MARS AND VENUS.

"'I shall make no such declaration,' said Clavijo, almost inarticulate from agitation.

"'I dare say not, for I don't think, were I in your place, that I should do so myself. But you must consider the other alternative. From this moment I remain at your elbow. I will not leave you a moment. Wherever you go, I will go, till you shall have no other way of getting rid of so troublesome a neighbour but by going with me behind the Palace of Buen Retiro. If I am the survivor, sir, without even seeing the ambassador, or speaking to a single soul here, I shall take my dying sister in my arms, put her in my carriage, and return with her to France. If the luck is yours, all is ended with me. You will then be at liberty to enjoy your triumph, and laugh at your dupes as much as you please. Will you have the goodness to order breakfast.'

"I rose, and rang the bell; a servant brought in breakfast. I took my cup of chocolate, while Clavijo, in deep thought, walked about the room. At length he seemed all at once to form a resolution.

"'M. de Beaumarchais,' he said, 'hear me. Nothing on earth can justify my conduct towards your sister; ambition has been my ruin; but if I had imagined that Donna Maria had a brother like you, far from looking upon her as a stranger without friends or connexions, I should have anticipated the greatest advantages from our union. You have inspired me with the greatest esteem; and I throw myself on your generosity, beseeching you to assist me in redressing, as far as I am able, the injuries I have done your sister. Restore her to me, sir; and I shall esteem myself too happy in receiving, from your hands, my wife and forgiveness of my offences.'

"'It is too late,' I replied; 'my sister no longer loves you. Write a declaration,â€”that is all I require of you; and be satisfied that, as an open enemy, I will avenge my sister's wrongs till her own resentment is appeased.'

"He made many difficulties; objecting to the style in which I demanded his declaration; to its being all in his hand-writing; and to my insisting that the domestics should be in the room while he was writing it. But the alternative was pressing, and he had probably some lurking hope of regaining the affections of the woman who had loved him so long. His pride, therefore, gave way; and he submitted to write the declaration, which I dictated to him, walking about the room. It contained an ample testimony to the blameless character of my sister, and an acknowledgment of his causeless treachery towards her.

"When he had written and signed the paper, I put it in my pocket, and took my leave, repeating what I had said, as to the use I meant to make of it. He besought me, at least, to tell my sister of the marks of sincere repentance he had exhibited; and I promised to do so.

"My friend's return before me, to my sister's, had produced great alarm in the little circle that were waiting for us. I found thefemales in tears, and the men very uneasy. But when they heard my account of my interview, and saw the declaration, the general anxiety was turned into joy and congratulation. Every one was of a different opinion: some insisted on ruining Clavijo; others were inclined to forgive him; and others, again, were for leaving everything to my prudence. My sister entreated that she might never hear of him more. I resolved to go to Aranjuez and lay the whole affair before the Marquis D'Ossun, our ambassador.

"Before setting out, I wrote to Clavijo, telling him that my sister would not hear a word in his favour, and that I was therefore determined to adhere to my intention of doing all I could to avenge her injuries. He begged to see me; and I went without hesitation to his house. His language was full of the most bitter self-reproach; and, after many earnest entreaties, he obtained my permission to visit my elder sister, accompanied by a mutual friend, and my promise, in case he should fail in obtaining forgiveness, not to publish his dishonour till after my return from Aranjuez.

"The Marquis D'Ossun received me very kindly. I told him my story, concluding with an account of my meeting with Clavijo, which he could hardly credit, till I showed him the declaration. He asked me what were my viewsâ€”did I desire to make Clavijo marry my sister?â€”'No, my lord, my object is to disgrace him publicly.' The Marquis dissuaded me from proceeding to extremities. Clavijo, he said, was a rising man, and evidently in the way of great advancement; ambition had alienated him from my sister; but ambition, repentance, or affection, seemed to be bringing him back; all things considered, Clavijo seemed an advantageous match, and the wisest thing I could do was to get the marriage celebrated immediately. He hinted further, that, by following his advice, I should do him a pleasure, for reasons which he could not explain.

"I returned to Madrid, much troubled by the result of this conference. On arriving at my sister's, I found that Clavijo had been there, accompanied by some mutual friends, in order to beseech my sisters to forgive him. Maria, on his appearance, had fled to her own room, and would not appear; and I was told he had conceived hopes from this little ebullition of resentment. I concluded, for my part, that he was well acquainted with woman, whose soft and tender nature, however deeply she may have been injured, is always prone to pardon the repentant lover whom she sees kneeling at her feet.

