The ceiling of this apartment was richly painted and richly
gilt; from it were suspended three lustres by golden cords,
which threw a softened light upon the floor of polished and curi-
ously inlaid woods.
gilt; from it were suspended three lustres by golden cords,
which threw a softened light upon the floor of polished and curi-
ously inlaid woods.
Warner - World's Best Literature - v03 - Bag to Ber
The room was large and lofty.
It was
fitted up as an Eastern tent. The walls were hung with scarlet
cloth tied up with ropes of gold.
of gold. Round the room crouched
recumbent lions richly gilt, who grasped in their paw a lance,
the top of which was a colored lamp. The ceiling was embla-
zoned with the Hauteville arms, and was radiant with burnished
gold. A cresset lamp was suspended from the centre of the
shield, and not only emitted an equable flow of soft though
brilliant light, but also, as the aromatic oil wasted away, distilled
an exquisite perfume.
The table blazed with golden plate, for the Bird of Paradise
loved splendor. At the end of the room, under a canopy and
upon a throne, the shield and vases lately executed for his Grace
now appeared. Everything was gorgeous, costly, and imposing;
but there was no pretense, save in the original outline, at main-
taining the Oriental character. The furniture was French; and
opposite the throne Canova's Hebe, by Bertolini, bounded with a
golden cup from a pedestal of ormolu.
The guests are séated; but after a few minutes the servants
withdraw. Small tables of ebony and silver, and dumb-waiters of
ivory and gold, conveniently stored, are at hand, and Spiridion
never leaves the room. The repast was most refined, most ex-
quisite, and most various. It was one of those meetings where
all eat. When a few persons, easy and unconstrained, unincum-
bered with cares, and of dispositions addicted to enjoyment, get
together at past midnight, it is extraordinary what an appetite
they evince. Singers also are proverbially prone to gormandize;
and though the Bird of Paradise unfortunately possessed the
smallest mouth in all Singingland, it is astonishing how she
pecked! But they talked as well as feasted, and were really
gay. It was amusing to observe
that is to say,
if
been a dumb-waiter, and had time for observation - how charac-
teristic was the affectation of the women. Lady Squib was witty,
Mrs. Annesley refined, and the pseudo Lady Afy fashionable.
you had
## p. 1644 (#442) ###########################################
1644
LORD BEACONSFIELD
« What
As for Mrs. Montfort, she was, as her wont, somewhat silent but
excessively sublime. The Spaniard said nothing, but no doubt
indicated the possession of Cervantic humor by the sly calmness
with which she exhausted her own waiter and pillaged her neigh-
bors.
The little Frenchwoman scarcely ate anything, but drank
champagne and chatted, with equal rapidity and equal composure.
«Prince,” said the duke, "I hope Madame de Harestein ap-
proves of your trip to England ? »
The prince only smiled, for he was of a silent disposition, and
therefore wonderfully well suited his traveling companion.
« Poor Madame de Harestein! ” exclaimed Count Frill.
despair she was in when you left Vienna, my dear duke. Ah!
mon Dieu ! ! I did what I could to amuse her. I used to take
my guitar, and sing to her morning and night, but without the
least effect. She certainly would have died of a broken heart, if
it had not been for the dancing-dogs. ”
«The dancing-dogs! ” minced the pseudo Lady Aphrodite.
«How shocking! ”
"Did they bite her ? ” asked Lady Squib, and so inoculate her
with gayety ? ”
“Oh! the dancing-dogs, my dear ladies! everybody was mad
about the dancing-dogs. They came from Peru, and danced the
mazurka in green jackets with a jabot! Oh! what a jabot ! »
“I dislike animals excessively,” remarked Mrs. Annesley.
« Dislike the dancing-dogs! ” said Count Frill. "Ah, my good
lady, you would have been enchanted. Even the kaiser fed them
with pistachio nuts. Oh, so pretty! delicate leetle things, soft
shining little legs, and pretty little faces! so sensible, and with
such jabots ! »
“I assure you, they were excessively amusing,” said the
prince, in a soft, confidential undertone to his neighbor, Mrs.
Montfort, who, admiring his silence, which she took for state,
smiled and bowed with fascinating condescension.
"And what else has happened very remarkable, count, since I
left you ? » asked Lord Darrell.
“Nothing, nothing, my dear Darrell. This bêtise of a war has
made us all serious. If old Clamstandt had not married that
gipsy little Dugiria, I really think I should have taken a turn to
Belgrade. ”
“You should not eat so much, poppet,” drawled Charles
Annesley to the Spaniard.
## p. 1645 (#443) ###########################################
LORD BEACONSFIELD
1645
“Why not? ” said the little French lady, with great animation,
always ready to fight anybody's battle, provided she could get an
opportunity to talk. “Why not, Mr. Annesley? You never will
let anybody eat-I never eat myself, because every night, hav-
ing to talk so much, I am dry, dry, dry -- so I drink, drink,
drink. It is an extraordinary thing that there is no language
which makes you so thirsty as French. I always have heard
that all the southern languages, Spanish and Italian, make you
hungry. ”
“What can be the reason ? ” seriously asked the pseudo Lady
Afy.
“Because there is so much salt in it,” said Lord Squib.
Delia,” drawled Mr. Annesley, "you look very pretty to-
night! »
"I am charmed to charm you, Mr. Annesley. Shall I tell you
what Lord Bon Mot said of you ? ”
“No, ma mignonne! I never wish to hear my own good
things. ”
"Spoiled, you should add,” said Lady Squib, "if Bon Mot be
in the case. ”
Lord Bon Mot is a most gentlemanly man,” said Delia,
indignant at an admirer being attacked. “He always wants to
be amusing. Whenever he dines out, he comes and sits with me
half an hour to catch the air of Parisian badinage. ”
“And you tell him a variety of little things? ” asked Lord
Squib, insidiously drawing out the secret tactics of Bon Mot.
Beaucoup, beaucoup,” said Delia, extending two little white
hands sparkling with gems.
“If he come in ever how
do you call it ? heavy — not that in the domps - ah! it is
that — if ever he come in the domps, he goes out always like a
soufflée. ”
“As empty, I have no doubt,” said Lady Squib.
“And as sweet, I have no doubt,” said Lord Squib; «for Del-
croix complains sadly of your excesses, Delia. ”
Mr. Delcroix complain of me! That, indeed, is too bad.
Just because I recommended Montmorency de Versailles to him
excellent customer, ever since he abuses me, merely
because Montmorency has forgot, in the hurry of going off, to
pay his little account. ”
"But he says you have got all the things,” said Lord Squib,
whose great amusement was to put Delia in a passion.
SO -
for an
## p. 1646 (#444) ###########################################
1646
LORD BEACONSFIELD
« 1
“What of that ? ” screamed the little lady. Montmorency
gave them to me. "
"Don't make such a noise," said the Bird of Paradise.
never can eat when there is a noise. St. James, continued she,
in a fretful tone, they make such a noise! ”
Annesley, keep Squib quiet. ”
"Delia, leave that young man alone. If Isidora would talk
a little
you eat a little more, I think you would be
the most agreeable little ladies I know. Poppet! put those bon-
bons in your pocket. You should never eat sugar-plums in com-
(C
more, and
pany. "
unseen
Thus talking agreeable nonsense, tasting agreeable dishes,
and sipping agreeable wines, an hour ran on. Sweetest music
from an
source ever and anon sounded, and Spiridion
swung a censer full of perfumes around the chamber. At length
the duke requested Count Frill to give them a song.
The Bird
of Paradise would never sing for pleasure, only for fame and a
slight check. The count begged to decline, and at the same
time asked for a guitar. The signora sent for hers; and his
Excellency, preluding with a beautiful simper, gave them some
slight thing to this effect:-
Charming Bignetta! charming Bignetta!
What a gay little girl is charming Bignetta!
She dances, she prattles,
She rides and she rattles;
But she always is charming — that charming Bignetta!
Charming Bignetta! charming Bignetta!
What a wild little witch is charming Bignetta!
When she smiles I'm all madness;
When she frowns I'm all sadness;
But she always is smiling — that charming Bignetta!
Charming Bignetta! charming Bignetta!
What a wicked young rogue is charming Bignetta!
