Chapter C: Lamb (6)

In this way he remained at his mother’s for nine years, when he again disappeared, without any apparent cause, and no one knew how. It may be supposed, however that the motive or feeling which induced his first disappearance influenced the second. Some time afterwards it was reported that an inhabitant of Lierganès again saw Francis de la Vega in some port of Asturias; but this was never confirmed.

When this very singular man was first taken out of the sea at Cadiz, it is said that his body was entirely covered with scales, but they fell off soon after his coming out of the water. They also add, that different parts of his body were as hard as shagreen.

Father Feyjoo adds many philosophical reflections on the existence of this phenomenon, and on the means by which a man may be enabled to live at the bottom of the sea. He observes, that if Francis de la Vega had preserved his reason and the use of speech, he would have given us more instruction and information in marine affairs, than all the naturalists combined.

* * * * *

ANTIPATHIES.

Erasmus, though a native of Rotterdam, had such an aversion to fish, that the smell of it threw him into a fever.

Ambrose Paré mentions a gentleman, who never could see an eel without fainting.

There is an account of another gentleman, who would fall into convulsions at the sight of a carp.

A lady, a native of France, always fainted on seeing boiled lobsters. Other persons of the same country experienced the same inconvenience from the smell of roses, though they were particularly partial to the odour of jonquils or tuberoses.

Joseph Scaliger and Peter Abono never could drink milk.

Cardan was particularly disgusted at the sight of eggs.

Uladislaus, king of Poland, could not bear to see apples.

If an apple was shown to Chesne, secretary to Francis I., he bled at the nose.

A gentleman, in the court of the emperor Ferdinand, would bleed at the nose on hearing the mewing of a cat, however great the distance might be from him.

Henry III. of France could never sit in a room with a cat.

The duke of Schomberg had the same aversion.

M. de Lancre gives an account of a very sensible man, who was so terrified at seeing a hedgehog, that for two years he imagined his bowels were gnawed by such an animal.

The same author was intimate with a very brave officer, who was so terrified at the sight of a mouse, that he never dared to look at one unless he had his sword in his hand.

M. Vangheim, a great huntsman in Hanover, would faint, or, if he had sufficient time, would run away at the sight of a roasted pig.

John Rol, a gentleman in Alcantara, would swoon on hearing the word _lana_, wool, pronounced, although his cloak was woollen.

The philosophical Boyle could not conquer a strong aversion to the sound of water running through a pipe.

La Mothe le Vayer could not endure the sound of musical instruments, though he experienced a lively pleasure whenever it thundered.

The author of the Turkish Spy tells us that he would rather encounter a lion in the deserts of Arabia, provided he had but a sword in his hand, than feel a spider crawling on him in the dark. He observes, that there is no reason to be given for these secret dislikes. He humorously attributes them to the doctrine of the transmigration of the soul; and as regarded himself, he supposed he had been a fly, before he came into his body, and that having been frequently persecuted with spiders, he still retained the dread of his old enemy.

* * * * *

THE LACTEALS IN A MOLE.

A curious observer of nature will be delighted to know, that the lacteal vessels are more visible in a mole, than in any animal whatever. The view, however, is not of long duration. These vessels are rendered visible by the mode of killing the animal, which is by a wire gin that compresses the thoracic duct, thereby preventing the ascent of the chyle upwards. The time of demonstration is about half an hour after death. This curious fact was unknown to anatomists, till mentioned by Dr. A. Hunter, in his volume of maxims on men and manners.

* * * * *

LOUIS GONZAGA

TO

MARIE MANCINI.

FLORENCE, 1649.

* * * * *

Il cantar che nel anima si sente.
Il pin ne sente l’alma, il men l’orecchio.

* * * * *

I worshippe thee thou silverre starre,
As thron’d amid the vault of blue,
Rushes thy queenlye splendoure farre,
O’er mountain top and vale of dewe.

Yette more I love thy infante ray,
As risinge from its easterne cave,
With circlinge, fearfulle, fonde delaye,
It seemes to kisse the crimsone wave.

I love the proud and solemne sweepe
Of harpe and trumpette’s harmonye,
Like swellinges of the midnighte deepe,
Like anthemes of the opening skye.

But lovelier to my heart the tone
That dies along the twilighte’s winge,
Just heard, a silver sigh, and gone,
As if a spiritte touch’d the stringe.

Sweete Marie! swiftlye comes the noone
That gives thy beautye all its rayes,
And thou shalte be the rose, alone,
And heartes shall wither in its blaze.

Yette there are eyes had deeper loved
That rosebudde in its matine-beam,
The dew droppe on its blushe unmoved--
And shalle mye love be all a dreame?

PULCI.

* * * * *

POINTS OF CHARACTER.

A PRIME MINISTER.

The late sir Robert Walpole was from his youth fond of field sports, and retained his attachment to them until prevented by the infirmities of age from their further enjoyment. He was accustomed to hunt in Richmond Park with a pack of beagles. Upon receiving a packet of letters, he usually opened that from his gamekeeper first; and in the pictures taken of him, he preferred being drawn in his sporting dress.

A PRELATE.

Bishop Juxon, who attended Charles I. on the scaffold, retired after the king’s death to his own manor of Little Compton, in Gloucestershire, where, as Whitlocke tells us in his Memorials, “he much delighted in hunting, and kept a pack of good hounds, and had them so well ordered and hunted, chiefly by his own skill and direction, that they exceeded all other hounds in England for the pleasure and orderly hunting of them.”

A HUNTSMAN.