"After my return from Aranjuez, Clavijo found means to see me every day. I was delighted with his talents and attainments, and, above all, with the manly confidence he appeared to have in my mediation. I was sincerely desirous to favour his suit; but the profound respect which my poor sister had for my judgment rendered me very circumspect in regard to her. It was her happiness, and not her fortune, that I wished to secure; her heart, and not her hand, that I wished to dispose of.

"On the 25th of May, Clavijo suddenly left the house of M. Portugues, and retired to the house of an officer of his acquaintance, in the quarters of the invalids. This hasty move appeared somewhat singular, though it did not, at the moment, give me any uneasiness. I went to see him: he explained his precipitate retreat by saying that, as M. Portugues was very much opposed to his marriage, hethought he could not give me a better proof of his sincerity than by leaving the house of so powerful an enemy of my sister. This appeared probable, and I felt obliged to him for so delicate a proceeding.

"Next day I received a letter from him, breathing the utmost frankness, honour, and good feeling. He renewed his offer of marriage, if my sister would only forgive his past conduct. He protested the most devoted and unalterable love for her; and called upon me to perform my promise of interceding for him. If it were possible for him, he said, to leave Madrid without an express order from the head of his department, he would instantly set out for Aranjuez to obtain that minister's consent to the marriage: he therefore begged that I would undertake that matter for him; and said that my prompt compliance would be the most convincing proof of my sincere good wishes.

"I read this letter to my sisters; Maria burst into tears. I embraced her tenderly. 'Well, poor child, you love him after all; and are mightily ashamed of it, no doubt! I see it all; but never mindâ€”you are a good excellent girl, notwithstanding; and since your resentment is dying away, let it be extinguished altogether in the tears of forgiveness. They are sweet and soothing after tears of grief and anger. He is a sad fellow, this Clavijo, to be sure, like most men; but, such as he is, I join our worthy ambassador in advising you to forgive him. For his own sake, perhaps,' I added, laughing, 'I might have been as well pleased had he fought me; for yours, I am much better pleased that he has not.'

"I ran on in this way till my sister began to smile in the midst of her tears. I took this as a silent consent, and hastened away in search of her lover. I told him he was a hundred times happier than he deserved; and he agreed that I was in the right. I brought him to my sister's. The poor girl was overwhelmed, on all hands, by entreating friends, till at last, with a blush and a sigh of mingled pleasure and shame, she whispered a consent that we might dispose of her as we pleased. Clavijo was in raptures. In his joy, he ran to my writing-desk, and wrote a paper containing a brief but formal mutual engagement, which he signed, and then kneeling, presented it to my sister for her signature. The gentlemen present, joined their entreaties to his, and thus a written consent was extorted from my poor sister, who, no longer knowing where to hide her head, threw herself weeping into my arms, whispering in my ear, that really I was a hard-hearted man, and had no pity for her.

"We spent a very happy evening, as may well be imagined. At eleven o'clock I set out for Aranjuez, for in that warm climate the night is the pleasantest time for travelling. I communicated all that had passed to the ambassador, who was much pleased, and praised my conduct more than it deserved. I then waited on M. de Grimaldi, the minister at the head of Clavijo's department. He received me kindly, gave his consent to the marriage, and wished my sister every happiness; but observed that Don Joseph Clavijo might have spared me the journey, because a letter to the minister was the usual form, and would have been quite sufficient.

"On my return to Madrid, I found a letter from Clavijo, written in great apparent agitation, in which he told me, that copies of apretended declaration, said to be by him, had got into circulation, and that it was in such terms that he could not show his face while impressions subsisted so derogatory to his character and honour. He therefore begged me to show the paper he had really signed, and give copies of it. Subjoined to his letter was a copy of this pretended declaration, which was conceived in the most false, exaggerated, and abominable language, and was all in his own hand-writing. He further said, that, in the mean time, and till the public should be disabused,it would be better that we should not see each other for a few days; for, if we did, it might be supposed that the pretended paper was the real one, and that the other, now appearing for the first time, was concocted afterwards.

"I was a little out of humour at the conclusion drawn by Clavijo from this base fabrication. I reproached him gently for taking such an unreasonable view of the matter; and, as I found him unwell, I promised that as soon as he was able to go out, we should go everywhere together, and that I should make it appear that I looked upon him as a brother and an honourable man.

