"That where that pestilence, play, once leaves a taint,It saps the bone, and pierces to the marrow,And then 'tis easier to extract an arrow."
"That where that pestilence, play, once leaves a taint,It saps the bone, and pierces to the marrow,And then 'tis easier to extract an arrow."
How willing we all are to put off the evil moment: to string anecdote on anecdote, and weave parenthesis in parenthesis, rather than come to the point! Does it not remind us of the tricks of the wrestler to avoid the grasp of his more powerful antagonist? But it must come: so let me proceed with my confession.
As I was leaving the room, the prince came up to me and said, "Demain voulez-vous, Monsieur, être des notres?—There is a dinner at thesalon, and I will take you with me as my 'umbra,' and present you to the Marquis—." In an evil hour I consented.
Themaisons de jeuat Paris are farmed by a society, who purchase of the government the privilege of opening a certain limited number—if I remember right, five. In order to prevent unfair play, acommisof the police is in daily attendance at the opening of the packs of cards, and they are lodged in the office every night. So far so good. But the advantages in favour of the bank are so great, that after the payment of several hundred thousand pounds sterling to the revenue, after defraying the expenses of hotels, cashiers, croupiers, lackeys, &c. &c. theassociésdivide twenty or thirty per cent. At the head of these establishments is thesalon des étrangers. The prime minister, or master of the ceremonies, was then the Marquis de L——. He was the last of theaisles de pigeon, which he worebien poudrées. He had been anemigré, and, like many of them, had passed twenty years in England without knowing a word of the language. He was distinguished by an ease of manner and a politeness, though rather exaggerated, of thevieille cour. Soon after my introduction to him he lost his appointment, it having been discovered that the cashier,by some mistake, nightly gave him fifty napoleons in exchange for a billet of five hundred francs. By-the-by, the office of president of thesalonwas in considerable request, and was afterwards filled by a general officer who had once been in the English service.
It was one of the dinners that were given three times a-week. We passed through a range of servants in splendid liveries, to thesalon à manger, where I found sixty guests, consisting, not only of the foreigners most distinguished for rank, fortune, and consideration, butpairs de France, deputésof all parties,—in fact, theéliteof Paris. Before each, was placed acarte. It was not one of your English bills of fare, with itsplats de resistance; but earth, air, and ocean had been ransacked, and all the skill of the most consummateartistesemployed to furnish out the table. Every sort of wine circulated in quick succession; but, when I looked around me, I saw no hilarity in this assembly. The viands seemed to pall upon the taste, the goblet passed unquaffed. Gambling is the most selfish of vices; it admits of no society; every one seemed too much occupied with his own thoughts even to address his neighbour. Was I happy myself? No. The soul instinctively seems to foresee all the miseries that originate from a single false step, inspiring us with certain vague apprehensions that with a vain casuistry we endeavour to dissipate. In fact, I never enjoyed a dinner less; and was as pleased at its termination as most of the party were anxious for the real object of the meeting—le commencement de la fin, ou la fin du commencement—le jeu.
The hotel where we assembled was of the time of Louis the Fifteenth, and had belonged to one of his numerous mistresses; the taste, however, of his predecessor reigned there. In front was acour d'honneur, large enough to drawn the rattle of carriages and noise from without; and behind, was a garden laid out in the English style, and full of odoriferous shrubs, then in full bloom, particularly the lilac, the laburnum, and the red-thorn, that wafted their perfume through the unfolded doors, whilst at intervals was heard the plashing of a fountain. The three principal rooms, two of which were dedicated torouge et noirand French hazard, were in shape octagonal; the compartments, which were fantastically chased, and rich in gilding, served as a frame-work to pictures in the manner of Watteau, and probably by the hand of one of his pupils. The ceilings were similar in taste, and described some exploits of Jupiter, whose representative was the monarch himself according to the fashion of the day. The only light in each of these apartments, proceeded from a lamp shaded by green silk, that diffused its mellow and softened rays around, and threw a brilliant and dazzling effulgence on the table. Along the centre were ranged the dealers and bankers; and before them heaps of gold and silver, andbillets de banc, and red and white counters, their representatives. On both sides were the players; and the broad glare, shadowless and impending, displayed their features. Many of them were known to me by name. There was, with his noble and portly figure and countenance, much resembling the busts of Charles Fox, the late Earl of T——, who with perfectsangfroidlost his twenty-five thousand pounds a-year, and thought the only use of money was to buy pieces of ivory marked with numbers on them, and that the next pleasure in life to winning, was to lose. To his right was B—— H——, with his handsome profile, Hyperion locks, and unmeaning red-and-white face, incapable of an expression either of joy or chagrin: Lord M——, who went by the sobriquet of Père la Chaise; S——, bent double with care, and wrinkled with premature old age; the young and emaciated Lord Y——, the only one of his family who resembles his father, and inheriting from him the same propensity: and by his side Benjamin Constant, whose ardent spirit, like the volcano under Vesuvius, was for ever breaking out in the excitement of love, or politics, or play; his hair was grey, as if scorched by the working of his brain; his frame consumed as by an inward fire; his cheek bloodless as that of a corpse, for which, but for his eye, he might have been taken;—there was a desolateness in every trait of his countenance, and nervous sensibility accompanied every cast of the die that it was painful to witness. These were some of thecrêpesparty. The Prince M—— was not among them: he had found more attractive metal—was closeted in a cabinet at écarté.