Mr. Woolford, a sporting gentleman, as remarkable for politeness in the field as for the goodness of his fox-hounds, was one evening thus addressed by his huntsman: “An’ please your honour, sir,” twirling his cap and quid at the same time, “I should be glad to be excused going to-morrow to Woolford-wood, as I should like to go to see my poor wife buried.” “I am sorry for thee, Tom,” said his master, “we can do one day without thee: she was an excellent wife.” On the following morning, however, Tom was the first in the field. “Heyday!” quoth Mr. W., “did not I give you leave to see the remains of your poor wife interred?” “Yes, your honour, but I thought as how we should have good sport, as it is a fine morning; so I desired our Dick, the dog-feeder, to see her _earth’d_.”

Vol. II.--34.

_For the Table Book._

Every one will agree with me, that this is the favourite article of furniture. Every one is fond of it as of an old friend--a faithful and trustworthy one--to whom has been confided both joys and sorrows. It is most likely the gift of some cherished, perhaps departed being, reminding us by its good qualities of the beloved giver. We have no scruple in committing our dearest secrets to its faithful bosom--they are never divulged. The tenderest billet-doux, the kindest acknowledgments, the sweetest confessions of a mistress--the cruellest expressions and bitterest reproaches of a friend lost to us for ever through the false and malignant representations of an enemy--or perhaps the youthful effusions of our own brain, which we occasionally draw forth from the recesses of the most secretly contrived _pigeon-hole_, and read over _à la dérobée_, with a half blush (at our self-love) and a smile partly painful from revived recollections of days gone, never to return--all these we may unhesitatingly deposit in this personification of _deskretion_.

The very posture assumed at a desk bespeaks confidence and security. The head inclined over it, and the bosom leaning in gentle trustingness against this kind and patient friend.

By this description I would present to the “mind’s eye” of the reader a plain unostentatious piece of furniture, of too simple an exterior to be admitted any where than in the study--square in shape, mahogany, bound with brass at the corners, a plate of the same metal on the top, of just a sufficient size to contain one’s own initials and those of the giver. I detest those finicking machines one finds wrapped up in an oilskin case in a drawing-room; made of rosewood, inlaid with silver, or mother-of-pearl, and lined with blue velvet. It seems like an insult to the _friendly_ character of a desk, to dress him smartly, seat him in a fine apartment, and refuse to avail yourself of the amicable services he tenders you.--The contents of these coxcombical _acquaintances_ are seldom better than its fair owner’s private journal, (which no one thinks worthy of perusal--herself of course excepted,) her album, and scrap-book, the honourable Mr. Somebody’s poetical effusions, and the sentimental correspondence of some equally silly young lady, her dearest friend.

Then there is the clerk’s desk in a counting-house--there are no pleasant associations connected with that mercantile scaffolding, with its miniature balustrades at the top, partly intersected with accounts, bills, and papers of all sorts, (referring to business,) and surrounded by files clinging by their one hook. Above all this is seen the semicircular scalp of a brown wig, which, as it is raised to reply to your question, gradually discovers two eyes scowling at you from beneath a pair of glaring spectacles, a little querulous turned-up nose, and a mouth whose lines have become rigid with ill-humour, partly occasioned by a too sedentary life.

Again, there is the pulpit desk, with its arrogant crimson cushion--telling a tale of clerical presumption.

Lastly, there is the old bachelor’s desk. (Nay, do not curl up the corners of your pretty mouths at me, sweet ladies--it may be worth while to take a peep at it--at least, I cannot prevail upon _myself_ to omit it in this notice of desks.) It is of the plain and quiet description formerly mentioned, and very neatly and orderly arranged, both inside and out. The latter is kept bright and shining by the indefatigable hands of Sally the housemaid; who, while she breathes upon the plate to give it a polish, at the same time breathes a wish (to herself) that her breath possessed the magic power of unfastening locks, and so enabling her to see “what the old gentleman keeps in this here box to make him so fond on it.” The interior he takes infinite care to keep in complete and exact order himself. Each particular compartment has its appropriate contents consigned to it. The fold-down nearest to him, as he sits at it, contains a small miniature within a red morocco case, of a placid and gentle-faced girl, whose original sleeps for ever in the bosom of the cold earth--a little box, containing a ring set with brilliants, and enclosing a lock of _her_ hair--all _her_ letters carefully tied up with green ribbon--a miniature edition of Shakspeare, and Milton, with his name written in them in _her_ hand-writing. In the opposite fold, near the receptacle for the pens, wafers, ink, &c. are his own little writings, (for we are to suppose him fond of his pen, and as having occasionally indulged that fondness,) of all of which he preserves neat copies, some private memoranda, and an old pocket-book, given to him by his old friend and school-fellow, admiral ----, when he left England that year as a midshipman.

In the drawer are different letters from his friends; and, perhaps, at the very back of it, a little hoard of gold pieces, bright and new from the mint.

As I now lean upon my old friend and companion--my desk--I render it my grateful acknowledgments for the many pleasant hours I have spent over it; and also for its having been the means of my passing an agreeable quarter of an hour with my gentle reader, of whom I now take a courteous leave.

_July, 1827._

M. H.

* * * * *

WRITING DESKS.

There is not any mention of writing-desks among the ancients. They usually wrote upon the knee in the manner wherein Angelica Kauffman represents the younger Pliny, as may be seen in a modern engraving; and yet it appears from Stolberg, quoted by Mr. Fosbroke, that desks resembling ours have been found in Herculaneum. Writing-desks in the middle ages slanted so much, as to form an angle of forty-five degrees: their slant till within the last two centuries was little less.

* * * * *

~Topographiana.~

WILTS’ LOCAL CUSTOM.

DANCING ROUND THE HARROW.