"We made all the arrangements for the marriage. In case he might not be fully supplied with money, I offered him my purse; and I presented him with some jewels and French laces, to enable him to make my sister a wedding gift. He accepted the jewels and laces, because, as he said, it would be difficult to find anything so handsome at Madrid; but I could not prevail on him to receive the money I offered him.

"Next day, a Spanish valet robbed me of a large sum of money and a number of valuable articles. I immediately waited on the governor of Madrid to make my complaint, and was somewhat surprised at the very cold reception I met with. I wrote to the French ambassador on the subject, and thought no more of it.

"I continued my attentions to my sick friend, which were received with every appearance of affectionate gratitude; but, on the 5th of June, when I came as usual to see him, I found, to my utter astonishment, that he had, once more, suddenly decamped.

"I got inquiries made after him at all the lodging-houses in Madrid, and at last discovered his new abode. I expressed my surprise in stronger language than on the previous occasion. He told me that he had learned that his friend with whom he was staying, had been blamed for sharing with another a lodging which was given by the king for his own use only; and that he had been so much hurt at this, that he thought it necessary to leave his friend's apartments instantly, without regarding the embarrassment it might occasion, the state of his health, the untimely hour, or any other consideration. I could not but approve of his delicacy; but kindly scolded him for not having come to reside at my sister's, whither I offered to take him at once. He thanked me most affectionately, but found some reason for excusing himself.

"Next day, under trifling pretexts, he refused my repeated offers of an apartment at my sister's. My friends began to shake their heads, and my sister looked anxious and unhappy. It was similar evasions that had twice already preceded his total desertion. I felt angry at these forebodings, which I insisted were groundless; but I found that suspicion was creeping into my own mind. To get rid of it,on the day fixed for signing the contract, (the seventh of June,) I sent for the apostolic notary, whose function it is to superintend this ceremony. But what was my surprise when this official told me that he was going to make SeÃ±or Clavijo sign a declaration of a very different nature; as he had, the day before, received a writ of opposition to my sister's marriage, on the part of a young woman who affirmed that she had a promise from Clavijo, given in 1755, nine years before!

"I inquired who the woman was, and was told by the notary that she was a waiting-woman. In a transport of rage, I ran to Clavijo, loaded him with threats and reproaches. He besought me to moderate my anger and suspend my opinion. He had long ago, he said, made some such promise to Madame Portugues's waiting-woman, who was a pretty girl; but he had never since heard of it, and believed that the girl was now set on by some enemy of Donna Maria. The affair, he assured me, was a trifle, and could be got rid of by the aid of a few pistoles. He repeated his vows of eternal constancy to Maria, and begged me to return at eight o'clock in the evening, when he would go with me to an eminent advocate, who would easily put him on the way of getting rid of this trifling obstacle.

"I left him, full of indecision and bitterness of heart. I could make nothing of his conduct, or imagine any reasonable object he could have in deceiving me. At eight o'clock I returned to his lodgings with two of my friends; but we had hardly got out of the carriage, when the landlady came to the door, and told me that SeÃ±or Clavijo had removed from her house an hour before, and was gone she knew not whither.

"Thunderstruck at this intelligence, and unable to believe it, I went up to the room he had occupied. Every thing belonging to him had been carried off. Perplexed and dismayed, I returned home, and had no sooner arrived than a courier from Aranjuez brought me a letter, which he had been ordered to deliver with the utmost speed. It was from the French ambassador. He informed me that the governor of Madrid had just been with him, to tell him that SeÃ±or Clavijo had retired to a place of safety, in order to protect himself from the violence he apprehended from me, as I had, a few days before, compelled him, in his own house, and with a pistol at his breast, to sign an engagement to marry my sister. The Marquis, at the same time, expressed his belief of my innocence; but feared that the affair might be turned to my disadvantage, and requested that I would do nothing whatever until I had seen him.

"I was utterly confounded. This man, who for weeks had been treating me like a brother,â€”who had been writing me letter upon letter, full of affection,â€”who had earnestly besought me to give him my sister, and had visited her again and again as her betrothed husband,â€”this monster had been all the while secretly plotting my destruction!

