or heaven. What can it matter to fruitful nature whether a creature like me lives or dies? Yet after all, we are assured that a Sparrow shall not fall to the ground without its heavenly Father. {319}

II.

I have no doubt my spirit rejoiced at finding itself free, since it could have no real love for a body so impotent to respond to its lofty aspirations. In truth, many times in the days of their union my poor flesh had been almost left alone to look after itself, while my spirit dreamt at ease of some peculiar mythical world. Is it not possible during dreams that the body is quietly left to slumber while the spirit roams about in ethereal realms of its own? First it carefully lays a telegraphic line from its slumbering solid dwelling on earth, and in an instant traverses space, sending back to the living brain flashes of strange intelligence from other spheres.

III.

Yet the spirit mourned, seeing its old tenement, whose strength and weakness, beauty and deformity, were all so familiar, falling into decay, marking the dissolution that had already set in, and would before long yield up the materials to the four winds of heaven and to the earth that supplied them. The spirit exclaimed, “Why was I thus released without a moment’s warning? The light has left the bright eye, nor will the wings respond to my wish. I cannot bear this parting! Awake, mute form! awake! cast a loving glance across the bright scene! Wake, and tell me our union was not a dream! Alas! then it must be farewell.”

IV.

For the first time the appeal of the spirit remained unanswered. Why love that which must die? Since we cannot enjoy the hope of eternity, let us part!

Of men alone it is written that their spirits after death shall at some future time reunite with the body, when the soul shall recognise and reanimate its ancient dust. Nevertheless, I have dreamt that the Dove shall again rise from the dead.

V.

The silence of night was alone disturbed by the falling leaves—for they too must die—and by the distant approach of a bird of prey. {321} Tender flowers, green leaves that once sheltered my poor frame, bend over it now and screen its beauty from the impious Vulture.

Alas! the dread sound came nearer and yet nearer, and the deep shadow of the bird of doom fell on the peaceful remains.

VI.

A musical voice hailed me from the air and bade me follow. Instinctively I floated upward with my spirit guide, who seemed to bear me on invisible wings far beyond the range of earth.

VII.

In a moment the past was severed from the future, all memory of my former being vanished. I soared through space without an effort, obeying my new condition implicitly, just as on earth one loves and thinks without knowing why one does so, or how thought and love have come to form so important a part of our earthly lives.

VIII.

I had floated away so far from the world that it seemed nothing more than a bright speck in an ocean of immensity. For a moment I recalled my loss, the body I had left behind, and exclaimed, “Shall the joys of my future banish regret, or is sorrow also eternal?”

IX.

Is there no link in heaven to bind one to what is dear on earth? Has my life among mortals been a dream? Still I was wafted upward and onward to a region full of stars, where I passed from one orb to another. Bright stars, whither am I going? But the stars, yielding no response, noiselessly ranged themselves to light me on my way.

X.

I was floating in a realm of light. Space spread out before me like an azure veil studded with diamonds. But the light of the stars was eclipsed by a greater refulgence. Filled with awe, I paused, and the voice—more silvery than the sweetest tones of earth—whispered, “Follow me, we shall only stop in a blissful region. You are at the {322} gates of paradise. Follow me and fear not, doubt not. Doubt is born of the devil, faith is an attribute of heaven.

XI.

The speaker was a purified immortal, the spirit of a snow-white Dove that death had taken in all the beauty of its youth, unsullied by the sight of human misery. Its mission was to receive and guide liberated spirits on their way to the new world.

XII.

I then saw—what I had not been able to perceive before, owing to the imperfection of my sight—many disembodied spirits, each, like myself, floating towards some resting-place. My first sensation on finding myself in such company was fear mingled with a vague hope which impelled me onwards. “Sweet spirit,” I said to my guide, “the Turtle-dove’s paradise, is it far?”

“See,” he replied, smiling at my impatience—“see yonder orb alone. There is the seventh heaven, where our arrival is awaited.”

Who can want me there? I thought. Is it still alive?

XIII.

Ascending beyond worlds and spheres without number, we alighted at a gate whence shone the most dazzling light, eclipsing the sun in brightness. Above the portal was inscribed in letters of fire, “Here is the abode of undying love;” and beneath, “Here is no change save that of ever-growing love.” The door flew open, but what can I say of the sight revealed to my gaze? No words of mine can picture the glorious light which, without pain or strain of vision, revealed everything so clearly that the minutest details of the picture could be seen and understood.

XIV.

“I now leave you,” said my guide, “at the threshold of your new home.” The words still lingered in my ears when I beheld a pearly cloud in the sky; it was my treasure, my Turtle-dove, winging its flight towards me.

“Ah!” I cried, “pure spirit of my sister, do I indeed behold you, my {323} sister?” She came, and our hearts were filled with a sacred joy, for she knew me and loved me still.

She had not changed; yet she seemed brighter, whiter, more beautiful, and as I looked, her beauty, like the beauty of a great painting, only increased. “Ah! my well-beloved and long-lost sister, this is indeed a joyous meeting. When I heard of your death the pain preyed upon me, and I soon followed you, for grief broke my heart.” Who dares to disbelieve in happiness? Alas! is it not a dream?

XV.

Alas! it was a dream. . . .

But why awake from such a dream? This dream that had carried me through space and filled me with unmixed joy, had been of so short duration that I awoke to find nothing had changed on earth. The moon still shone in the clear sky. Nothing, indeed, proved real save the bird of prey circling through the air near my nest.

NOTES ON THE LIFE OF THE AUTHOR OF THIS CURIOUS FRAGMENT.

We deem it our duty to place before our readers some biographical details concerning the author of the foregoing fragment, handed to us by the governor of a lunatic asylum.

“The author of these strange imaginings was early left an orphan. His parents without warning, without even leaving their future address, left him one morning while his young beak was deep in slumber, buried in his callow down. Yet these good birds, owing to the gentleness and simplicity of their habits, left a doubtful reputation behind them, the only inheritance of our young hero. A sympathetic circle of friends agreed that they had come to an untimely end, nothing short of death could have caused them to abandon their child. One or two old Magpies there were, who, putting their heads together, whispered among themselves that Parisian Doves were not so good as they looked, and that they had purposely deserted the youngster, who interfered with the pursuit of their own pleasure.

“Be that as it may, the parents were never again seen or heard of, and the little one struggled on wonderfully, being greatly indebted to the good offices of some poor but true-hearted thrifty friends. As soon as the orphan could leave the deserted home and trust himself to his {325} wings, he commenced a search which only ended in disappointment, for the lost ones were nowhere to be found. For all that, day after day he persevered in his vain efforts, saying, ‘I must find my parents, or perish in the attempt!’

“In one of his journeys he fell in with a young Ringdove, who at once won his heart, first attracted by her guileless beauty and then conquered by her sympathy. But being an honest bird, this new sentiment in his breast could not tempt him from the path of duty; on the contrary, it only stimulated him to greater exertion, and he winged his flight anew. ‘I will return,’ he said; ‘my true love will wait for me.’ So he left, and she waited till her patience was worn out by waiting, and then wedded another.

“After many days of fruitless search our Dove returned to seek his bride, and found her surrounded by the family of his rival. The blow was too much for him, it broke his heart and drove him mad.