_To the Editor._

Dear sir,--I hand you the following authentic particulars which happened in the pleasant village of S****n B****r, and gave rise to “dancing round the harrow:” if worthy of being chronicled in the _Table Book_, they are yours.

John Jones, not finding his lovesuit successful with his master’s daughter, because her father, a farmer, rebuked him, took umbrage, threw down his whip on the “harrow” in the field, left the team, and, _sans cérémonie_, went to sea.

The farmer and his daughter Nancy were variously affected by this circumstance.--“Comfortable letters” were hoped for, news was expected from some corner of the world, but no tidings arrived as to the fate or designs of honest John. Village gossips often talked of the poor lad. The farmer himself, who was a good sort of man, began to relent; for Nancy’s cheeks were not so rosy as formerly; she was dull at milking time. Observers at church whispered,--“How altered Nancy R* appears!” * * *

After a lapse of about six years appearances change favourably. John returns from sea auspiciously--meets his Nancy with open arms--her father finds him disposed to make her happy--John requests forgiveness, and is pardoned--his steadiness and attachment are tried and approved--and--suffice it to say--John and Nancy are married. He assists her father in the duties of the farm as his years decline, while she supplies the absence of her mother, buried in the family grave of the church-yard of her native village. * * * *

As soon as the wedding took place, a “harrow” was brought on the grass-plot in the fore-close, when the villagers invited danced round it till daybreak. * * * *

This “dancing round the harrow” was kept on several anniversaries of the wedding-day; a young family and the old projector’s decease occasioned its discontinuance; but, on each of these occasions, John does not forget to present, instead, a not less acceptable offering, a good supper to his workfolks in remembrance of his advance in life.

I am, dear sir,

Yours very truly,

JEHOIADA.

_Goat and Boots,_

_August 3, 1827._

* * * * *

_For the Table Book._

BAKEWELL, DERBYSHIRE.

ANCIENT MONUMENTS AND INSCRIPTIONS IN THE CHURCH.

Upon the tablet over the mural monument in the chantry of the Holy Cross, is the following inscription:

Godfrey Foljambe, Knight, and Avena his wife, (who afterwards married
Richard de Greene, Knight,) Lord and Lady of the Manors of Hassop,
Okebrook, Elton, Stanton, Darley, Overhall, and Lokhawe, founded this
Chantry in honor of the Holy Cross, in the 39th year of the Reign of
King Edward the 3rd, 1366. Godfrey died on Thursday next after the
Feast of the Ascension of our Lord, in the 50th year of the reign of
the same King; and Avena died on Saturday next after the Feast of the
Nativity of the blessed Virgin Mary, in the 6th year of the reign of
Richard 2nd, 1383.

N. B. The Dates are taken from the Escheat Rolls, which contain the
Inquisitum post mortem, 50th Edward 3. No. 24.

_In the Vestry_, there is an effigy in alabaster, of sir Thomas Wendersley de Wendersley, who was mortally wounded at the battle of Shrewsbury, 4th Henry IV., 1403, and was buried at Bakewell, where formerly were several shields of the arms of his family carved in wood. (See Brailsford’s “Monumental Inscriptions of Derbyshire.”)

Adjoining the vestry are several handsome monuments of the Vernon and Manners’ families.

In the centre is the tomb or cenotaph of sir George Vernon, inscribed thus:

Here lyeth Sir George Vernon, Knight, deceased, y^{e} daye of
An^{o} 156 and Dame Margaret his Wife, dowghter of S^{r} Gylbert
Tayllboys, deceased the daye of 156 and also Dame Mawde his
Wyffe, dowghter to Sir Ralphe Langfoot, deceased the daye of
An^{o} 1566, whose solles God p--don--.

On the right is a monument to sir John Manners, with this inscription:

Here lyeth Sir John Manners, of Haddon, Kn^{t}. Second Sonne of Thomas
Erle of Rutland, who died the 4th of June, 1611, and Dorothy his Wife,
one of the Dawghters and heires of Sir George Vernon, of Haddon,
Kn^{t}. who deceased the 24th day of June, in the 26th yeere of the
Rayne of Queene Elizabeth, 1584.

To the right of the window, on a mural monument, is the following:

Heere lyeth buryed John Manners, Gent^{n} 3 Son̄e of Sir John Man̄ers,
Knight, who dyed the 16th day of July, in the Yeere of our Lord God
1590, being of the Age of 14 yeeres.

To the left is an elegant monument to sir John Manners, with this inscription:

George Manners of Haddon, Kn^{t}. here awaits the resurrection of the
just in Christ. He married Grace, second daughter of Henry
Pierrepoint, Kn^{t}. who afterwards bore him 4 sons and 5 daughters,
and lived with him in Holy Wedlock 30 years, she caused him to be
buried with his forefathers, and then placed this monument at her own
expence, as a perpetual Memorial of their conjugal faith, and she
united the figure of his body with hers, having resolwed that their
bones and ashes should be laid together. He died 23rd Ap^{l}. 1623,
aged 54--She died - - - aged - - -.

Beneath this monument, on an alabaster grave-stone on the floor, are some figures engraved round them, with an inscription, now obliterated, and the arms of Eyre impaled with Mordaunt.

_In the Chancel._

Upon an alabaster tomb, repaired, and the inscription cut, and filled up with black in 1774, (by Mr. Watson.)

Here lies John Vernon, son and heir of Henry Vernon, who died the 12th
of August 1477, whose soule God pardon.

_August, 1827._

E. J. H.

* * * * *

_For the Table Book._

ERASMUS.