For some hours I looked on, as an indifferent spectator. I had come fortified by a long colloquy held with myself, the result of which was a determination not to be duped. I had had too much experience of the world to fall into the snare—I had resisted many worse temptations—I knew too well the chances to risk even the few napoleons cautiously put into my purse. "Facilis descensus Averni," says the poet. Insensibly I took an interest in the game. I flattered my self-vanity by thinking that, when such a one threw in, I should not have been on thecontre, or should have withdrawn my money before hesauted,—that I should have taken the odds, or betted them differently from Lord This or MonsieurTel. In short, for me the veil of Isis was lifted, the mysteries of play revealed. I alone wasinspired; and so for once it was to prove. One of the circle left his seat, and I filled up the vacancy. I sat writhing till my turn came. All had thrown out, and all had backed the casters. I now took the box: by my clumsy way of handling it, and shaking the dice, it was perceived that I was a tyro. And now thecontrewas covered with gold and notes: "Seven!" I cried; "eleven's the nick!" I changed the main: still my luck continued. In short, I threw in nine times, leaving all my winnings to accumulate, and found myself in possession of twenty-four thousand francs. It was now suggested to me that the bank was only responsible for twelve thousand. Twice more did I tempt Fortune, and with equal success; and then handed over the box, and gave up my place to a new comer; and, without any one seeming to notice my departure, betook myself to my apartment—but not to sleep. I was in a fever of delight; visions more enchanting than those of Eldorado visited my couch. I had found the magic wand,—had gained the golden branch in the Æneid,—opened to myself a mine of wealth,—an inexhaustible treasure. At daybreak I raised myself in the bed, and counted it,—arranged in heaps the glittering treasure. I had all Paris in my hand! I would have an hotel, I would have horses, carriages, all that wealth could purchase should be mine. That gold which others sighed for, toiled for, sinned for, was mine, easily obtained, and won expressly to be spent. Horace, when in his poetic dream of immortality he cried "Album mutor in alitem," and soared above the heads of the admiring world, felt no raptures compared with mine.
My success was soon blazoned abroad, and my gains exaggerated. In the course of the day I had a visit of congratulation from the prince. "There is a fête and ball at Frascati," said he, on taking leave; "you will be there?" There was a devilish smile on his face. It was the first time I had ever seen him smile.
It was ten o'clock, and that temple of Circe was flooded with light, and filled with women and men of all ages;—no, not of all, for one of the conditions of admission is, besides being well dressed, that a person must beof age.Le Jeuhas no objection to the gold of a father, a lover, or a husband; but he disdains the pocket-money of a minor. He has great respect for all the decencies of life: he requires a well-filled purse and an elegant toilette. Enter, ye rich and lively!—come, and welcome! There is sure to be gold where there are women, and woman where there is gold.
At the entrance of this hell, thelaquais, after a scrutiny of my person, took my hat, and, by means of an iron instrument attached to a long pole, with a practised dexterity lifted it to peg 200, where it assumed its place in the well-marshalled ranks of its comrades. I afterwards observed that it was the only thing most of the owners carried away with them.