She laughs at my shyness,
And flirts with his highness;
Yet still she is charming - that charming Bignetta!
Charming Bignetta! charming Bignetta!
What a dear little girl is charming Bignetta!
« Think me only a sister,”
Said she trembling; I kissed her.
What a charming young sister is - charming Bignetta !
## p. 1647 (#445) ###########################################
LORD BEACONSFIELD
1647
He ceased; and although
«the Ferrarese
To choicer music chimed his gay guitar
In Este's halls,
as Casti himself, or rather Mr. Rose, choicely sings, yet still his
song served its purpose, for it raised a smile.
"I wrote that for Madame Sapiepha, at the Congress of Ve-
rona,” said Count Frill. « It has been thought amusing. ”
“Madame Sapiepha! ” exclaimed the Bird of Paradise.
«What!
that pretty little woman who has such pretty caps ? ”
« The same! Ah! what caps! Mon Dieu ! what taste! what
taste!
“You like caps, then ? ” asked the Bird of Paradise, with a
sparkling eye.
“Oh! if there be anything more than other that I know most,
it is the cap. Here, voici ! ” said he, rather oddly unbuttoning
his waistcoat, "you see what lace I have got. Voici ! voici ! »
Ah! me! what lace! what lace! ) exclaimed the Bird in
rapture. "St. James, look at his lace. Come here, come here,
sit next me. Let me look at that lace. » She examined it with
great attention, then turned up her beautiful eyes with a fascinat-
ing smile. "Ah! c'est jolie, n'est-ce pas ? But you like caps. I
tell you what, you shall see my caps. Spiridion, go, mon cher,
and tell ma'amselle to bring my caps — all my caps, one of each
Set. »
In due time entered the Swiss, with the caps—all the caps -
one of each set. As she handed them in turn to her mistress,
the Bird chirped a panegyric upon each.
“That is pretty, is it not — and this also ? but this is
my
favorite. What do you think of this border ? c'est belle, cette gar-
niture ? et ce jabot, c'est tres séduisant, n'est-ce pas ? Mais voici,
the cap of Princess Lichtenstein. C'est superb, c'est mon favori.
But I also love very much this of the Duchesse de Berri. She
gave me the pattern herself. And after all, this cornette à petite
santé of Lady Blaze is a dear little thing; then, again, this coiffe
à dentelle of Lady Macaroni is quite a pet. ”
« Pass them down,” said Lord Squib, we want to look at
them. " Accordingly they were passed down.
Lord Squib put
>>
one on.
## p. 1648 (#446) ###########################################
1648
LORD BEACONSFIELD
"Do I look superb, sentimental, or only pretty ? ” asked his
lordship. The example was contagious, and most of the caps
were appropriated. No one laughed more than their mistress,
who, not having the slightest idea of the value of money, would
have given them all away on the spot; not from any good-natured
feeling, but from the remembrance that to-morrow she might
amuse half an hour buying others.
While some were stealing, and she remonstrating, the duke
clapped his hands like a caliph. The curtain at the end of the
apartment was immediately withdrawn and the ball-room stood
revealed.
It was of the same size as the banqueting-hall. Its walls
exhibited a long perspective of gilt pilasters, the frequent piers of
which were entirely of plate looking-glass, save where occasion-
ally a picture had been, as it were, inlaid in its rich frame.
Here was the Titian Venus of the Tribune, deliciously copied
by a French artist; there, the Roman Fornarina, with her deli-
cate grace, beamed like the personification of Raphael's genius.
Here Zuleikha, living in the light and shade of that magician
Guercino, in vain summoned the passions of the blooming He-
brew; and there Cleopatra, preparing for her last immortal hour,
proved by what we saw that Guido had been a lover.
The ceiling of this apartment was richly painted and richly
gilt; from it were suspended three lustres by golden cords,
which threw a softened light upon the floor of polished and curi-
ously inlaid woods. At the end of the apartment was an orches-
tra, and here the pages, under the direction of Carlstein, offered
a very efficient domestic band.
Round the room waltzed the elegant revelers. Softly and
slowly, led by their host, they glided along like spirits of air;
but each time that the duke passed the musicians, the music
became livelier, and the motion more brisk, till at length you
might have mistaken them for a college of spinning dervishes.
One by one, an exhausted couple slunk away. Some threw
themselves on a sofa, some monopolized an easy-chair; but in
twenty minutes all the dancers had disappeared. At length Pea-
cock Piggott gave a groan, which denoted returning energy, and
raised a stretching leg in air, bringing up, though most unwit-
tingly, on his foot one of the Bird's sublime and beautiful caps.
“Halloo! Piggott, armed cap au pied, I see," said Lord Squib.
This joke was a signal for general resuscitation.
## p. 1649 (#447) ###########################################
LORD BEACONSFIELD
1649
Here they lounged in different parties, talking on such sub-
jects as idlers ever fall upon; now and then plucking a flower -
now and then listening to the fountain — now and then lingering
over the distant music — and now and then strolling through a
small apartment which opened to their walks, and which bore the
title of the Temple of Gnidus. Here Canova's Venus breathed
an atmosphere of perfume and of light--that wonderful statue
whose full-charged eye is not very classical, to be sure - but
then, how true!
Lord Squib proposed a visit to the theatre, which he had
ordered to be lit up. To the theatre they repaired. They
rambled over every part of the house, amused themselves, to
the horror of Mr. Annesley, with a visit to the gallery, and then
collected behind the scenes. They were excessively amused
with the properties; and Lord Squib proposed they should dress
themselves. Enough champagne had been quaffed to render
any proposition palatable, and in a few minutes they were all
in costume. A crowd of queens and chambermaids, Jews and
chimney-sweeps, lawyers and charleys, Spanish dons and Irish
officers, rushed upon the stage. The little Spaniard was Alma-
viva, and fell into magnificent attitudes, with her sword and
plume. Lord Squib was the old woman of Brentford, and very
funny. Sir Lucius Grafton, Harlequin; and Darrell, Grimaldi.
The prince and the count, without knowing it, figured as watch-
men. Squib whispered Annesley that Sir Lucius O'Trigger
might appear in character, but was prudent enough to suppress
the joke.
The band was summoned, and they danced quadrilles with
infinite spirit, and finished the night, at the suggestion of Lord
Squib, by breakfasting on the stage. By the time this meal
was dispatched, the purple light of morn had broken into the
building, and the ladies proposed an immediate departure. Mrs.
Montfort and her sister were sent home in one of the duke's
carriages; and the foreign guests were requested by him to be
their escort. The respective parties drove off. Two cabriolets
lingered to the last, and finally carried away the French actress
and the Spanish dancer, Lord Darrell, and Peacock Piggott; but
whether the two gentlemen went in one and two ladies in the
other I cannot aver. I hope not.
There was at length a dead silence, and the young duke was
left to solitude and the signora!
III-104
## p. 1650 (#448) ###########################################
1650
LORD BEACONSFIELD
SQUIBS FROM THE YOUNG DUKE)
CHARLES ANNESLEY
D*
ANDY has been voted vulgar, and beau is now the word. I
doubt whether the revival will stand; and as for the ex-
ploded title, though it had its faults at first, the muse or
Byron has made it not only English, but classical. However, I
dare say I can do without either of these words at present.
Charles Annesley could hardly be called a dandy or a beau.
There was nothing in his dress, though some mysterious arrange-
ment in his costume some rare simplicity — some curious happi-
ness — always made it distinguished; there was nothing, however,
in his dress which could account for the influence which he
exercised over the manners of his contemporaries. Charles
Annesley was about thirty. He had inherited from his father, a
younger brother, a small estate; and though heir to a wealthy
earldom, he had never abused what the world called “his pros-
pects. ” Yet his establishments — his little house in Mayfair --
his horses — his moderate stud at Melton — were all unique, and
everything connected with him was unparalleled for its elegance,
its invention, and its refinement. But his manner was his magic.
His natural and subdued nonchalance, so different from the
assumed non-emotion of a mere dandy; his coldness of heart,
which was hereditary, not acquired; his cautious courage, and his
unadulterated self-love, had permitted him to mingle much with
mankind without being too deeply involved in the play of their
passions; while his exquisite sense of the ridiculous quickly
revealed those weaknesses to him which his delicate satire did
not spare, even while it refrained from wounding.