Quæritur, unde tibi sit nomen Erasmus? _Eras-mus._

_Resp._

Si sum _Mus_ ego, te judice _Summus_ ero.

_Joannis Audoeni_, lib. vii. epig. 34.

* * * * *

That thou wast great _Erasmus_ none dispute;
Yet, by the import of thy name, wast small:
For none its truth can readily refute
Thou wast--_a Mouse_,--ERAS-MUS after all.

THE REPLY OF ERASMUS.

Hence, if _a Mouse_, thy wit must this confess:--
I will be SUM-MUS:--Can’st thou make me less?

J. R. P.

* * * * *

~Garrick Plays.~

No. XXX.

[From a “Woman’s a Weathercock,” a Comedy, by Nathaniel Field, 1612.]

_False Mistress._

_Scudmore alone; having a letter in his hand from Bellafront, assuring him of her faith._

_Scud._ If what I feel I could express in words,
Methinks I could speak joy enough to men
To banish sadness from all love for ever.
O thou that reconcilest the faults of all
Thy frothy sex, and in thy single self
Confines! nay has engross’d, virtue enough
To frame a spacious world of virtuous women!
Had’st thou been the beginning of thy sex,
I think the devil in the serpent’s skin
Had wanted cunning to o’er-come thy goodness;
And all had lived and died in innocency,
The whole creation--.
Who’s there?--come in--
_Nevill (entering.)_ What up already, Scudmore?
_Scud_. Good morrow, my dear Nevill?
_Nev._ What’s this? a letter! sure it is not so--
_Scud._ By heav’n, you must excuse me. Come, I know
You will not wrong my friendship, and your manners,
To tempt me so.
_Nev._ Not for the world, my friend.
Good morrow--
_Scud._ Nay, Sir, neither must you
Depart in anger from this friendly hand.
I swear I love you better than all men,
Equally with all virtue in the world:
Yet this would be a key to lead you to
A prize of that importance--
_Nev._ Worthy friend,
I leave you not in anger,--what d’ye mean?--
Nor am I of that inquisitive nature framed,
To thirst to know your private businesses.
Why, they concern not me: if they be ill,
And dangerous, ’twould grieve me much to know them;
If good, they be so, though I know them not:
Nor would I do your love so gross a wrong,
To covet to participate affairs
Of that near touch, which your assured love
Doth not think fit, or dares not trust me with.
_Scud._ How sweetly doth your friendship play with mine,
And with a simple subtlety steals my heart
Out of my bosom! by the holiest love
That ever made a story, you are a man
With all good so replete, that I durst trust you
Ev’n with this secret, were it singly mine.
_Nev._ I do believe you. Farewell, worthy friend.
_Scud._ Nay, look you, this same fashion does not please me.
You were not wont to make your visitation
So short and careless.
_Nev._ ’Tis your jealousy,
That makes you think it so; for, by my soul,
You’ve given me no distaste in keeping from me
All things that might be burdensome, and oppress me.--
In truth, I am invited to a Wedding;
And the morn faster goes away from me,
That I go toward it: and so good morrow--
_Scud._ Good morrow, Sir. Think I durst show it you--
_Nev._ Now, by my life, I not desire it, Sir
Nor ever lov’d these prying list’ning men,
That ask of others ’states and passages:
Not one among a hundred but proves false,
Envious and sland’rous, and will cut that throat
He twines his arms about. I love that Poet,
That gave us reading “Not to seek ourselves
Beyond ourselves.” Farewell.
_Scud._ You shall not go.
I cannot now redeem the fault I have made
To such a friend, but in disclosing all.
_Nev._ Now, if you love me, do not wrong me so;
I see you labour with some serious thing,
And think, like fairies’ treasure, to reveal it
Will burst your breast,--’tis so delicious,
And so much greater than the continent.
_Scud._ O you have pierced my entrails with your words,
And I must now explain all to your eyes. (_Gives him the Letter._)
Read; and be happy in my happiness.
_Nev._ Yet think on’t; keep thy secret and thy friend
Sure and entire. Oh give not me the means
To become false hereafter; or thyself
A probable reason to distrust thy friend,
Though he be ne’er so near. I will not see it.
_Scud._ I die, by heav’n, if you deny again.
I starve for counsel; take it, look upon it.
If you do not, it is an equal plague
As if it been known and published.
For God’s sake, read; but with this caution,--
By this right hand, by this yet unstain’d sword,
Were you my father flowing in these waves,
Or a dear son exhausted out of them,
Should you betray the soul of all my hopes,
Like the two Brethren (though love made them Stars)
We must be never more both seen again.
_Nev._ I read it, fearless of the forfeiture:--
Yet warn you, be as cautelous not to wound
My integrity with doubt, on likelihoods
From misreport, but first exquire the truth, (_reads._)
_Scud._ She is the food, the sleep, the air I live by--
_Nev. (having read the Letter.)_ O heav’n, we speak like Gods, and
do like Dogs!--
_Scud._ What means my--
_Nev._ This day this Bellafront, this rich heir
Is married unto Count Frederick;
And that’s the Wedding I was going to.
_Scud._ I prithee do not mock me;--married!--
_Nev._ It is no matter to be plaid withal;
But yet as true, as women all are false.
_Scud._ O that this stroke were thunder to my breast,
For, Nevill, thou hast spoke my heart in twain;
And with the sudden whirlwind of thy breath
Hast ravish’d me out of a temperate soil,
And set me under the red burning zone.
_Nev._ For shame, return thy blood into thy face
Know’st not how slight a thing a Woman is?
_Scud._ Yes; and how serious too.--

_Scudmore, afterwards, forsaken._

_Scud._ Oh God!
What an internal joy my heart has felt,
Sitting at one of these same idle plays,
When I have seen a Maid’s Inconstancy
Presented to the life; how glad my eyes
Have stole about me, fearing lest my looks
Should tell the company contented there,
I had a Mistress free of all such thoughts.