The first room was occupied by a roulette table. The grand saloon,—of which there is, or was, an admirable picture in the Oxford Street Bazaar, containing the well-known portraits of very many who frequented it,—is dedicated torouge et noir, ortrente et quarante, and was encircled two or three deep by a crowd of both sexes, all preserving a profound silence, only interrupted by theMessieurs, faites votre jeu!—Le jeu est fait!—Rien plus!of the dealer; for the noise of theratliersthat had shovelled the gold and five-franc pieces into a heaphad ceased, and all were breathlessly awaiting thecoup. Thecoupwas made:quarante: Rouge gagne. It was then a horrid sight to mark the expression of the different feelings that agitated this assembly—this Pandæmonium! Some tore their hair from their heads in handsful,—some gnashed their teeth like the damned in the Sistine chapel,—others, their eyes almost starting out of their sockets, uttered horrid oaths, and blasphemous exclamations,—and one, who had his hand in his breast, withdrew it, dyed in blood, without being sensible of the wounds his nails had inflicted! But, as if this spectacle of tortured and degraded humanity were not enough, it was still more appalling to observe the countenances of the women, who had staked their last louis on the turn of the card! Their splendid dresses, their silks and gauze, theircachemires de l'Inde, that glitter of gold and gems, their necklaces of pearl, and ear-rings of diamond,—all that serves to heighten and embellish beauty, by a horrid contrast only gave them a greater deformity, reminding us of Pauline Borghese on her death-bed daubing her cadaverous cheeks with rouge, and tricking herself out in the same magnificent costume she had worn in the Tuileries when she shone the wonder and admiration of Paris; assuming in the last agonies of dissolution the voluptuous attitude she had chosen for that masterpiece of art, that wonderful creation of the greatest of modern sculptors, Canova.
Oh! that these Phrynes could at that moment have seen in the mirrors that on all sides reflected them, their hollow eyes—their violet lips—their livid cheeks! The snakes of Leonardo's Medusa would have made them perfect. No; they had no eyes or ears but for that hideous old Sultan whose seraglio they had formed,—le Jeu.
Therouge et noirtable being thusagreeablyfilled, I sat down to roulette, and placed before me my packet of notes; being determined this time to break the bank. I turned some of mybilletsinto gold, and began, during the revolutions of the wheel of Fortune, to cover the cyphers. Sixty-two times the original stake would be good interest for less than as many seconds! Now for my inspiration—but this time my spirit of prophecy had fled. There was no prize for me. The ball still made its accustomed rounds, and lost itself in some number where I had no stake: now it bounded along, and hung suspended like a bird hovering over its nest; and then, just as it was about to crown my wishes, took a new spring, and, with a provoking coquetry, lavished its favours on one who had not courted them with half, perhaps only the twentieth part, of the fervour I had done. Sometimes, as if to lead me on in the pursuit, she tantalised me by hiding herself in the next number to that I had chosen; and then, the succeeding minute crushed all my hopes, and reduced them to nothing, with some zero rouge or zero blanc, or the double misery of two zeros.
I now gave up the lottery of numbers, and betook myself to that of colours. Still I was no diviner. If I made black my favourite, there was sure to be a run on red; andvice versâ. I lost my coolness—my temper. I doubled my stakes,—trebled them. Still theratliersdid their merciless office; thecroupiersstill with imperturbable nonchalance swept into a gulph, from which was no return, my notes and gold. In short, in a few hours, I was not only stript of all my winnings, but had borrowed of one of the lackeys three thousand francs,which I was to return the next morning, with a premium of two per cent. He was one of the myrmidons of thesalon des étrangers, and knew I had theentrée, and that the loan was a safe one; nay, he pressed me to borrow more: but—ohe, jam satis!—I hurried to my porter's lodge, and thence to my apartment, but in a widely different mood to that in which I had entered it the night before. All the scenes of wealth and riches that my imagination had conjured up, had vanished. I had horrid dreams. The curtain was withdrawn; it showed me the sad reality of all that had happened, and all that was to happen.
The next day I locked my room-door, and held a long dialogue with my conscience. I felt two powers at work within me—two inclinations striving for mastery—two persons, as it were, one acting against and in spite of the other. I endeavoured to arm myself against myself. It was a violent struggle between the principles of good and evil. Whether, like Hercules, I should have made the same choice, I know not; but vice never wants for arguments or supporters, and in the afternoon came an invitation, by one of his emissaries, from the prince, to dine with him. My foible—the rock on which I have made shipwreck—has been, that I never could say, no. I accepted it.
Besides the inseparables, were present, on this occasion, a Prussian colonel and a Polish count. The dinner wasrecherché; the dishes having been sent from differentrestaurantsfamous for theircuisine: theravioli, for instance, from an Italian house, and theomelette Russefrom thecafé de Paris. The mock and real champagne were well iced, and the Chambertín a bouquet of violets. I endeavoured to find a Lethe in the glass, which circulated freely, though it only circulated; for the prince, on the plea of health, drank lemonade, and his guests, as the Italians say, baptised their Lafitte with water. Two nights such as I had passed did not diminish the effect of the wine; and when it was proposed to play at faro, though I knew nothing of the game, I made no objection. It was suggested that the baron should be banker. He had come ready prepared; opened his strong box, and produced his five hundred louis. The practised neatness with which he turned up the cards, the accuracy of his calculations, and correctness of his accounts, might have excited the admiration of anycroupierat thesalon; certainly none of them understood hismétierbetter. I began with very small stakes, which were unlimited. I soon, however, followed the example of the circle, and played higher. I lost. The two strangers appeared to lose also, and retired at an early hour.