All feared,
many admired, and none hated him.
He was too powerful not
to dread, too dexterous not to admire, too superior to hate.
Perhaps the great secret of his manner was his exquisite super-
ciliousness; a quality which, of all, is the most difficult to man-
age. Even with his intimates he was never confidential, and
perpetually assumed his public character with the private coterie
which he loved to rule. On the whole, he was unlike any of the
leading men of modern days, and rather reminded one of the
fine gentlemen of our old brilliant comedy — the Dorimants, the
Bellairs, and the Mirabels.
## p. 1651 (#449) ###########################################
LORD BEACONSFIELD
1651
The FUSSY HOSTESS
MEN shrink from a fussy woman. And few can aspire to regu-
late the destinies of their species, even in so slight a point as
an hour's amusement, without rare powers. There is no greater
sin than to be trop prononcée. A want of tact is worse than a
want of virtue. Some women, it is said, work on pretty well
against the tide without the last. I never knew one who did
not sink who ever dared to sail without the first.
Loud when they should be low, quoting the wrong person,
talking on the wrong subject, teasing with notice, excruciating
with attentions, disturbing a tête-à-tête in order to make up a
dance; wasting eloquence in persuading a man to participate in
amusement whose reputation depends on his social sullenness;
exacting homage with a restless eye, and not permitting the least
worthy knot to be untwined without their divinityships' inter-
ference; patronizing the meek, anticipating the slow, intoxicating
with compliment, plastering with praise that you in return may
gild with flattery: in short, energetic without elegance, active
without grace, and loquacious without wit; mistaking bustle for
style, raillery for badinage, and noise for gayety — these are the
characters who mar the very career they think they are creating,
and who exercise a fatal influence on the destinies of all those
who have the misfortune to be connected with them.
PUBLIC SPEAKING
ELOQUENCE is the child of Knowledge. When a mind is full,
like a wholesome river, it is also clear. Confusion and obscurity
are much oftener the results of ignorance than of inefficiency.
Few are the men who cannot express their meaning when the
occasion demands the energy; as the lowest will defend their
lives with acuteness, and sometimes even with eloquence. They
are masters of their subject. Knowledge must be gained by our-
selves. Mankind may supply us with facts; but the results, even
if they agree with previous ones, must be the work of our own
mind. To make others feel, we must feel ourselves; and to feel
ourselves, we must be natural. This we can never be when we
are vomiting forth the dogmas of the schools. Knowledge is not
a mere collection of words; and it is a delusion to suppose that
thought can be obtained by the aid of any other intellect than
## p. 1652 (#450) ###########################################
1652
LORD BEACONSFIELD
our own. What is repetition, by a curious mystery, ceases to be
truth, even if it were truth when it was first heard; as the
shadow in a mirror, though it move and mimic all the actions of
vitality, is not life. When a man is not speaking or writing
from his own mind, he is as insipid company as a looking-glass.
Before a man can address a popular assembly with command,
he must know something of mankind, and he can know nothing
of mankind without he knows something of himself. Self-knowl-
edge is the property of that man whose passions have their play,
but who ponders over their results. Such a man sympathizes by
inspiration with his kind. He has a key to every heart.
He can
divine, in the flash of a single thought, all that they require, all
that they wish. Such a man speaks to their very core. All feel
that a master hand tears off the veil of cant, with which, from
necessity, they have enveloped their souls; for cant is nothing
more than the sophistry which results from attempting to account
for what is unintelligible, or to defend what is improper.
FEMALE BEAUTY
some
THERE are
sorts of beauty which defy description, and
almost scrutiny. Some faces rise upon us in the tumult of life,
like stars from out the sea, or as if they had moved out of a
picture. Our first impression is anything but fleshly. We are
struck dumb — we gasp for breath — our limbs quiver-a faint-
ness glides over our frame — we are awed; instead of gazing
upon the apparition, we avert the eyes, which yet will feed upon
its beauty. A strange sort of unearthly pain mixes with the
intense pleasure. And not till, with a struggle, we call back to
our memory the commonplaces of existence, can we recover our
commonplace demeanor. These, indeed, are rare visions — these,
indeed, are early feelings, when our young existence leaps with
its mountain torrents; but as the river of our life rolls on, our
eyes grow dimmer, or our blood more cold.
## p. 1653 (#451) ###########################################
LORD BEACOXSFIELD
1653
LOTHAIR IN PALESTINE
From (Lothair)
A
PERSON approached Lothair by the pathway from Bethany.
It was the Syrian gentleman whom he had met at the con-
sulate. As he was passing Lothair, he saluted him with
the grace which had been before remarked; and Lothair, who
was by nature courteous, and even inclined a little to ceremony
in his manners, especially with those with whom he was not inti-
mate, immediately rose, as he would not receive such a salutation
in a reclining posture.
“Let me not disturb you, said the stranger; “or, if we must
be on equal terms, let me also be seated, for this is a view that
never palls. ”
“It is perhaps familiar to you,” said Lothair; “but with me,
only a pilgrim, its effect is fascinating, almost overwhelming. ”
« The view of Jerusalem never becomes familiar,” said the
Syrian; “for its associations are so transcendent, so various, so
inexhaustible, that the mind can never anticipate its course of
thought and feeling, when one sits, as we do now, on this immor-
tal mount. ”
"I have often wished to visit the Sea of Galilee,” said
Lothair.
“Well, you have now an opportunity,” said the Syrian: "the
north of Palestine, though it has no tropical splendor, has much
variety and a peculiar natural charm. The burst and brightness
of spring have not yet quite vanished; you would find our plains
radiant with wild-flowers, and our hills green with young crops,
and though we cannot rival Lebanon, we have forest glades
among our famous hills that when once seen are remembered. ”
“ But there is something to me more interesting than the
splendor of tropical scenery,” said Lothair, “even if Galilee
could offer it. I wish to visit the cradle of my faith. ”
“And you would do wisely,” said the Syrian, "for there is no
doubt the spiritual nature of man is developed in this land. ”
“And yet there are persons at the present day who doubt
even deny — the spiritual nature of man,” said Lothair. "I do
not, I could not — there are reasons why I could not. ”
“There are some things I know, and some things I believe,”
said the Syrian. “I know that I have a soul, and I believe that
it is immortal. ”
## p. 1654 (#452) ###########################################
1654
LORD BEACONSFIELD
"It is science that, by demonstrating the insignificance of this
globe in the vast scale of creation, has led to this infidelity,” said
Lothair.
« Science may prove the insignificance of this globe in the
scale of creation,” said the stranger, “but it cannot prove the
insignificance of man. What is the earth compared with the sun ?
a molehill by a mountain; yet the inhabitants of this earth can
discover the elements of which the great orb consists, and will
probably ere long ascertain all the conditions of its being. Nay,
the human mind can penetrate far beyond the sun. There is no
relation, therefore, between the faculties of man and the scale in
creation of the planet which he inhabits. ”
"I was glad to hear you assert the other night the spiritual
nature of man in opposition to Mr. Phoebus. ”
"Ah, Mr. Phæbus! ” said the stranger, with a smile. «He is
an old acquaintance of mine. And I must say he is very con-
sistent— except in paying a visit to Jerusalem. That does surprise
me. He said to me the other night the same things as he said
to me at Rome many years ago.
He would revive the worship
of Nature. The deities whom he so eloquently describes and so
exquisitely delineates are the ideal personifications of the most
eminent human qualities, and chiefly the physical. Physical
beauty is his standard of excellence, and he has a fanciful theory
that moral order would be the consequence of the worship of
physical beauty; for without moral order he holds physical beauty
cannot be maintained. But the answer to Mr. Phoebus is, that
his system has been tried and has failed, and under conditions
more favorable than are likely to exist again; the worship of
Nature ended in the degradation of the human race. ”
“But Mr. Phæbus cannot really believe in Apollo and Venus,
said Lothair. « These are phrases. He is, I suppose, what is
called a Pantheist. ”
"No doubt the Olympus of Mr. Phoebus is the creation of
his easel,” replied the Syrian. "I should not, however, describe
him as a Pantheist, whose creed requires more abstraction than
Mr. Phoebus, the worshiper of Nature, would tolerate. His school
never care to pursue any investigation which cannot be followed
by the eye--and the worship of the beautiful always ends in an
orgy
As for Pantheism, it is Atheism in domino. The belief
in a Creator who is unconscious of creating is more monstrous
than any dogma of any of the churches in this city, and we have
them all here. ”
## p. 1655 (#453) ###########################################
LORD BEACONSFIELD
1655
“But there are people now who tell you that there never
was any creation, and therefore there never could have been a
Creator,” said Lothair.