_He replies to his friend, who adjures him to live._

_Scud._ The sun is stale to me; to-morrow morn,
As this, ’twill rise, I see no difference;
The night doth visit me but in one robe;
She brings as many thoughts, as she wears stare
When she is pleasant, but no rest at all:
For what new strange thing should I covet life then;
Is she not false whom only I thought true?
Shall Time (to show his strength) make Scudmore live,
Till (perish the vicious thought) I love not thee;
Or thou, dear friend, remove thy heart from me!--

C. L.

* * * * *

~Ancient Music~

SUPERIOR TO MODERN.

“That the music of the ancients,” says Jeremy Collier, “could command farther than the modern, is past dispute. Whether they were masters of a greater compass of notes, or knew the secret of varying them the more artificially; whether they adjusted the intervals of silence more exactly, had their hands or their voices further improved, or their instruments better contrived; whether they had a deeper insight into the philosophy of nature, or understood the laws of the union of the soul and body more thoroughly; and thence were enabled to touch the passions, strengthen the sense, or prepare the medium with greater advantage; whether they excelled us in all, or in how many of these ways, is not so clear however, this is certain, that our improvements in this kind are little better than ale-house crowds (fiddles) with respect to theirs.”

The effects of music among the ancients, are said to have been almost miraculous. The celebrated ode of Dryden has made every one acquainted with the magic power of Timotheus over the emotions of the human heart. And all, who have read any thing of ancient history, must have remarked the wonderful effects attributed to the musical instrument in the hand of a master.

Among a hundred other stories, which evince the power of music, is the following:

Pythagoras was once likely to be troubled at his lecture, by a company of young men, inflamed with wine, and petulant with the natural insolence of youthful levity. The philosopher wished to repress their turbulence; but forbore to address them in the language of philosophy, which they would either not have attended to, or have treated with derision. He said nothing; but ordered the musician to play a grave majestic tune, of the Doric style. The effect was powerful and instantaneous. The young men were brought to their sober senses, were ashamed of their wanton behaviour, and with one accord tore off the chaplets of flowers with which they had decorated their temples in the hour of convivial gaiety. They listened to the philosopher. Their hearts were opened to instruction by music, and the powerful impression being well timed, produced in them a permanent reformation.

How desirable is it to revive the music of Pythagoras! How concise a method of philosophizing to the purpose! What sermon or moral lecture would have produced a similar effect so suddenly?

But nothing of this kind was ever produced by the most successful efforts of modern music. Let us suppose a case somewhat similar to the preceding. Let us imagine a number of intoxicated rakes entering the theatre with a professed intention to cause a riot. Such a case has often been real. The music in the orchestra has done all that it could do to sooth the growing rage; but it was as impotent and contemptible as a pistol against a battery. It would be a fine thing for the proprietors, if a tune or two could save the benches, and the fiddlers preclude the carpenters. But Timotheus and the Doric strains are no more; yet, surely, in so general a study of music it might be expected that something of their perfection might be revived.[313]

[313] Vicesimus Knox.

* * * * *

MUSICAL ANECDOTES.

A GRAND MOVEMENT.

A musical instrument-maker of Bremen was on the point of failure, and his creditors watched him so close, that he could not get a pin’s worth carried away. He bethought himself of a singular stratagem for deceiving his watchmen. He got together about a hundred and fifty musicians, his friends, in the shop, and set them all playing with the different instruments there, the overture of the “Gazza Ladra.” As it was night, at each movement of the orchestra, he contrived to throw some article of furniture from the back window, and the fall was so managed, that, from the noise of the instruments, no one perceived it. At last, to finish the affair so happily begun, at the end of the concert, each musician went out with his instrument. The artist went out last, and locked the shop-door, leaving nothing to his creditors but a bust of Ramus.

AN ACCOMPANIMENT.

The most singular spit in the world is that of the count de Castel Maria, one of the most opulent lords of Treviso. This spit turns one hundred and thirty different roasts at once, and plays twenty-four tunes, and whatever it plays, corresponds to a certain degree of cooking, which is perfectly understood by the cook. Thus, a leg of mutton _à l’Anglaise_, will be excellent at the 12th air; a fowl _à la Flamande_, will be juicy at the 18th, and so on. It would be difficult, perhaps, to carry farther the love of music and gormandizing.[314]

[314] Furet de Londres.

* * * * *

BEETHOVEN.

Ludwig von Beethoven was born in 1770 at Bonn, where his father was then tenor singer in the chapel of the elector of Cologne. At an unusually early age he was able to perform that first of all works for forming a finished player on the organ or the piano-forte, the preludes and fugues of Sebastian Bach, called “Le Clavecin bien tempéré.” At this time he displayed equal progress in composition; for, in the same year, he published variations to a march, sonatas, and songs, all for the piano-forte.

In 1792, he was sent by the elector to Vienna, as court-organist, to study the theory of music under the celebrated J. Haydn, who, on leaving Vienna for London two years after, intrusted his pupil to the care of the learned Albrechtsberger. He was then more distinguished for his performance than his composition. Judging by the criticisms of his early works, harshness of modulation, melodies more singular than pleasing, and an evident struggle to be original, were among the principal faults of which he was accused. Severe as these critics were on him as a composer, they were lavish in their praises of him as a player. In their opinion, no one could equal him in spirit and brilliancy of execution; and nothing more was wanting to perfect his performance, than more precision and distinctness of touch. His greatest power consisted in extemporary performance, and in the art of varying any given theme without the least premeditation. In this he approached nearest to Mozart, and has never had a rival since.