I had added one hundred louis to the baron's capital. Whilst I was in search of my hat to make my escape, A—— had been employed in preparing an écarté pack, and offered to give me myrevanche; our host encouraging me to take it by saying he would back me.
I sat down; and, as the prince was interested in the result, I asked his advice, but he told me, he never gave or took it. My adversary had an extraordinary run of luck,—almost alwaysvoledme when I did not propose, and scored the king so often that I could not help observing it. The prince in the mean time walked about the room, occasionally looking over my cards; at length he declined participating in my stakes, and betted with me largely on his own account. Ill fortune continued to pursue me; still I played higher and higher,till my score had swelled to a frightful amount. My immense losses sobered me, and I then had my suspicions that all was not right. Opposite to the table was a mirror over the chimney, which extended from the marble-slab to the ceiling. I was fronting it, when I perceived by the reflection, the prince standing over my shoulder: he was taking snuff, and, in the act of so doing, raised up his fingers in a manner that excited my attention. I now determined to watch the pair more closely. I observed that the German always awaited the sign before he decided on proposing or refusing; and once inadvertently did so, without even looking at his own hand. It is true, we were both at four, but I had not anatoutor court-card: the consequence was, that I lost the game. It was now clear that I had fallen into the hands of sharpers. I found myself minus thirty thousand francs. Throwing down the pack, I got up, and walked about the room for some time, in order to collect my thoughts and consider how to act. Though confident of having been cheated; almost unknown as I was in Paris, I was aware it would not be easy to convince their numerous and powerful friends of the fact. I therefore determined to pay the money, and insult one or the other so grossly that he must give me myrevanchein a different way. Thinking that the scheme, however concocted, had been put in execution at the prince's own house, and that it was rendered still blacker by a breach of hospitality, I made choice of him with perfect self-possession. I asked for pen, ink, and paper; and having written cheques payable on demand at my bankers' in London for thepar nobile fratrum, I turned to the prince, and said, presenting him with his share of the plunder, "Monsieur, voilà votre argent: vous savez comment il étoit gagné." Running his eye over the amount to ascertain if it were correct, he carefully folded up the paper, and put it in his pocket; and then, with imperturbable coolness, turned to me, and said, "Monsieur, vous m'avez insulté, et vous me ferez l'honneur de m'en rendre raison." "Très, très volontiers," I replied; "c'est ce que je cherchois." "The sooner the better," said the prince; "I will leave my friend the baron to settle the preliminaries." With these words he walked slowly to the door, and left me with his associate. He had not been gone more than a few minutes, when the Polish count, who was lodging in the same hotel, (it was in the Rue de la Paix,) and had just returned from some orgies, made his appearance, probably thinking to find us still engaged in play. The baron, without entering into particulars, immediately explained to him that the prince and myself had had a serious misunderstanding, and that it had ended in his claiming satisfaction. I was not sufficiently intimate with any one in Paris to disturb him at that hour in the morning; and, thinking it a mere formality to have a second, readily asked the count to be my friend. He consented with the best grace imaginable. It was now explained to me, that it is the custom (though I believe such is not the case) for the challenger to choose his own weapons.
"The prince," observed the baron, "has two blades of the finest Spanish steel; they are beautifully watered, and it is a pleasure to look at them. They have never yet been used: Monsieur," added he, addressing the count, "shall have his choice." All this was said with the utmost nonchalance, as though he had been only treating of a trial of skill, and not a duelà l'outrance.
I had never taken a fencing-lesson since I was at school, and then only for a few months of old Angelo. The prince I knew to be almost as dexterous in the art as amaître d'armes. The first qualification for an accomplished gambler is to be a duellist; foils were at that moment lying in a corner of the room, and he had probably been practising the very day before; indeed it was almost the only exercise he took at any time.
To have made, however, my want of skill a plea for the adoption of pistols, might, I knew, be answered by the baron's professing the prince to be the worst of shots; besides its being a deviation from the established rule in such cases for me to have a voice.
Strange to say, I felt little uneasiness on the subject: I had a quick eye, great activity, and superior physical strength; and I had heard that the most expert fencer is often at a loss to parry the determined assault of an aggressor, even though he should hardly know the use of his weapon. A sense, too, of my wrongs, and a desire of revenge, added to that moral courage in which I was never deficient, rendered me bold and confident.