“And which is now advanced with the confidence of novelty,”
said the Syrian, though all of it has been urged, and vainly
urged, thousands of years ago. There must be design, or all we
see would be without sense, and I do not believe in the unmean-
ing. As for the natural forces to which all creation is now
attributed, we know they are unconscious, while consciousness is
as inevitable a portion of our existence as the eye or the hand.
The conscious cannot be derived from the unconscious. Man is
divine. ”
“I wish I could assure myself of the personality of the Cre-
ator,” said Lothair. "I cling to that, but they say it is unphilo-
sophical. ”
“In what sense ? ” asked the Syrian. "Is it more unphilo-
sophical to believe in a personal God, omnipotent and omniscient,
than in natural forces unconscious and irresistible ? Is it
unphilosophical to combine power with intelligence ? Goethe,
a Spinozist who did not believe in Spinoza, said that he could
bring his mind to the conception that in the centre of space we
might meet with a monad of pure intelligence. What may be
the centre of space I leave to the dædal imagination of the
author of Faust'; but a monad of pure intelligence --- is that
more philosophical than the truth first revealed to man amid
these everlasting hills,” said the Syrian, “that God made man
in his own image ? ”
"I have often found in that assurance a source of sublime
consolation,” said Lothair.
« It is the charter of the nobility of man,” said the Syrian,
one of the divine dogmas revealed in this land; not the inven-
tion of councils, not one of which was held on this sacred soil,
confused assemblies first got together by the Greeks, and then
by barbarous nations in barbarous times. ”
“Yet the divine land no longer tells us divine things,” said
Lothair.
"It may or may not have fulfilled its destiny,” said the Syrian.
«In my Father's house are many mansions, and by the various
families of nations the designs of the Creator are accomplished.
God works by races, and one was appointed in due season and
after many developments to reveal and expound in this land the
(
## p. 1656 (#454) ###########################################
1656
LORD BEACONSFIELD
spiritual nature of man. The Aryan and the Semite are of the
same blood and origin, but when they quitted their central land
they were ordained to follow opposite courses. Each division
of the great race has developed one portion of the double nature
of humanity, till, after all their wanderings, they met again, and,
represented by their two choicest families, the Hellenes and the
Hebrews, brought together the treasures of their accumulated
wisdom, and secured the civilization of man. ”
« Those among whom I have lived of late,” said Lothair,
“have taught me to trust much in councils, and to believe that
without them there could be no foundation for the Church. I
observe you do not speak in that vein, though, like myself, you
find solace in those dogmas which recognize the relations between
the created and the Creator. ”
“There can be no religion without that recognition,” said the
Syrian, "and no creed can possibly be devised without such a
recognition that would satisfy man. Why we are here, whence
we come, whither we go— these are questions which man is
organically framed and forced to ask himself, and that would
not be the case if they could not be answered. As for churches
depending on councils, the first council was held more than three
centuries after the Sermon on the Mount. We Syrians had
churches in the interval; no one can deny that. I bow before
the divine decree that swept them away from Antioch to Jerusa-
lem, but I am not yet prepared to transfer my spiritual allegiance
to Italian popes and Greek patriarchs. We believe that our
family were among the first followers of Jesus, and that we then
held lands in Bashan which we hold now. We had a gospel once
in our district where there was some allusion to this, and being
written by neighbors, and probably at the time, I dare say it
was accurate; but the Western Churches declared our gospel was
not authentic, though why I cannot tell, and they succeeded in
extirpating it. It was not an additional reason why we should
enter into their fold. So I am content to dwell in Galilee and
trace the footsteps of my Divine Master, musing over his life
and pregnant sayings amid the mounts he sanctified and the
waters he loved so well. ”
## p. 1657 (#455) ###########################################
1657
BEAUMARCHAIS
(1732-1799)
BY BRANDER MATTHEWS
IERRE AUGUSTIN CARON was born in Paris, January 24th, 1732.
He was the son of a watchmaker, and learned his father's
trade. He invented a new escapement, and was allowed
to call himself «Clockmaker to the King” – Louis XV. At twenty-
four he married a widow, and took the name of Beaumarchais from
a small fief belonging to her. Within a year his wife died. Being a
fine musician, he was appointed instructor of the King's daughters;
and he was quick to turn to good account the influence thus acquired.
In 1764 he made a sudden trip to
Spain to vindicate a sister of his, who
had been betrothed to a man called
Clavijo and whom this Spaniard had
refused to marry. He succeeded in
his mission, and his own brilliant ac-
count of this characteristic episode in
his career suggested to Goethe the
play of Clavigo. ' Beaumarchais him-
self brought back from Madrid a liking
for things Spanish and a knowledge
of Iberian customs and character.
He had been a watchmaker, a musi-
cian, a court official, a speculator, and
it was only when he was thirty-five
BEAUMARCHAIS
that he turned dramatist. Various
French authors, Diderot especially, weary of confinement to tragedy
and comedy, the only two forms then admitted on the French stage,
were seeking a new dramatic formula in which they might treat pa-
thetic situations of modern life; and it is due largely to their efforts
that the modern “play” or “drama,” the story of every-day exist-
ence, has been evolved. The first dramatic attempt of Beaumarchais
was a drama called 'Eugénie,' acted at the Théâtre Français in 1767,
and succeeding just enough to encourage him to try again. The sec-
ond, The Two Friends, acted in 1770, was a frank failure. For the
pathetic, Beaumarchais had little aptitude; and these two serious
efforts were of use to him only so far as their performance may have
helped him to master the many technical difficulties of the theatre.
## p. 1658 (#456) ###########################################
1658
BEAUMARCHAIS
Beaumarchais had married a second time in 1768, and he had
been engaged in various speculations with the financier Pâris-Duver-
ney. In 1770 his wife died, and so did his associate; and he found
himself soon involved in lawsuits, into the details of which it is need-
less to go, but in the course of which he published a series of
memoirs, or statements of his case for the public at large. These
memoirs are among the most vigorous of all polemical writings; they
were very clever and very witty; they were vivacious and audacious;
they were unfailingly interesting; and they were read as eagerly as
the Letters of Junius. ' Personal at first, the suits soon became
political; and part of the public approval given to the attack of
Beaumarchais on judicial injustice was due no doubt to the general
discontent with the existing order in France. His daring conduct of
his own cause made him a personality. He was intrusted with one
secret mission by Louis XV. ; and when Louis XVI. came to the
throne, he managed to get him again employed confidentially.
Not long after his two attempts at the serious drama, he had tried
to turn to account his musical faculty by writing both the book and
the score of a comic opera, which had, however, been rejected by the
Comédie-Italienne (the predecessor of the present Opéra Comique).
After a while Beaumarchais cut out his music and worked over his
plot into a five-act comedy in prose, “The Barber of Seville. It was
produced by the Théâtre Français in 1775, and like the contemporary
(Rivals) of Sheridan, — the one English author with whom Beau-
marchais must always be compared, it was a failure on the first
night and a lasting success after the author had reduced it and rear-
ranged it. “The Barber of Seville) was like the Gil Blas) of Lesage
in that, while it was seemingly Spanish in its scenes, it was in real-
ity essentially French. It contained one of the strongest characters
in literature, — Figaro, a reincarnation of the intriguing servant of
Menander and Plautus and Molière. Simple in plot, ingenious in
incident, brisk in dialogue, broadly effective in character-drawing,
(The Barber of Seville) is the most famous French comedy of the
eighteenth century, with the single exception of its successor from
the same pen, which appeared nine years later.