"Suddenly an officer of the Walloon guards came into the room. 'M. de Beaumarchais,' he said, 'you have not a moment to lose. Save yourself, or to-morrow morning you will be arrested in your bed. The order is given, and I am come to apprise you of it. Your adversary is a monster. He has contrived to set almost everybody against you, and has led you into snare after snare, till he has found meansto make himself your public accuser. Fly instantly, I beseech you. Once immured in a dungeon, you will have neither protection nor defence.'

"'I fly!â€”I make my escape!â€”I will die sooner. Say not a word more, my friends. Let me have a travelling carriage to-morrow morning at four o'clock, and meanwhile leave me to prepare for my journey to Aranjuez.'

"I shut myself up in my room. My mind was utterly exhausted. I threw myself into a chair, where I remained for two hours in a state of total vacuity of thought. At length I roused myself. I reflected on all the circumstances of the case, and on the abundant proofs of my integrity. I sat down to my desk, and, with the rapidity of a man in a high fever, I wrote an exact journal of my actions since my arrival at Madrid: names, dates, conversations,â€”everything sprang, as it were, into my memory, and fixed itself under my pen. I was still writing at five in the morning, when I was told that my carriage was ready. Some friends wanted to accompany me. 'I wish to be alone,' I said. 'Twelve hours of solitude are not more than necessary to calm the agitation of my frame.' I set out for Aranjuez.

"When I arrived, the ambassador was at the palace, and I could not see him till eleven o'clock at night. He was glad, he said, I was come; for he had been very uneasy about me. During the last fortnight my adversary had gained all the avenues of the palace; and, had it not been for him, I should have been already arrested, and probably sent to a dungeon for life, on the African coast. He had done what he could with M. Grimaldi, the minister, to whom he had earnestly represented his conviction of my probity and honour; but all was without effect. 'You must really go, M. de Beaumarchais,' he continued. 'You have not a moment to lose. I can do nothing in opposition to the general impression against you, or against the positive order that has been issued for your imprisonment; and I should be sincerely grieved should any calamity happen to you in this country. You must leave Spain instantly.'

"I did not shed tears while he was speaking, but large drops of water fell at intervals from my eyes, gathered in them by the contraction of my whole frame. I was stupified and speechless. The ambassador was affected by my situation, and spoke to me in the kindest and most soothing manner; but still persisted in saying that I must yield to necessity, and escape from consequences which could not otherwise be averted. I implored him to think of the ruin to my own character in France if I fled from Spain under such circumstances;â€”to consider the situation of my unhappy, innocent sister. He said he would write to France, where his account of my conduct would be credited; and that, as to my sister, he would not neglect her. I could bear this conversation no longer; but, abruptly quitting his presence, I rushed out of the house, and wandered all night in the dark alleys of the park of Aranjuez, in a state of inexpressible anguish.

"In the morning, my courage rose; and, determined to obtain justice or perish, I repaired to the levee of M. Grimaldi, the minister. While I waited in his ante-chamber, I heard several voices pronounce the name of M. Whal. That distinguished and venerable statesman, who had retired from the ministry that, in the close oflife, he might have a brief interval of repose, was then residing in M. Grimaldi's house. I heard this, and was suddenly inspired with the idea of having recourse to him for protection. I requested permission to see him, as a stranger who had something of importance to communicate. I was admitted; and the sight of his mild and noble countenance gave me courage. I told him that my only claim to his favour was that I was a native of the country in which he himself was born, persecuted almost to death by cruel and powerful enemies; but this title, I trusted, was sufficient to obtain for me the protection of a just and virtuous man.

"'You are a Frenchman,' he said, 'and that is always a strong claim with me. But you trembleâ€”you are pale and breathless; sit downâ€”compose yourself, and tell me the cause of such violent agitation.' He ordered that no one should be admitted; and I, in an unspeakable state of hope and fear, requested permission to read my journal of occurrences since my arrival in Madrid. He complied, and I began to read. As I went on, he from time to time begged me to be calm, and to read more slowly that he might follow me the better; assuring me that he took the greatest interest in my narrative. As I proceeded, I laid before him in succession the letters and other documents which were referred to. But when I came to the criminal charge against me,â€”to the order for my imprisonment, which had been only suspended for a little by M. Grimaldi at the request of our ambassador,â€”to the urgent advices which I had received to make my escape, but which I avowed my determination not to follow,â€”he uttered an exclamation, rose, and took me kindly by the hand:

"'Unquestionably the king will do you justice, M. de Beaumarchais. The ambassador, in spite of his regard for you, is obliged to act with the caution which befits his office; but I am under no such restraint. It shall never be said that a respectable Frenchman, after leaving his home, his friends, his business,â€”after having travelled a thousand miles to succour an innocent and unfortunate sister, has been driven from this country, carrying with him the impression that no redress or justice is to be obtained in Spain. It was I who placed this Clavijo in the king's service, and I feel myself responsible for his infamous conduct. Good God! how unhappy it is for statesmen that they cannot become sufficiently aware of the real character of the persons they employ, and thus get themselves surrounded by specious knaves, of whose shameful actions they often bear the blame. A minister may be forgiven for being deceived in the choice of a worthless subordinate; but when once he comes to a knowledge of his character, there is no excuse for retaining him a moment. For my part, I shall immediately set a good example to my successors.'

"So saying, he rang, ordered his carriage, and took me with him to the palace. He sent for M. Grimaldi; and, while waiting for the arrival of that minister, went into the king's closet, and told his majesty the story, accusing himself of indiscretion in recommending such a man to his majesty's favour. M. Grimaldi came; and I was called into the royal presence. 'Read your memorial,' said M. Whal,â€”'every feeling and honourable heart must be as much moved by it as I was.' I obeyed. The king listened with attention and interest; examined the proofs of my statements; and the result was anorder that Clavijo should be deprived of his employment, and dismissed for ever from his majesty's service."

From subsequent parts of the narrative, it appears that Clavijo exerted all his powers of cunning and intrigue in order to get himself re-instated in his situation; not omitting further attempts to impose upon M. de Beaumarchais, accompanied with abject entreaties and hypocritical professions. All, however, was in vain; and this man, who seems to have been an extraordinary compound of intellectual ability and moral depravity, seems to have sunk into contempt and insignificance. The young lady recovered the shock she had received; and was afterwards happily married, and settled at Madrid.