It was now broad daylight. Thefiacrerattled up to the door, and the count and I, got into it; the prince following in his cabriolet, accompanied by A——. We drove through theChamps Elyseés, passed thePort Maillot, and, without meeting a single carriage, arrived at our destination. If there were ever a spot where a lover of nature might die almost without regret, it is this favourite resort of thebeau mondeof Paris. Avenues ankle-deep in sand, cut into straight lines;alléeswithout verdure, that lead to nothing; a wood without trees. Such is theBois de Boulogne.
The coachman, who had a perfect knowledge of the localities, and the object of our morning ride, pulled up at a spot where four roads met; and, having alighted, we followed an ill-defined path for a few hundred yards, till we came to an opening in the brushwood that was scarcely above our heads. It had served for a recent encounter, for I perceived the prince step on one side to avoid a stain of blood on one of the tufts of grass that here and there rose rankly among the sand. He appeared not to notice it, and continued to talk on indifferent subjects to his companion.
Having received our swords, all new, and bright, and glittering, as the baron promised they should be, and taken up our ground, without waiting to cross blades, I precipitated myself on my adversary, and endeavoured to beat down his guard: so impetuous was my onset, that he retreated, or, rather, I drove him before me for several yards. Those who have not experienced it, may conceive what a strange grating sensation the meeting of two pieces of steel produces; but they cannot be aware how it quickens the pulse, and that there is in every electric shock, such fierce rage, and hatred, and revenge, as burnt within me then. Still, however, the prince parried my thrusts, and kept me at arm's length. All I now remember is, that I made a last desperate lunge—that I almost lost my balance—that I felt the point of my adversary's sword enter my side, and then a film came over my eyes. When I awoke from this trance, I found myself in a crowded hospital, with aSœur de Charitéleaning over me.
REDDY O'DRYSCULL, SCHOOLMASTER, ETC., TO THE EDITOR.
Water-grass-hill, 20th March.
Sir,—In answer to your application for further scraps of the late P. P., and in reply to your just reproof of my remissness in forwarding, as agreed upon, the monthly supplies to your Miscellany, I have only to plead as my "apology" the "fast of Lent," which in these parts is kept with such rigour as totally to dry up the genial moisture of the brain, and desiccate theκαλα ρεεθραof the fancy. In "justice to Ireland" I must add, that, by the combined exertions of patriots and landlords, we are kept at the proper starving-point all the year round; a blissful state not likely to be disturbed by any provisions in the new Irish "poor law." My correspondence must necessarily bejejunelike the season. I send you, however, an appropriate song, which our late pastor used to chaunt over his red-herring whenever a friend from Cork would drop in to partake of such lenten entertainment as his frugal kitchen could afford.
A GASTRONOMICAL CHAUNT.
Sunt Aries, Taurus, Cancer, Leo, Scorpio, Virgo,Libraque et Arcitenens, Gemini, Caper, Amphora, Pisces.I.Of a tavern the Sun every month takes "the run,"And a dozen each year wait his wishes;One month with old Prout he takes share of a trout,And puts up at the sign ofThe Fishes.♓'Tis an old-fashioned inn, but more quiet withinThanThe Bull♉orThe Lion♌—both boisterous;And few would fain dwell atThe Scorpion♏-hôtel,OrThe Crab♋...But this last is an oyster-house.II.At the sign ofThe Scales♎fuller measure prevails;AtThe Ram♈the repast may be richer:Old Goëthe oft wrote at the sign ofThe Goat,♑Tho' at times he'd drop in atThe Pitcher;♒And those who have stay'd at the sign ofThe Maid,♍In desirable quarters have tarried;While some for their sins must put up withThe Twins,♊Having had the mishap to get married.III.ButThe Fishes♓combine in one mystical signA moral right apt for the banquet;And a practical hint, which I ne'er saw in print,Yet a Rochefoucault maxim I rank it:—If a secret I'd hide, or a project confide,To a comrade's good faith and devotion,Oh! the friend whom I'd wish, though hedranklike afish,Should bemuteas the tribes of the ocean.
Sunt Aries, Taurus, Cancer, Leo, Scorpio, Virgo,Libraque et Arcitenens, Gemini, Caper, Amphora, Pisces.
I.Of a tavern the Sun every month takes "the run,"And a dozen each year wait his wishes;One month with old Prout he takes share of a trout,And puts up at the sign ofThe Fishes.♓'Tis an old-fashioned inn, but more quiet withinThanThe Bull♉orThe Lion♌—both boisterous;And few would fain dwell atThe Scorpion♏-hôtel,OrThe Crab♋...But this last is an oyster-house.
II.At the sign ofThe Scales♎fuller measure prevails;AtThe Ram♈the repast may be richer:Old Goëthe oft wrote at the sign ofThe Goat,♑Tho' at times he'd drop in atThe Pitcher;♒And those who have stay'd at the sign ofThe Maid,♍In desirable quarters have tarried;While some for their sins must put up withThe Twins,♊Having had the mishap to get married.