During those years Beaumarchais was not idle. Like Defoe, he
was always devising projects for money-making. A few months after
( The Barber of Seville) had been acted, the American Revolution
began, and Beaumarchais was a chief agent in supplying the Ameri-
cans with arms, ammunition, and supplies. He had a cruiser of his
own, Le Fier Roderigue, which was in D'Estaing's feet.
It was
fitted up as an Eastern tent. The walls were hung with scarlet
cloth tied up with ropes of gold.
of gold. Round the room crouched
recumbent lions richly gilt, who grasped in their paw a lance,
the top of which was a colored lamp. The ceiling was embla-
zoned with the Hauteville arms, and was radiant with burnished
gold. A cresset lamp was suspended from the centre of the
shield, and not only emitted an equable flow of soft though
brilliant light, but also, as the aromatic oil wasted away, distilled
an exquisite perfume.
The table blazed with golden plate, for the Bird of Paradise
loved splendor. At the end of the room, under a canopy and
upon a throne, the shield and vases lately executed for his Grace
now appeared. Everything was gorgeous, costly, and imposing;
but there was no pretense, save in the original outline, at main-
taining the Oriental character. The furniture was French; and
opposite the throne Canova's Hebe, by Bertolini, bounded with a
golden cup from a pedestal of ormolu.
The guests are séated; but after a few minutes the servants
withdraw. Small tables of ebony and silver, and dumb-waiters of
ivory and gold, conveniently stored, are at hand, and Spiridion
never leaves the room. The repast was most refined, most ex-
quisite, and most various. It was one of those meetings where
all eat. When a few persons, easy and unconstrained, unincum-
bered with cares, and of dispositions addicted to enjoyment, get
together at past midnight, it is extraordinary what an appetite
they evince. Singers also are proverbially prone to gormandize;
and though the Bird of Paradise unfortunately possessed the
smallest mouth in all Singingland, it is astonishing how she
pecked! But they talked as well as feasted, and were really
gay. It was amusing to observe
that is to say,
if
been a dumb-waiter, and had time for observation - how charac-
teristic was the affectation of the women. Lady Squib was witty,
Mrs. Annesley refined, and the pseudo Lady Afy fashionable.
you had
## p. 1644 (#442) ###########################################
1644
LORD BEACONSFIELD
« What
As for Mrs. Montfort, she was, as her wont, somewhat silent but
excessively sublime. The Spaniard said nothing, but no doubt
indicated the possession of Cervantic humor by the sly calmness
with which she exhausted her own waiter and pillaged her neigh-
bors.
The little Frenchwoman scarcely ate anything, but drank
champagne and chatted, with equal rapidity and equal composure.
«Prince,” said the duke, "I hope Madame de Harestein ap-
proves of your trip to England ? »
The prince only smiled, for he was of a silent disposition, and
therefore wonderfully well suited his traveling companion.
« Poor Madame de Harestein! ” exclaimed Count Frill.
despair she was in when you left Vienna, my dear duke. Ah!
mon Dieu ! ! I did what I could to amuse her. I used to take
my guitar, and sing to her morning and night, but without the
least effect. She certainly would have died of a broken heart, if
it had not been for the dancing-dogs. ”
«The dancing-dogs! ” minced the pseudo Lady Aphrodite.
«How shocking! ”
"Did they bite her ? ” asked Lady Squib, and so inoculate her
with gayety ? ”
“Oh! the dancing-dogs, my dear ladies! everybody was mad
about the dancing-dogs. They came from Peru, and danced the
mazurka in green jackets with a jabot! Oh! what a jabot ! »
“I dislike animals excessively,” remarked Mrs. Annesley.
« Dislike the dancing-dogs! ” said Count Frill. "Ah, my good
lady, you would have been enchanted. Even the kaiser fed them
with pistachio nuts. Oh, so pretty! delicate leetle things, soft
shining little legs, and pretty little faces! so sensible, and with
such jabots ! »
“I assure you, they were excessively amusing,” said the
prince, in a soft, confidential undertone to his neighbor, Mrs.
Montfort, who, admiring his silence, which she took for state,
smiled and bowed with fascinating condescension.
"And what else has happened very remarkable, count, since I
left you ? » asked Lord Darrell.
“Nothing, nothing, my dear Darrell. This bêtise of a war has
made us all serious. If old Clamstandt had not married that
gipsy little Dugiria, I really think I should have taken a turn to
Belgrade. ”
“You should not eat so much, poppet,” drawled Charles
Annesley to the Spaniard.
## p. 1645 (#443) ###########################################
LORD BEACONSFIELD
1645
“Why not? ” said the little French lady, with great animation,
always ready to fight anybody's battle, provided she could get an
opportunity to talk. “Why not, Mr. Annesley? You never will
let anybody eat-I never eat myself, because every night, hav-
ing to talk so much, I am dry, dry, dry -- so I drink, drink,
drink. It is an extraordinary thing that there is no language
which makes you so thirsty as French. I always have heard
that all the southern languages, Spanish and Italian, make you
hungry. ”
“What can be the reason ? ” seriously asked the pseudo Lady
Afy.
“Because there is so much salt in it,” said Lord Squib.
Delia,” drawled Mr. Annesley, "you look very pretty to-
night! »
"I am charmed to charm you, Mr. Annesley. Shall I tell you
what Lord Bon Mot said of you ? ”
“No, ma mignonne! I never wish to hear my own good
things. ”
"Spoiled, you should add,” said Lady Squib, "if Bon Mot be
in the case. ”
Lord Bon Mot is a most gentlemanly man,” said Delia,
indignant at an admirer being attacked. “He always wants to
be amusing. Whenever he dines out, he comes and sits with me
half an hour to catch the air of Parisian badinage. ”
“And you tell him a variety of little things? ” asked Lord
Squib, insidiously drawing out the secret tactics of Bon Mot.
Beaucoup, beaucoup,” said Delia, extending two little white
hands sparkling with gems.
“If he come in ever how
do you call it ? heavy — not that in the domps - ah! it is
that — if ever he come in the domps, he goes out always like a
soufflée. ”
“As empty, I have no doubt,” said Lady Squib.
“And as sweet, I have no doubt,” said Lord Squib; «for Del-
croix complains sadly of your excesses, Delia. ”
Mr. Delcroix complain of me! That, indeed, is too bad.
Just because I recommended Montmorency de Versailles to him
excellent customer, ever since he abuses me, merely
because Montmorency has forgot, in the hurry of going off, to
pay his little account. ”
"But he says you have got all the things,” said Lord Squib,
whose great amusement was to put Delia in a passion.
SO -
for an
## p. 1646 (#444) ###########################################
1646
LORD BEACONSFIELD
« 1
“What of that ? ” screamed the little lady. Montmorency
gave them to me. "
"Don't make such a noise," said the Bird of Paradise.
never can eat when there is a noise. St. James, continued she,
in a fretful tone, they make such a noise! ”
Annesley, keep Squib quiet. ”
"Delia, leave that young man alone. If Isidora would talk
a little
you eat a little more, I think you would be
the most agreeable little ladies I know. Poppet! put those bon-
bons in your pocket. You should never eat sugar-plums in com-
(C
more, and
pany. "
unseen
Thus talking agreeable nonsense, tasting agreeable dishes,
and sipping agreeable wines, an hour ran on. Sweetest music
from an
source ever and anon sounded, and Spiridion
swung a censer full of perfumes around the chamber. At length
the duke requested Count Frill to give them a song.
The Bird
of Paradise would never sing for pleasure, only for fame and a
slight check. The count begged to decline, and at the same
time asked for a guitar. The signora sent for hers; and his
Excellency, preluding with a beautiful simper, gave them some
slight thing to this effect:-
Charming Bignetta! charming Bignetta!
What a gay little girl is charming Bignetta!
She dances, she prattles,
She rides and she rattles;
But she always is charming — that charming Bignetta!
Charming Bignetta! charming Bignetta!
What a wild little witch is charming Bignetta!
When she smiles I'm all madness;
When she frowns I'm all sadness;
But she always is smiling — that charming Bignetta!
Charming Bignetta! charming Bignetta!
What a wicked young rogue is charming Bignetta!
She laughs at my shyness,
And flirts with his highness;
Yet still she is charming - that charming Bignetta!
Charming Bignetta! charming Bignetta!
What a dear little girl is charming Bignetta!