One day, upon that Trojan plain,Where men in hecatombs were slain,Th' immortal gods (no common sight)Thought fit to mingle in the fight,And found convincing proof that thoseWho will in quarrels interposeAre often doom'd to suffer harmâ€”Venus was wounded in the arm;Whilst Mars himself, the god of war,Receiv'd an ignominious scar,And, fairly beat by Diomed,Fled back to heav'n and kept his bed.That bed (the proof may still be seen)Had long been shared with beauty's queen;For, with th' adventure of the cage,Vulcan had vented all his rage,(a)And, like Italian husbands, heNow wore his horns resignedly.Ye modest critics! spare my song:If gods and goddesses did wrong,And revell'd in illicit love,As poets, sculptors, painters, prove,Is mine the fault? and, if I tellSome tales of scandal that befellIn heathen times, why need my laysOn ladies' cheeks more blushes raise,When read (if such my envied lot)In secret boudoir, bower, or grot,Than scenes which, in the blaze of light,They throng to witness ev'ry night?Ere you condemn my humble page,Glance for a moment at the stage,Where twirling gods to view exposeTheir pliant limbs, in tighten'd hose,And goddesses of doubtful fameAre by lord chamberlains allow'd,With practis'd postures, to inflameThe passions of a gazing crowd:And if great camels, such as these,Are swallow'd with apparent ease,Oh! strain not at a gnat like me,Nor deem me lost to decency,When I now venture to declareThat Mars and Venusâ€”guilty pairâ€”On the same couch extended lay,And cursed the fortunes of the day.The little Loves, who round them flew,Could only sob to show their feeling,Since they, of course, much better knewThe art of wounding than of healing,And Cupid's self essay'd in vainTo ease his lovely mother's pain:The chaplet that his locks confin'dHe tore indeed her wound to bind;But from her sympathetic feverHe had no nostrum to relieve her,And, thinking that she might assuageThat fever, as she did her rage,By talking loud,â€”her usual fashionWhenever she was in a passion,â€”He stood, with looks resign'd and grave,Prepar'd to hear his mother rave.Who thus began: "Ah! Cupid, whyWas I so silly as to tryMy fortune in the battle-field,(b)Or seek a pond'rous spear to wield,Which only Pallas (hated name!)Of all her sex can wield aright?What need had I of martial fame,Sought 'midst the dangers of the fight,When beauty's prize, a trophy farMore precious than the spoils of war,Was mine already, won from thoseWhom rivalry has made my foes,And who on Trojan plains would sateE'en with my blood that ranc'rous hateWhich Ida's neighb'ring heights inflame,And not this wound itself can tame?Ah! why did I not bear in mindThat Beauty, like th' inconstant wind,Is always privileg'd to raiseThe rage of others to a blaze,Then, lull'd to rest, look calmly on,And see the work of havoc done?'Twas well to urge your father, Mars,To mingle in those hated wars;'Twas wellâ€”" But piteous cries of pain,From him she named, here broke the chainOf her discourse, and seem'd to say,"What want of feeling you display!"So, turning to her wounded lover,She kindly urged him to discoverBy whom and where the wound was given,That sent him writhing back to heaven.The god, thus question'd, hung his head,A burning blush of shame o'erspreadWith sudden flush his pallid cheek,As thus he answer'd: "Dost thou seekTo hear a tale of dire disgrace,Which all those honours must efface,That, hitherto, have made my namePre-eminent in warlike fame?Yetâ€”since 'twas thou who bad'st me goTo fight with mortals there belowâ€”'Tis fitting, too, that thou shouldst learnWhat laurels 'twas my fate to earn.At first, in my resistless car,I seem'd indeed the god of war;The Trojans rallied at my side;Changed in its hue, the Xanthus' tideIts waters to the ocean bore,Empurpled deep in Grecian gore;And o'er the corpse-impeded fieldThe cry was still 'They yield!â€”they yield!'But soon, the flying ranks to stay,Thy hated rivals joined the fray;They nerved, with some accursed charm,Each Greek's, but most Tydides' arm,And, Venus, thou first felt the smartOf his Minerva-guided dart.I saw thee wounded, saw thee fly,â€”I saw the chief triumphantlyTow'rds me, his ardent coursers turn,As though from gods alone to earnThe highest honours of the fight;I know not why, but, at the sightâ€”Eternal shame upon my head!â€”A panic seized me, and I fledâ€”I fled, like chaff before the wind,And, ah! my wounds are allâ€”behind!"When thus at length the truth was told,(The shameful truth of his disgrace,)Again, within his mantle's fold,The wounded coward hid his face;(c)Whilst Venus, springing from his side,With looks of scornful anger, cried,"And didst thou fly from mortal foe,Nor stay to strike one vengeful blowFor her who fondly has believ'd,By all thy val'rous boasts deceiv'd,That in the god of war she press'dThe first of heroes to her breast?Cupid, my swans and car prepareâ€”To Cyprus we will hasten, whereSome youth, as yet unknown to fame,May haply raise another flame;For Mars may take his leave of Venus,No coward shall enjoy my love;And nothing more shall pass between us,â€”I swear it by my fav'rite dove."She spake; and through the realms of air,Before the humbled god could dareUpraise his head to urge her stay,Already she had ta'en her way;And in her Cyprian bow'r that night,(If ancient scandal tell aright,)Forgetful of her recent wound,In place of Mars another found,And to a mortal's close embracesSurrender'd her celestial graces.'Tis said that Venus, wont to rangeBoth heav'n and earth in search of change,Was not unwilling to discoverSome pretext to desert her lover;Nor do I combat the assertion,But from thecauseof her desertion,Whilst you, fair readers, justly railAgainsther morals, I will dareTo drawthis moralfor my tale,â€”"None but the brave deserve the fair!"

NOTES.

(a)Ovid thus speaks of the result of Vulcan's exposure of his wife's infidelity:

"Hoc tibi profectum, Vulcane, quod ante tegebant,Liberius faciunt ut pudor omnis abest;SÃ¦pe tamen demens stultÃ¨ fecisse fateris,Teque ferunt irÃ¦ pÅ“nituisse tuÃ¦."

(b)Leonidas, in his beautiful epigram to Venus armed, says,

(c)The ancients were seldom guilty of making the actions of their gods inconsistent with their general character and attributes; but there seems to have been much of the Captain Bobadil in the mighty god of war, and the instance of cowardice here alluded to is not the only one recorded of him by the poets. In the wars with the Titans he showed a decided "white feather," and suffered himself to be made prisoner.

I love the sound of Nature's happy voice,The music of a summer evening's sky,When all things fair and beautiful rejoice,As though their glory ne'er would fade and die.Sweet is the breeze as 'mid the flowers it sings,Sweet is the melody of falling streams,Sweet is the sky-lark's song as borne on wingsOf waving lightâ€”a bird of heaven she seems.Oh! for the hours, when wrapt in joy I've sat,And felt that harmonyâ€”"all round my hat!"Sigma.