The precarious situation of the court of Cologne during the war, and the death of the elector in 1801, in whom the art of music lost one of its most zealous patrons, induced Beethoven to choose Vienna as his permanent residence. As original and independent in his general way of thinking, as in his musical productions, a decided enemy to flattery, an utter stranger to every thing dishonourable, he disdained to court the favour of any one, however wealthy or high in rank. He has consequently resided nearly thirty years in that splendid metropolis, in open hostility with many; and in friendship with only a few, whom the admiration of his great genius will not allow to take offence, either at the singularity of his manner, or the candour with which he gives his honest opinions. Till very lately, he had hardly any other emolument than what his compositions produced him, and consequently he was too often in circumstances very unworthy of such a great genius.

In Austria, the native composers have experienced a neglect similar to that which Frederick the Great displayed to the literati of Prussia. Salieri, the Italian, has all the honours and emoluments of principal maestro di capella to their majesties; whereas the inimitable Beethoven relies entirely on his own strength, without the smallest portion of imperial munificence. It must have been a consideration like this, together with the increase of difficulties, that determined him, in 1809, to accept an offer from the new Westphalian court of Jerome Buonaparte, of the situation of maestro di capella. Fortunately, for the honour of Vienna and of Austria, the archduke Rudolph, and the princes Lobkowitz and Kinsky, induced him to alter this resolution. In expressions at once the most favourable and delicate, these princes had a document drawn up, by which they settled on Beethoven an annuity of 4000 florins, with no other condition, than that so long as he derives the benefit of it, he must reside at Vienna, or in some other part of the Austrian dominions; but he cannot travel into foreign countries, unless with the consent of his patrons. Vienna has thus become the place of his abode during the principal part of his life. Although he had a great wish to see foreign countries, particularly England, he has never applied for leave of absence to the archduke Rudolph, who is now his only patron, the princes Lobkowitz and Kinsky being dead. It has, however, been doubted whether his presence would add, either here or any where else, to his celebrity. His warmth of temper, extreme frankness, and singularity of manners, (which he is little able to rule according to the prescribed forms of society,) his little reserve in judging of people, and above all, his great deafness, seem little calculated to endear his person to the true admirers of his genius. Notwithstanding these foibles, which more frequently belong to great than to ordinary men, his character, as a man and as a citizen, ranks deservedly high. There is a rectitude in his moral conduct, which ensures to him the esteem of every honourable person.

Beethoven’s works are universally acknowledged to be, for the greater part, productions of the highest order. In the loftier strains of composition, he has attained so eminent a rank, that it is difficult to say who excels him. In many of his orchestral symphonies, overtures, quartettos for the violin, concertos, trios, and sonatas for the piano-forte, he may be placed without the slightest presumption by the side of Haydn and Mozart. His overture to the “Men of Prometheus,” and his piano-forte concerto in C minor, Op. 37, would alone be sufficient to immortalize him. They will ever be heard with delight after any overture or concerto, even of Mozart. A list of his works is copied from that very excellent periodical work, the “Harmonicon,” into the “Biographical Dictionary of Musicians,” from whence the present notice of Beethoven is derived.

The talents of a Haydn and Mozart raised instrumental composition in Germany to an astonishing elevation; and Beethoven may be said not only to have maintained the art in that stupendous altitude, but even in some respects to have brought it to still higher perfection. Reichardt, in his letters from Vienna, says, “Haydn drew his quartets from the pure source of his sweet and unsophisticated nature, his captivating simplicity and cheerfulness; in these works he is still without an equal. Mozart’s mightier genius and richer imagination took a more extended range, and embodied in several passages the most profound and sublime qualities of his own mind. Moreover, he was much greater as a performer than Haydn, and as such, expected more from instruments than the latter did. He also allowed more merit to highly wrought and complicated compositions, and thus raised a gorgeous palace within Haydn’s fairy bower. Of this palace Beethoven was an early inmate; and in order adequately to express his own peculiar forms of style, he had no other means but to surmount the edifice with that defying and colossal tower, which no one will probably presume to carry higher with impunity.”

“If any man,” says the Quarterly Musical Review, “can be said to enjoy an almost universal admiration as a composer, it is Beethoven; who, disdaining to copy his predecessors in any, the most distant, manner, has, notwithstanding, by his energetic, bold, and uncommon style of writing, carried away the prize from our modern Olympus. His peculiar beauties may be enumerated as follows: originality of invention--uncommon passages--a very energetic manner--imitative passages almost innumerable--and abstruse scientific modulation. The first of these peculiarities, no sincere lover of music who has heard any of his symphonies will refuse to admit; and it is principally to this prominent feature in all his works that the fame he has acquired is owing. There is something in the first movements of all his overtures and symphonies, which, to the hearer, conveys a clear impression that the piece is not similar to any he ever heard before by other composers. The frequent employment of discords unresolved with a full harmony, the apparent sombre cast of expression by a continual richness and depth of the bass, the evident preparation for some beautiful allegro or vivace movement; all these conspire to raise the author in our estimation, and to keep our attention alive. Yet, when he does lead us to the quick, it is not upon a light, unmeaning, or dance-like passage, that he chooses to work; conscious of his resources, he gives an excellent subject, gradually rising into importance as the instruments one after the other join in the stringed chorus; and when (as Maister Mace would say) ‘that vast concording unity’ of the whole band comes ‘thundering in,’ we perceive with what admirable skill the orchestra are brought together, and afterwards, to the latter part of the piece, continue our admiration of the scientific manner in which the parts are worked up. The conclusion leaves us in regret.”