« Think me only a sister,”
Said she trembling; I kissed her.
What a charming young sister is - charming Bignetta !
## p. 1647 (#445) ###########################################
LORD BEACONSFIELD
1647
He ceased; and although
«the Ferrarese
To choicer music chimed his gay guitar
In Este's halls,
as Casti himself, or rather Mr. Rose, choicely sings, yet still his
song served its purpose, for it raised a smile.
"I wrote that for Madame Sapiepha, at the Congress of Ve-
rona,” said Count Frill. « It has been thought amusing. ”
“Madame Sapiepha! ” exclaimed the Bird of Paradise.
«What!
that pretty little woman who has such pretty caps ? ”
« The same! Ah! what caps! Mon Dieu ! what taste! what
taste!
“You like caps, then ? ” asked the Bird of Paradise, with a
sparkling eye.
“Oh! if there be anything more than other that I know most,
it is the cap. Here, voici ! ” said he, rather oddly unbuttoning
his waistcoat, "you see what lace I have got. Voici ! voici ! »
Ah! me! what lace! what lace! ) exclaimed the Bird in
rapture. "St. James, look at his lace. Come here, come here,
sit next me. Let me look at that lace. » She examined it with
great attention, then turned up her beautiful eyes with a fascinat-
ing smile. "Ah! c'est jolie, n'est-ce pas ? But you like caps. I
tell you what, you shall see my caps. Spiridion, go, mon cher,
and tell ma'amselle to bring my caps — all my caps, one of each
Set. »
In due time entered the Swiss, with the caps—all the caps -
one of each set. As she handed them in turn to her mistress,
the Bird chirped a panegyric upon each.
“That is pretty, is it not — and this also ? but this is
my
favorite. What do you think of this border ? c'est belle, cette gar-
niture ? et ce jabot, c'est tres séduisant, n'est-ce pas ? Mais voici,
the cap of Princess Lichtenstein. C'est superb, c'est mon favori.
But I also love very much this of the Duchesse de Berri. She
gave me the pattern herself. And after all, this cornette à petite
santé of Lady Blaze is a dear little thing; then, again, this coiffe
à dentelle of Lady Macaroni is quite a pet. ”
« Pass them down,” said Lord Squib, we want to look at
them. " Accordingly they were passed down.
Lord Squib put
>>
one on.
## p. 1648 (#446) ###########################################
1648
LORD BEACONSFIELD
"Do I look superb, sentimental, or only pretty ? ” asked his
lordship. The example was contagious, and most of the caps
were appropriated. No one laughed more than their mistress,
who, not having the slightest idea of the value of money, would
have given them all away on the spot; not from any good-natured
feeling, but from the remembrance that to-morrow she might
amuse half an hour buying others.
While some were stealing, and she remonstrating, the duke
clapped his hands like a caliph. The curtain at the end of the
apartment was immediately withdrawn and the ball-room stood
revealed.
It was of the same size as the banqueting-hall. Its walls
exhibited a long perspective of gilt pilasters, the frequent piers of
which were entirely of plate looking-glass, save where occasion-
ally a picture had been, as it were, inlaid in its rich frame.
Here was the Titian Venus of the Tribune, deliciously copied
by a French artist; there, the Roman Fornarina, with her deli-
cate grace, beamed like the personification of Raphael's genius.
Here Zuleikha, living in the light and shade of that magician
Guercino, in vain summoned the passions of the blooming He-
brew; and there Cleopatra, preparing for her last immortal hour,
proved by what we saw that Guido had been a lover.
The ceiling of this apartment was richly painted and richly
gilt; from it were suspended three lustres by golden cords,
which threw a softened light upon the floor of polished and curi-
ously inlaid woods. At the end of the apartment was an orches-
tra, and here the pages, under the direction of Carlstein, offered
a very efficient domestic band.
Round the room waltzed the elegant revelers. Softly and
slowly, led by their host, they glided along like spirits of air;
but each time that the duke passed the musicians, the music
became livelier, and the motion more brisk, till at length you
might have mistaken them for a college of spinning dervishes.
One by one, an exhausted couple slunk away. Some threw
themselves on a sofa, some monopolized an easy-chair; but in
twenty minutes all the dancers had disappeared. At length Pea-
cock Piggott gave a groan, which denoted returning energy, and
raised a stretching leg in air, bringing up, though most unwit-
tingly, on his foot one of the Bird's sublime and beautiful caps.
“Halloo! Piggott, armed cap au pied, I see," said Lord Squib.
This joke was a signal for general resuscitation.
## p. 1649 (#447) ###########################################
LORD BEACONSFIELD
1649
Here they lounged in different parties, talking on such sub-
jects as idlers ever fall upon; now and then plucking a flower -
now and then listening to the fountain — now and then lingering
over the distant music — and now and then strolling through a
small apartment which opened to their walks, and which bore the
title of the Temple of Gnidus. Here Canova's Venus breathed
an atmosphere of perfume and of light--that wonderful statue
whose full-charged eye is not very classical, to be sure - but
then, how true!
Lord Squib proposed a visit to the theatre, which he had
ordered to be lit up. To the theatre they repaired. They
rambled over every part of the house, amused themselves, to
the horror of Mr. Annesley, with a visit to the gallery, and then
collected behind the scenes. They were excessively amused
with the properties; and Lord Squib proposed they should dress
themselves. Enough champagne had been quaffed to render
any proposition palatable, and in a few minutes they were all
in costume. A crowd of queens and chambermaids, Jews and
chimney-sweeps, lawyers and charleys, Spanish dons and Irish
officers, rushed upon the stage. The little Spaniard was Alma-
viva, and fell into magnificent attitudes, with her sword and
plume. Lord Squib was the old woman of Brentford, and very
funny. Sir Lucius Grafton, Harlequin; and Darrell, Grimaldi.
The prince and the count, without knowing it, figured as watch-
men. Squib whispered Annesley that Sir Lucius O'Trigger
might appear in character, but was prudent enough to suppress
the joke.
The band was summoned, and they danced quadrilles with
infinite spirit, and finished the night, at the suggestion of Lord
Squib, by breakfasting on the stage. By the time this meal
was dispatched, the purple light of morn had broken into the
building, and the ladies proposed an immediate departure. Mrs.
Montfort and her sister were sent home in one of the duke's
carriages; and the foreign guests were requested by him to be
their escort. The respective parties drove off. Two cabriolets
lingered to the last, and finally carried away the French actress
and the Spanish dancer, Lord Darrell, and Peacock Piggott; but
whether the two gentlemen went in one and two ladies in the
other I cannot aver. I hope not.
There was at length a dead silence, and the young duke was
left to solitude and the signora!
III-104
## p. 1650 (#448) ###########################################
1650
LORD BEACONSFIELD
SQUIBS FROM THE YOUNG DUKE)
CHARLES ANNESLEY
D*
ANDY has been voted vulgar, and beau is now the word. I
doubt whether the revival will stand; and as for the ex-
ploded title, though it had its faults at first, the muse or
Byron has made it not only English, but classical. However, I
dare say I can do without either of these words at present.
Charles Annesley could hardly be called a dandy or a beau.
There was nothing in his dress, though some mysterious arrange-
ment in his costume some rare simplicity — some curious happi-
ness — always made it distinguished; there was nothing, however,
in his dress which could account for the influence which he
exercised over the manners of his contemporaries. Charles
Annesley was about thirty. He had inherited from his father, a
younger brother, a small estate; and though heir to a wealthy
earldom, he had never abused what the world called “his pros-
pects. ” Yet his establishments — his little house in Mayfair --
his horses — his moderate stud at Melton — were all unique, and
everything connected with him was unparalleled for its elegance,
its invention, and its refinement. But his manner was his magic.
His natural and subdued nonchalance, so different from the
assumed non-emotion of a mere dandy; his coldness of heart,
which was hereditary, not acquired; his cautious courage, and his
unadulterated self-love, had permitted him to mingle much with
mankind without being too deeply involved in the play of their
passions; while his exquisite sense of the ridiculous quickly
revealed those weaknesses to him which his delicate satire did
not spare, even while it refrained from wounding.
All feared,
many admired, and none hated him.
He was too powerful not
to dread, too dexterous not to admire, too superior to hate.