III.ButThe Fishes♓combine in one mystical signA moral right apt for the banquet;And a practical hint, which I ne'er saw in print,Yet a Rochefoucault maxim I rank it:—If a secret I'd hide, or a project confide,To a comrade's good faith and devotion,Oh! the friend whom I'd wish, though hedranklike afish,Should bemuteas the tribes of the ocean.
BY PRINCE PUCKLER MUSKAU.IN A LETTER TO A FRIEND.
As for the article of courage and its various manifestations, it is a very peculiar thing: I have thought much about it, and observed a great deal; and I am convinced that, except in romances, there are very few men who at all times show distinguished, andnone at allwho possessperfectcourage. I should esteem any man who maintained the contrary of himself, and who asserted that he did not know what fear was, a mere braggart; but, nevertheless, I should not consider it my duty to tell him so, to his face. There are endlessvarietiesof courage, which may, however, be comprised under three general dispositions of temperament, and six principal rubrics; within this arrangement a thousand modifications still remain, but I cannot here pursue them.
We come, first, to three sorts of that courage which alone can be called natural, and which, like all that nature givesdirectly, is perfect; that is, without any mixture of fear so long asit lasts, and which, therefore, has only a temporary influence. These are,
1. Courage from passion, such as love, anger, vengeance, and so forth.
2. From hunger, or the want of any thing indispensable to existence.
3. From habit, which, according to a law of nature, hardens completely against particular kinds of permanent danger.
All the others are artificial, but not, therefore, imperfect; that is, they are not always without admixture of fear, the result either of a dawning, or on already advanced state of civilization. They may be divided into
a.Courage out of vanity.
b.Out of a feeling of honour.
c.Out of duty; under which head may be reckoned the inspiration of religion, and all kinds of enthusiasm; which is also closely allied toa. At last we come to the physical conformation which supports courage, or renders it difficult of exhibition, or puts it altogether out of the question.
(There is certainly a fourth kind of courage, in some measure the shady side of the others,—courage from avarice. I omitted it, because it is rather an enormity, and can only produce criminals; it is, therefore, allied to madness, of which I do not speak here.)
They are, firstly, a strong and healthy nervous system, and a sanguine temperament.
Secondly, a weak and excitable constitution, which is calledpar excellencea nervous constitution.
Thirdly, that unfortunate defective formation, probably of the nerves of the brain, which produces an unconquerable timidity, becomes real suffering and a regular malady, rendering all manifestations of courage next to impossible.
That these divisions are subject to more or less modification, and often branch off into each other through inward motives, or external influences, follows of course. I will in few words touch upon thesepowers in their general and universal operation, and examine how the different value of the chief combinations are classified.
One, two, and three, I give up; for every one knows that with both man and beast, when a beloved object is in danger, or under the influence of a natural impulse, or when animated by a blind rage, or pinched by hunger, instinct alone acts, and timidity vanishes: but let the excitement cease, and the courage disappears also. When full of food, the lion flees before the feeblest man; and, when the hunger of the terrible boa is quite appeased, it may be laid hold of, without danger. It is equally well known that habit would make us forget the sword suspended over our heads by a single hair. The soldier, continually in battle, is as indifferent to bullets as the boy to the flying ball: and yet the same soldier would shudder at a species of danger that the most cowardly spy encounters in cold blood, and, in all probability, would feel real terror if he were compelled to a conflict with a tiger, which the timid Indian, armed with a short sword, and protected only by a green shield, will go in search of and subdue. The boldest mariner is often absurdly fearful in a carriage; and I have known a brave officer who turned pale whenever he was obliged to leap his horse over a hedge or a ditch.
But the case is very different when the courage of civilisation makes common cause with the physical disposition. If No. 1, in its highest perfection, be conjoined witha,b, andc, it is easy to see that the individual uniting the whole will be the bravest possible man; when, however, No. 1 stands alone, precious as it is, in, and for itself, there is but little dependence on it. The weaker No. 2, united toa,b, orc, is a rock compared to it: for the last motives have this great and invaluable quality—they are lasting, while No. 1 depends upon time and circumstance; and then will produce only theso-callednaturally brave, of whom the Spaniards say,He was brave in his day; No. 1 reduced to his own resources would perhaps encounter with vermilion cheeks and perfect cheerfulness, danger that would make No. 2 +a,b, orc, pale and serious.