In Beethoven’s “Mount of Olives,” the introductory symphony is considered to be so affecting and appropriate as to be equal, if not superior, to Haydn’s introduction, or representation of “Chaos” in the “Creation.” The whole is a striking instance of his originality of invention. With respect to his energetic manner, nearly the whole of his works abound with specimens of this description of beauty. Yet, however, in the midst of his energy, variety, and abstruseness, ideas may sometimes be discovered which create enthusiasm solely from their simplicity. Of this description is the well-known passage in his “Battle Sinfonia,” where the one fifer is supposed to be heard attempting to rally the disordered ranks of the French army, by playing their national air of “Malbrouk,” which he performs in a minor key, from his own presumed thirst and fatigue.

It is said that Beethoven does not write down a single note of his compositions till he has mentally completed them, and that he holds his own earlier compositions in contempt. He usually passes the summer at the pleasant village of Baden, about twelve miles from Vienna. He is very deaf, but can hear without the assistance of any machine, when addressed loudly and distinctly. His principal amusement in the country is taking long walks in the most romantic parts of the vicinity; these excursions he sometimes extends even through the night.[315]

[315] Biographical Dict. of Musicians.

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ANNE DE MONTMORENCY.

Of the sanguinary character of this constable of France some idea may be formed by the specimen which Brantome has given of his favourite orders.--“Go! Let me see those rascals stabbed or shot directly! Hang me that fellow on yonder tree! Hack me to pieces those scoundrels this moment, who dared to defend that church against the king’s forces! Set fire to that village, d’ye hear! Burn me all the country for a mile round this spot!”

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REFERRED TO IN THE FOLLOWING COMMUNICATION.]

_To the Editor._

Dear sir,--Perhaps you may esteem the enclosed as a curiosity worthy of a place in the _Table Book_. It is a genuine specimen of the _assignats_ used in lieu of money during the French revolution. I believe there are very few now to be had. It was given to me by a French gentleman, whose father (a native of Normandy) had lost considerable sums by them. He had unfortunately converted most of his property into _assignats_, as a precaution during those times, which, although eventually of so much benefit to the French nation, were so distressing while they lasted. But when the use of coin was resumed, he found his intention frustrated, and himself deprived of all his fortune.

This gentleman had been the means of assisting the duke and duchess of Chartres in their escape to England, after having concealed them for some time in his own house. They left him with reiterated assurances of liberal recompense and future patronage, should they ever be so fortunate as to return to their native country:--they did return--but their Norman benefactor was forgotten--he never heard any thing more of them.--“_Telle est la récompense de loyauté!_” was the concluding remark of his son, who related the story to me. He was a pleasant specimen of a Frenchman--light, kind-hearted, and extremely enthusiastic; but his enthusiasm was equally bestowed on the most important or the most trivial occasion. I have seen him rise from his seat, stretch his clasped hands out at full length, and utter with rapturous ecstasy through his clenched teeth, “_Ah, Dieu! que c’étoit beau!_” when perhaps the subject of his eulogy was the extraordinary leap of some rope-dancer, or the exaggerated shout of some opera-singer, whose greatest recommendation was, that she possessed “_une voix à enlever le toit_.” He had a habit of telling immensely long stories, and always forgot that you had heard him relate them often and often before. He used to tack his sentences together by an awful “_alors_,” which was the sure sign of his being in the humour (although by the by he never was otherwise) for telling one of his pet anecdotes, or, more properly interminable narratives, for such he made them by his peculiar tact at spinning them out. He had three special favourites;--the one above related of aristocratic ingratitude;--another about Buonaparte’s going incognito every morning, while he was at _Boulogne sur Mer_, to drink new milk at the cottage of an old woman, with whom he used to take snuff, and talk quite familiarly;--and the last and best-beloved, an account of his own good fortune in having once actually _spoken_ with the emperor Napoleon Buonaparte himself! He had been an officer on board one of the ships belonging to the _flotille_ destined for the invasion of England, and almost adored Buonaparte as a sort of God. He was perhaps as affectionate-hearted a human being as could possibly exist, and I never heard him speak bitterly against any one, excepting _Messieurs les Clergés_.

I have digressed considerably, but the _assignat_ is merely a matter of curiosity to look at, and does not admit of much comment.

I am, dear sir,

Your respectful admirer,

M. H.

_June 28, 1827._

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BUYING AND SELLING.

A _merchant_ shall hardly keep himself from doing wrong; and an
_huckster_ shall not be freed from sin.

As a nail sticketh fast between the joinings of the stones; so doth
sin stick close between buying and selling.

_Ecclesiasticus._

It has been observed in the House of Commons, “That commerce tends to corrupt the morals of a people.” If we examine the expression, we shall find it true, in a certain degree.

Perhaps every tradesman can furnish out numberless instances of small deceit. His conduct is marked with a littleness, which though allowed by general consent, is not strictly just. A person with whom I have long been connected in business, asked if I had dealt with his relation whom he had brought up, and who had lately entered into commercial life. I answered in the affirmative. He replied, “He is a very honest fellow.” I told him I saw all the finesse of a tradesman about him. “Oh, rejoined my friend, a man has a right to say all he can in favour of his own goods.”

Nor is the seller alone culpable. The buyer takes an equal share in the deception. Though neither of them speak their sentiments, they well understand each other. Whilst a treaty is agitating, the buyer pronounces against the article; but when finished, the seller whispers to his friend, “It is well sold,” and the buyer smiles at the bargain. The commercial track is a line of minute deceits.