Perhaps the great secret of his manner was his exquisite super-
ciliousness; a quality which, of all, is the most difficult to man-
age. Even with his intimates he was never confidential, and
perpetually assumed his public character with the private coterie
which he loved to rule. On the whole, he was unlike any of the
leading men of modern days, and rather reminded one of the
fine gentlemen of our old brilliant comedy — the Dorimants, the
Bellairs, and the Mirabels.
## p. 1651 (#449) ###########################################
LORD BEACONSFIELD
1651
The FUSSY HOSTESS
MEN shrink from a fussy woman. And few can aspire to regu-
late the destinies of their species, even in so slight a point as
an hour's amusement, without rare powers. There is no greater
sin than to be trop prononcée. A want of tact is worse than a
want of virtue. Some women, it is said, work on pretty well
against the tide without the last. I never knew one who did
not sink who ever dared to sail without the first.
Loud when they should be low, quoting the wrong person,
talking on the wrong subject, teasing with notice, excruciating
with attentions, disturbing a tête-à-tête in order to make up a
dance; wasting eloquence in persuading a man to participate in
amusement whose reputation depends on his social sullenness;
exacting homage with a restless eye, and not permitting the least
worthy knot to be untwined without their divinityships' inter-
ference; patronizing the meek, anticipating the slow, intoxicating
with compliment, plastering with praise that you in return may
gild with flattery: in short, energetic without elegance, active
without grace, and loquacious without wit; mistaking bustle for
style, raillery for badinage, and noise for gayety — these are the
characters who mar the very career they think they are creating,
and who exercise a fatal influence on the destinies of all those
who have the misfortune to be connected with them.
PUBLIC SPEAKING
ELOQUENCE is the child of Knowledge. When a mind is full,
like a wholesome river, it is also clear. Confusion and obscurity
are much oftener the results of ignorance than of inefficiency.
Few are the men who cannot express their meaning when the
occasion demands the energy; as the lowest will defend their
lives with acuteness, and sometimes even with eloquence. They
are masters of their subject. Knowledge must be gained by our-
selves. Mankind may supply us with facts; but the results, even
if they agree with previous ones, must be the work of our own
mind. To make others feel, we must feel ourselves; and to feel
ourselves, we must be natural. This we can never be when we
are vomiting forth the dogmas of the schools. Knowledge is not
a mere collection of words; and it is a delusion to suppose that
thought can be obtained by the aid of any other intellect than
## p. 1652 (#450) ###########################################
1652
LORD BEACONSFIELD
our own. What is repetition, by a curious mystery, ceases to be
truth, even if it were truth when it was first heard; as the
shadow in a mirror, though it move and mimic all the actions of
vitality, is not life. When a man is not speaking or writing
from his own mind, he is as insipid company as a looking-glass.
Before a man can address a popular assembly with command,
he must know something of mankind, and he can know nothing
of mankind without he knows something of himself. Self-knowl-
edge is the property of that man whose passions have their play,
but who ponders over their results. Such a man sympathizes by
inspiration with his kind. He has a key to every heart.
He can
divine, in the flash of a single thought, all that they require, all
that they wish. Such a man speaks to their very core. All feel
that a master hand tears off the veil of cant, with which, from
necessity, they have enveloped their souls; for cant is nothing
more than the sophistry which results from attempting to account
for what is unintelligible, or to defend what is improper.
FEMALE BEAUTY
some
THERE are
sorts of beauty which defy description, and
almost scrutiny. Some faces rise upon us in the tumult of life,
like stars from out the sea, or as if they had moved out of a
picture. Our first impression is anything but fleshly. We are
struck dumb — we gasp for breath — our limbs quiver-a faint-
ness glides over our frame — we are awed; instead of gazing
upon the apparition, we avert the eyes, which yet will feed upon
its beauty. A strange sort of unearthly pain mixes with the
intense pleasure. And not till, with a struggle, we call back to
our memory the commonplaces of existence, can we recover our
commonplace demeanor. These, indeed, are rare visions — these,
indeed, are early feelings, when our young existence leaps with
its mountain torrents; but as the river of our life rolls on, our
eyes grow dimmer, or our blood more cold.
## p. 1653 (#451) ###########################################
LORD BEACOXSFIELD
1653
LOTHAIR IN PALESTINE
From (Lothair)
A
PERSON approached Lothair by the pathway from Bethany.
It was the Syrian gentleman whom he had met at the con-
sulate. As he was passing Lothair, he saluted him with
the grace which had been before remarked; and Lothair, who
was by nature courteous, and even inclined a little to ceremony
in his manners, especially with those with whom he was not inti-
mate, immediately rose, as he would not receive such a salutation
in a reclining posture.
“Let me not disturb you, said the stranger; “or, if we must
be on equal terms, let me also be seated, for this is a view that
never palls. ”
“It is perhaps familiar to you,” said Lothair; “but with me,
only a pilgrim, its effect is fascinating, almost overwhelming. ”
« The view of Jerusalem never becomes familiar,” said the
Syrian; “for its associations are so transcendent, so various, so
inexhaustible, that the mind can never anticipate its course of
thought and feeling, when one sits, as we do now, on this immor-
tal mount. ”
"I have often wished to visit the Sea of Galilee,” said
Lothair.
“Well, you have now an opportunity,” said the Syrian: "the
north of Palestine, though it has no tropical splendor, has much
variety and a peculiar natural charm. The burst and brightness
of spring have not yet quite vanished; you would find our plains
radiant with wild-flowers, and our hills green with young crops,
and though we cannot rival Lebanon, we have forest glades
among our famous hills that when once seen are remembered. ”
“ But there is something to me more interesting than the
splendor of tropical scenery,” said Lothair, “even if Galilee
could offer it. I wish to visit the cradle of my faith. ”
“And you would do wisely,” said the Syrian, "for there is no
doubt the spiritual nature of man is developed in this land. ”
“And yet there are persons at the present day who doubt
even deny — the spiritual nature of man,” said Lothair. "I do
not, I could not — there are reasons why I could not. ”
“There are some things I know, and some things I believe,”
said the Syrian. “I know that I have a soul, and I believe that
it is immortal. ”
## p. 1654 (#452) ###########################################
1654
LORD BEACONSFIELD
"It is science that, by demonstrating the insignificance of this
globe in the vast scale of creation, has led to this infidelity,” said
Lothair.
« Science may prove the insignificance of this globe in the
scale of creation,” said the stranger, “but it cannot prove the
insignificance of man. What is the earth compared with the sun ?
a molehill by a mountain; yet the inhabitants of this earth can
discover the elements of which the great orb consists, and will
probably ere long ascertain all the conditions of its being. Nay,
the human mind can penetrate far beyond the sun. There is no
relation, therefore, between the faculties of man and the scale in
creation of the planet which he inhabits. ”
"I was glad to hear you assert the other night the spiritual
nature of man in opposition to Mr. Phoebus. ”
"Ah, Mr. Phæbus! ” said the stranger, with a smile. «He is
an old acquaintance of mine. And I must say he is very con-
sistent— except in paying a visit to Jerusalem. That does surprise
me. He said to me the other night the same things as he said
to me at Rome many years ago.
He would revive the worship
of Nature. The deities whom he so eloquently describes and so
exquisitely delineates are the ideal personifications of the most
eminent human qualities, and chiefly the physical. Physical
beauty is his standard of excellence, and he has a fanciful theory
that moral order would be the consequence of the worship of
physical beauty; for without moral order he holds physical beauty
cannot be maintained. But the answer to Mr. Phoebus is, that
his system has been tried and has failed, and under conditions
more favorable than are likely to exist again; the worship of
Nature ended in the degradation of the human race. ”
“But Mr. Phæbus cannot really believe in Apollo and Venus,
said Lothair. « These are phrases. He is, I suppose, what is
called a Pantheist. ”
"No doubt the Olympus of Mr. Phoebus is the creation of
his easel,” replied the Syrian. "I should not, however, describe
him as a Pantheist, whose creed requires more abstraction than
Mr. Phoebus, the worshiper of Nature, would tolerate. His school
never care to pursue any investigation which cannot be followed
by the eye--and the worship of the beautiful always ends in an
orgy
As for Pantheism, it is Atheism in domino. The belief
in a Creator who is unconscious of creating is more monstrous
than any dogma of any of the churches in this city, and we have
them all here. ”
## p. 1655 (#453) ###########################################
LORD BEACONSFIELD
1655
“But there are people now who tell you that there never
was any creation, and therefore there never could have been a
Creator,” said Lothair.