Notwithstanding this, it is by no means certain whether No. 1 would not be seized with a panic in the fight, for all his red cheeks; but No. 2, with his powerful auxiliary, certain that he must fight, is quite secure, while the colour returns to his cheek even in the midst of the danger. As soon as fear seizes No. 1, it must influence his action; with No. 2 +a,b, orc, it is a matter of indifference whether he feels fear or no, as it will be neutralized by the permanent auxiliary qualifications, and its influence on his actions nullified. And, although No. 1 +a,b,c, must always remain thesummum perfectum, yet No. 2 +a,b,c, will sometimes do bolder and more surprising things, because the nervous excitement is more strongly acted on; especially if enthusiasm be brought into play.
The other sex, for instance, never possess any other than this species of courage; and if our manners had not, as well out of vanity, as a feeling of honour and duty, entirely dispensed with courage in them, and directed their whole education on this principle, then a lady, No. 2 +aalone, even withoutbandc, would certainly have surpassed the bravest man in point of courage, and would probably have been victor in every combat, where only this courage and its endurance, and not merely physical strength or skill, should decide.
No. 1 gifted also witha,b,c, would be brave sometimes, and sometimes not; if No. 2, however, were equallya,b,c, then the disadvantageous side of such a disposition would come into action, and No. 2 would in this case be a regular portion, not so muchbecausehemustbe such, like No. 3, but because it would be far more convenient, and more suitable to his nature: such would be many men in the lower, and the whole dear sex in the highest, degree. The undeniably cowardly disposition of the Jews has the same foundation. We have so long denied them human and social rights, that the motives of vanity and the sense of honour can operate but feebly on them, while that of duty in relation to us can scarcely exist at all. Nothing but centuries of a more reasonable and humane policy can render this otherwise.
The unfortunate No. 3 would only be courageous in two predicaments; in half-frantic religious ecstacy, or in despair, itself the very extremity of fear, when he might reach a point beyond the limits of courage. We have seen, for example, people destroy themselves out of dread of death!
What I have here said, little as it is, appears to me sufficient to point out a mode of drawing new deductions from every possible combination; to determine their relative value; and, what is most important of all, to excite further reflections, from which all may draw practical benefit.
You may think, my dear friend, that I could not occupy myself with subjects, without endeavouring to analyse my own portion of courage; for who can undertake to study mankind without beginning and ending with himself? Are you curious to be informed on this point? It is a ticklish thing; but you know that I have a pleasure in being candid, and therefore willingly withdraw, at times, the curtains of my most secret chamber, to afford my good friends a glimpse. Listen, then: the result will be found in that admiredjuste milieu, which certain well-known governments have discovered without knowing it, and find that it answers admirably well, because it may be translated by the German wordmittel mässigkeit(moderation, or mediocrity.) This is just the case with me also: in the first place, I must own to the feminine temperament No. 2, although I would rather have belonged to No. 1; however, laws are not to be prescribed to the Creator; and to say of myself what I think, without maintaining it as certainly demonstrated, would be too vain on my part: fortunately, in addition to my mediocre No. 2, I possessa,b,c, thoroughly, at least in a high, if not in the highest degree.
I know the nervous agitation which in some is called bashfulness, and in others fear, as do many who would not perhaps admit it so candidly; but it does not conquer me, and acts merely as a shower of rain does on a man wrapped in a waterproof cloak; the water remains on the surface, and does not penetrate. I have before signified that physical conditions, that is, stronger or weaker condition of the nerves, produce great variations, particularly in the dispositions 1 and 2. The advantageous effect of a good breakfast on the courage has become proverbial among the French; and all those who are in the least "nervous" must acknowledge that there is a good deal of truth in it. The young libertine in Gil Blas was perfectly in the right to answer, when he was called at five in the morning to fight a duel,"That he would not rise at such an hour for a rendezvous with a lady, much less to have his throat cut by a man;" at eleven o'clock, when he had breakfasted, and was thoroughly awake—not before—he got up, went out, and was run through the body: a strong illustration of the folly of getting up, too soon. However, when it must be, the admirablea,b,c, can conquer even distasteful fasting, as they can everything else, whether they act together or singly: with the help of thisæs triplex, my littleness has fought its way very comfortably through the world, as I hope it will continue to do, without any great injury accruing, or being likely to accrue, to my vanity, my sense of honour, or my sense of duty.
Being, in addition, half poet and half enthusiast, even the courage of rashness was not unknown to me in my youthful days; notwithstanding which, it is possible that, without mya,b,c, I might have run away when it was dangerous to stay.