But, on the other hand, it does not seem possible for a man in trade to pass this line, without wrecking his reputation; which, if once broken, can never be made whole. The character of a tradesman is valuable; it is his all; therefore, whatever seeds of the vicious kind may shoot forth in the mind, they are carefully watched and nipped in the bud, that they may never blossom into action.

Having stated the accounts between morality and trade, I shall leave the reader to draw the balance, and only ask, “Whether the people in trade are more corrupt than those out?” If the curious reader will lend an attentive ear to a pair of farmers in the market, bartering for a cow, he will find as much dissimulation as at St. James’s, or at any other saint’s, but couched in more homely phrase. The man of well-bred deceit is “infinitely your friend--it would give him immense pleasure to serve you!” while the man in the frock “will be ---- if he tells you a word of a lie!”

Having occasion for a horse, in 1759, I mentioned it to an acquaintance, and informed him of the uses the animal was wanted for; he assured me he had one that would exactly suit; which he showed in the stable, and held the candle pretty high, “for fear of affecting the straw.” I told him it was needless to examine him, for I should rely upon his word, being conscious he was too much my friend to deceive me; I therefore bargained, and caused him to be sent home. But by the light of the sun which next morning illumined the heavens, I perceived the horse was “greased” on all fours. I therefore, in gentle terms, upbraided my friend with duplicity, when he replied with some warmth, “I would cheat my own brother in a horse.” Had this honourable friend stood a chance of selling me a horse once a week, his own interest would have prevented him from deceiving me.

A man enters into business with a view of acquiring a fortune--a laudable motive! That property which arises from honest industry is an honour to its owner; the repose of his age, the reward of a life of attention; but great as the advantage seems, yet, being of a private nature, it is one of the least in the mercantile walk. For the intercourse occasioned by traffic gives a man a view of the world, and of himself; removes the narrow limits that confine his judgment, expands the mind, opens his understanding, removes his prejudices, and polishes his manners. Civility and humanity are ever the companions of trade; the man of business is the man of liberal sentiment: if he be not the philosopher of nature he is the friend of his country. A barbarous and commercial people is a contradiction.[316]

[316] Hutton’s History of Birmingham.

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LONGEVITY

OF A REMARKABLE HIGHLANDER.

In August, 1827, John Macdonald expired in his son’s house, in the Lawnmarket, at the advanced age of one hundred and seven years. He was born in Glen Tinisdale, in the Isle of Skye, and, like the other natives of that quarter, was bred to rural labour. Early one morning in his youth, when looking after his black cattle, he was surprised by the sight of two ladies, as he thought, winding slowly round a hill, and approaching the spot where he stood. When they came up, they inquired for a well or stream, where a drink of water could be obtained. He conducted them to the “Virgin Well,” an excellent spring, which was held in great reverence on account of its being the scene of some superstitious and legendary tales. When they had quenched their thirst, one of the ladies rewarded Macdonald with a shilling, the first silver coin of which he was possessed. At their own request he escorted them to a gentleman’s house at some distance, and there, to his great surprise and satisfaction, he learned that the two “ladies” were Flora Macdonald and prince Charles Stewart.

This was the proudest incident in Macdonald’s patriarchal life; and, when surrounded by his Celtic brethren, he used to dilate on all the relative circumstances with a sort of hereditary enthusiasm, and more than the common garrulity of age. He afterwards turned joiner, and bore a conspicuous part in the building of the first protestant church which was erected in the island of North Uist. He came to Edinburgh twenty-three years before his death, and continued to work at his trade till he was ninety-seven years of age.

Macdonald was a temperate, regular-living man, and never paid a sixpence to a surgeon for himself, nor had an hour’s sickness in the whole course of his life. He used to dance regularly on New-year’s day, along with some Highland friends, to the bagpipe. On New-year’s day, 1825, he danced a reel with the father, the son, the grandson, and great-grandson, and was in more than his usual spirits. His hearing was nothing impaired, and till within three weeks of his demise he could have threaded the finest needle with facility, without glasses.[317]

[317] Scotsman, August, 1827.

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~Discoveries~

OF THE

ANCIENTS AND MODERNS.

No. V.

Having examined what knowledge the ancients had in logic and metaphysics, we are now to consider with the same impartiality, what general or particular discoveries they made in physics, astronomy, mathematics, mechanics, and the other sciences.

OF BODIES--THE INCORPOREALITY OF THEIR ELEMENTS.--LEIBNITZ.

Although the distance may appear considerable between metaphysics and physics, yet an idea of their connection runs through the whole system of Leibnitz. He founds this on the principle, employed long ago by Archimedes, “that there must be a sufficient reason for every thing.” Leibnitz inquires, why bodies are extended in length, breadth, and thickness. He holds, that to discover the origin of extension, we must come at something unextended, and without parts; in short, at existences entirely simple; and he contends, that “things extended” could have had no existence, but for “things entirely simple.”

The foundations of this system were, in effect, long since laid by Pythagoras and his disciples. Traces of it are in Strato of Lampsacus, who succeeded Theophrastus in the Lyceum; in Democritus; in Plato, and those of his school; and in Sextus Empiricus, who has even furnished entire arguments to Leibnitz for establishing “the necessity of seeking for the reason of compound things, in those which never had external existence.” Moderatus Gaditanus, in relation to the numbers of Pythagoras, says, “Numbers are, so to speak, an assemblage of units, a progressive multitude which arises from unity, and finds there its ultimate cause.” And Hermias, expounding the doctrine of the Pythagoreans, says, that, according to them, “the unit, or simple essence, was the origin and principle of all things.”