“And which is now advanced with the confidence of novelty,”
said the Syrian, though all of it has been urged, and vainly
urged, thousands of years ago. There must be design, or all we
see would be without sense, and I do not believe in the unmean-
ing. As for the natural forces to which all creation is now
attributed, we know they are unconscious, while consciousness is
as inevitable a portion of our existence as the eye or the hand.
The conscious cannot be derived from the unconscious. Man is
divine. ”
“I wish I could assure myself of the personality of the Cre-
ator,” said Lothair. "I cling to that, but they say it is unphilo-
sophical. ”
“In what sense ? ” asked the Syrian. "Is it more unphilo-
sophical to believe in a personal God, omnipotent and omniscient,
than in natural forces unconscious and irresistible ? Is it
unphilosophical to combine power with intelligence ? Goethe,
a Spinozist who did not believe in Spinoza, said that he could
bring his mind to the conception that in the centre of space we
might meet with a monad of pure intelligence. What may be
the centre of space I leave to the dædal imagination of the
author of Faust'; but a monad of pure intelligence --- is that
more philosophical than the truth first revealed to man amid
these everlasting hills,” said the Syrian, “that God made man
in his own image ? ”
"I have often found in that assurance a source of sublime
consolation,” said Lothair.
« It is the charter of the nobility of man,” said the Syrian,
one of the divine dogmas revealed in this land; not the inven-
tion of councils, not one of which was held on this sacred soil,
confused assemblies first got together by the Greeks, and then
by barbarous nations in barbarous times. ”
“Yet the divine land no longer tells us divine things,” said
Lothair.
"It may or may not have fulfilled its destiny,” said the Syrian.
«In my Father's house are many mansions, and by the various
families of nations the designs of the Creator are accomplished.
God works by races, and one was appointed in due season and
after many developments to reveal and expound in this land the
(
## p. 1656 (#454) ###########################################
1656
LORD BEACONSFIELD
spiritual nature of man. The Aryan and the Semite are of the
same blood and origin, but when they quitted their central land
they were ordained to follow opposite courses. Each division
of the great race has developed one portion of the double nature
of humanity, till, after all their wanderings, they met again, and,
represented by their two choicest families, the Hellenes and the
Hebrews, brought together the treasures of their accumulated
wisdom, and secured the civilization of man. ”
« Those among whom I have lived of late,” said Lothair,
“have taught me to trust much in councils, and to believe that
without them there could be no foundation for the Church. I
observe you do not speak in that vein, though, like myself, you
find solace in those dogmas which recognize the relations between
the created and the Creator. ”
“There can be no religion without that recognition,” said the
Syrian, "and no creed can possibly be devised without such a
recognition that would satisfy man. Why we are here, whence
we come, whither we go— these are questions which man is
organically framed and forced to ask himself, and that would
not be the case if they could not be answered. As for churches
depending on councils, the first council was held more than three
centuries after the Sermon on the Mount. We Syrians had
churches in the interval; no one can deny that. I bow before
the divine decree that swept them away from Antioch to Jerusa-
lem, but I am not yet prepared to transfer my spiritual allegiance
to Italian popes and Greek patriarchs. We believe that our
family were among the first followers of Jesus, and that we then
held lands in Bashan which we hold now. We had a gospel once
in our district where there was some allusion to this, and being
written by neighbors, and probably at the time, I dare say it
was accurate; but the Western Churches declared our gospel was
not authentic, though why I cannot tell, and they succeeded in
extirpating it. It was not an additional reason why we should
enter into their fold. So I am content to dwell in Galilee and
trace the footsteps of my Divine Master, musing over his life
and pregnant sayings amid the mounts he sanctified and the
waters he loved so well. ”
## p. 1657 (#455) ###########################################
1657
BEAUMARCHAIS
(1732-1799)
BY BRANDER MATTHEWS
IERRE AUGUSTIN CARON was born in Paris, January 24th, 1732.
He was the son of a watchmaker, and learned his father's
trade. He invented a new escapement, and was allowed
to call himself «Clockmaker to the King” – Louis XV. At twenty-
four he married a widow, and took the name of Beaumarchais from
a small fief belonging to her. Within a year his wife died. Being a
fine musician, he was appointed instructor of the King's daughters;
and he was quick to turn to good account the influence thus acquired.
In 1764 he made a sudden trip to
Spain to vindicate a sister of his, who
had been betrothed to a man called
Clavijo and whom this Spaniard had
refused to marry. He succeeded in
his mission, and his own brilliant ac-
count of this characteristic episode in
his career suggested to Goethe the
play of Clavigo. ' Beaumarchais him-
self brought back from Madrid a liking
for things Spanish and a knowledge
of Iberian customs and character.
He had been a watchmaker, a musi-
cian, a court official, a speculator, and
it was only when he was thirty-five
BEAUMARCHAIS
that he turned dramatist. Various
French authors, Diderot especially, weary of confinement to tragedy
and comedy, the only two forms then admitted on the French stage,
were seeking a new dramatic formula in which they might treat pa-
thetic situations of modern life; and it is due largely to their efforts
that the modern “play” or “drama,” the story of every-day exist-
ence, has been evolved. The first dramatic attempt of Beaumarchais
was a drama called 'Eugénie,' acted at the Théâtre Français in 1767,
and succeeding just enough to encourage him to try again. The sec-
ond, The Two Friends, acted in 1770, was a frank failure. For the
pathetic, Beaumarchais had little aptitude; and these two serious
efforts were of use to him only so far as their performance may have
helped him to master the many technical difficulties of the theatre.
## p. 1658 (#456) ###########################################
1658
BEAUMARCHAIS
Beaumarchais had married a second time in 1768, and he had
been engaged in various speculations with the financier Pâris-Duver-
ney. In 1770 his wife died, and so did his associate; and he found
himself soon involved in lawsuits, into the details of which it is need-
less to go, but in the course of which he published a series of
memoirs, or statements of his case for the public at large. These
memoirs are among the most vigorous of all polemical writings; they
were very clever and very witty; they were vivacious and audacious;
they were unfailingly interesting; and they were read as eagerly as
the Letters of Junius. ' Personal at first, the suits soon became
political; and part of the public approval given to the attack of
Beaumarchais on judicial injustice was due no doubt to the general
discontent with the existing order in France. His daring conduct of
his own cause made him a personality. He was intrusted with one
secret mission by Louis XV. ; and when Louis XVI. came to the
throne, he managed to get him again employed confidentially.
Not long after his two attempts at the serious drama, he had tried
to turn to account his musical faculty by writing both the book and
the score of a comic opera, which had, however, been rejected by the
Comédie-Italienne (the predecessor of the present Opéra Comique).
After a while Beaumarchais cut out his music and worked over his
plot into a five-act comedy in prose, “The Barber of Seville. It was
produced by the Théâtre Français in 1775, and like the contemporary
(Rivals) of Sheridan, — the one English author with whom Beau-
marchais must always be compared, it was a failure on the first
night and a lasting success after the author had reduced it and rear-
ranged it. “The Barber of Seville) was like the Gil Blas) of Lesage
in that, while it was seemingly Spanish in its scenes, it was in real-
ity essentially French. It contained one of the strongest characters
in literature, — Figaro, a reincarnation of the intriguing servant of
Menander and Plautus and Molière. Simple in plot, ingenious in
incident, brisk in dialogue, broadly effective in character-drawing,
(The Barber of Seville) is the most famous French comedy of the
eighteenth century, with the single exception of its successor from
the same pen, which appeared nine years later.
During those years Beaumarchais was not idle. Like Defoe, he
was always devising projects for money-making. A few months after
( The Barber of Seville) had been acted, the American Revolution
began, and Beaumarchais was a chief agent in supplying the Ameri-
cans with arms, ammunition, and supplies. He had a cruiser of his
own, Le Fier Roderigue, which was in D'Estaing's feet.