Now that I have grown up a civilised man, I observe one peculiar shade. In danger, I think far less, sometimes not at all, of the danger itself; but I amafraid of my fear; that is, I am afraid that others should observe I am not quite so much at my ease, as my vanity and my sense of honour (duty has nothing to do with it) require I should be. At the very moment of danger, this feeling, as well as every other that can be called anxiety, ceases of itself; because action makes stronger claims on the spirit's strength, and the weaker affections fall naturally into the background. This weakness (for such it certainly is) of extreme anxiety respecting the opinion of men, is so characteristic of me, that I feel it continually whenever I am called upon to do anything that brings me under observation,—for example, whether I make a speech, act a part, or encounter mortal danger. Herewith must not, however, be reckoned more or less physical excitement, or when natural impulses such as I, II, III, come into play. I can, without boasting, affirm, with a good conscience, that the mortal danger is, in relation to the others, the lightest of the three; and you will laugh when I tell you, that the strongest fit of timidity that ever seized upon me was, absurdly enough, on one occasion when I was tosingin public!—an unlucky passion that possessed me at one time in my foolish life, and which I renounced merely out of vexation at this ridiculous bashfulness. If I were writing about another, I should, out of civility, call such a disposition, only an exaggerated sense of honour,—at most vanity, well-founded vanity. But I dare not flatter myself, and therefore I give it its true name,—the fear of men; for bashfulness is a part of fear, as audacity is of courage, but of courage, so to say, without soul, consequently without dignity, as bashfulness is fear without shame. It must not be overlooked that the greatest courage cannot, at the bottom, dispense with audacity, and the greatest men in profane history possessed it. It is, however, one of the greatest gifts for the world; and many deceive through their whole lives, by the help of audacity alone. It is not necessary to say that it must, however, be coupled with understanding, and so applied as we must in public go decently clothed. I am sorry that I have it not, and can only obtain it by artificial means; but it appears to me of so much importance, that I am half inclined, dear Schefer, to favour you with a second dissertation, if it were not a principal maxim of my book and letter-writing trade not to give too much ofwhat is valuable. You are quit for the fear this time; and, as you are but too well acquainted with me, I see you smile, and hear you distinctly exclaim, "Another fancy-piece to look like truth." My dear Schefer, a good conjurer shows all the cards, and yet you only see what he pleases to let you. You and the Secret Society understand me. Like Wallenstein, I keep my last wordin petto. This is my last but one.
(NOT A SPORTING ONE.)
My Dear Mr. Editor.—I have been for some time troubled by a slight longing to illustrate the title-page (or rather the Cover and its prettypages) of the Miscellany. Today I was taken suddenly worse with this desperate symptom of thecacoethes scribendi, but at length being safely delivered of the following doggrel, you will be glad to hear that I am now "as well as can be expected."
Ever, my dear Mr. Editor, yours truly,
R. J.
THE SONG OF THE COVER."Singa song of half-a-crown—Lay it out this minute:Buy the book, for half the townWant to know what's in it.Had you all the cares of Job,You'd then forget your troubles,"Cried Cupid, seated on the globe,Busy blowing bubbles.Rosy Summer, pretty Spring,See them scattering flowers—"Catch who can!" the song they sing:Hearts-ease fall in showers.Autumn, tipsy with the grape,Plays a pipe and tabor;Winter imitates the ape,Mocking at his neighbour.Bentley, Boz, and Cruikshank, stand,Like expectant reelers—"Music!"—"Play up!"—pipe in hand,Beside theflutedpillars!Boz and Cruikshank want to dance,None for frolic riper,But Bentley makes the first advance,Because he "pays the piper.""Then sing a song of half-a-crown,And make a merry race on'tTo buy the book, all London town;There's wit upon thefaceon't.Had you all the cares of Job,You'd then forget your troubles,"Cried Cupid, seated on the globe,Busy blowing bubbles.
THE SONG OF THE COVER.
"Singa song of half-a-crown—Lay it out this minute:Buy the book, for half the townWant to know what's in it.Had you all the cares of Job,You'd then forget your troubles,"Cried Cupid, seated on the globe,Busy blowing bubbles.
Rosy Summer, pretty Spring,See them scattering flowers—"Catch who can!" the song they sing:Hearts-ease fall in showers.Autumn, tipsy with the grape,Plays a pipe and tabor;Winter imitates the ape,Mocking at his neighbour.
Bentley, Boz, and Cruikshank, stand,Like expectant reelers—"Music!"—"Play up!"—pipe in hand,Beside theflutedpillars!Boz and Cruikshank want to dance,None for frolic riper,But Bentley makes the first advance,Because he "pays the piper."
"Then sing a song of half-a-crown,And make a merry race on'tTo buy the book, all London town;There's wit upon thefaceon't.Had you all the cares of Job,You'd then forget your troubles,"Cried Cupid, seated on the globe,Busy blowing bubbles.
BY THE AUTHOR OF "MEPHISTOPHELES IN ENGLAND."