BY THE AUTHOR OF "STORIES OF WATERLOO."

Arnold.Your form is man's, and yet you may be the devil.

Stranger.Unless you keep company with him (and you seem scarce used to such high company) you can't tell how he approaches.

The Deformed Transformed.

I remember having been exceedingly amused by a book of Germandiablerie, in which the movements of his Satanic Majesty were faithfully and fashionably chronicled. He had chosen, it would appear, for good and cogent reasons, to revisit our earthincognito; and as potentates steal occasionally a glance at the world to see how things move in their ordinary courses, he too indulged his princely curiosity, and,selon la rÃ¨gle, during his travels assumed a borrowed title.

I had business to transact in a very remote district of the kingdom of Connaught, and, as some delay was unavoidable, I threw a few books carelessly into my portmanteau. Among them the wild conception of Hoffmann, entitled "The Devil's Elixir," was included; and in the perusal of that strange tale, I endeavoured to amuse the tedium of as wet a day as often comes in Connemara. Bad as the morning had been, the evening was infinitely worse: the wind roared through the mountains; the rain came down in torrents; and every unhappy wayfarer pushed hastily for the nearest inn.

I had been an occupant of the best (and only) parlour of Tim Corrigan during the preceding week; and so unfrequent were the calls at his caravansera, that, like Robinson Crusoe, I could stroll out upon the moor, and proclaim that I was absolute over heath and "hostelrie." But, on this night, two travellers were driven to the "Cock and Punchbowl." They were bound for a fair that was to be holden on the morrow some twenty miles off; and, although anxious to lodge themselves in some more contiguous hostel, the weather became so desperate, that by mutual consent they abandoned their intention, and resolved to ensconce themselves for the night in a double-bedded room, which, fortunately for them, happened to be unoccupied in the "Cock and Punchbowl."

Had their resolution to remain been doubtful, one glance at the kitchen fire would have confirmed it. There, a well-conditioned goose was twisting, on a string appended to the chimney-breast; while divers culinary utensils simmered on the blazing turf, giving sure indications that other adjuncts were to accompany the bird, and the dinner would be a substantial one. I, while taking "mine ease in mine inn," had seen the travellers arrive; and, the door being ajar, heard the "to ride or not to ride" debated. That question settled, other cares arose.

"Tim," said the younger guest to the landlord, as he nodded significantly at the goose, "I'm hungry as a hawk."

The host shrugged his shoulders, and, pointing to the "great chamber," where I was seated, replied in an undertone, "There's a customer before ye, Master Johnny."

"A customer!â€”only one, Tim?"

"Sorrow more," replied the host.

"Why, the curse of Cromwell on ye for a cormorant!" said the traveller. "Three priests, after confessing half a parish, would scarcely demolish that wabbler. I'll invite myself to dinner; and if I be not in at the dissection, it won't be Johnny Dixon's fault."

"Arrah! the devil a fear of that," returned the landlord. "Your modesty nivir stopped your promotion,Shawn avourneen![53]" and he of the Cock and Punchbowl laughed heartily as the traveller entered the parlour.

He was a stout, middle-sized, foxy-headed fellow of some six or eight-and-twenty. His face was slightly marked with small-pox, and plain, but not unpleasing. The expression was good-humoured and intelligent; while, in the sparkle of his light blue eye, there was a pretty equal proportion of mirth and mischief. He advanced to me with perfect nonchalance; nodded as if he had known me for a twelvemonth; and, as if conferring a compliment, notified with great brevity that it was his intention to honour me with his company. No proposition could have pleased me better, and it was fortunate that I had no wish to remain alone; for, I verily believe, the traveller had already made up his mind,coute qui coute, to aid and assist in demolishing the bird that saved the Capitol.

Presently the hostess announced that all preparations were complete. The traveller, who had been talking of divers affairs, rural and political, suddenly changed the conversation. "There was," he said, "an unlucky sinner outside, who like himself had been storm-stayed that evening. He was a priest's nephew, a harmless poor devil, whom the old fellow had worked like a nigger, until one sweet evening he smothered himself in poteen-punch, leaving Peter Feaghan a kettleful of gold. If he, Peter, were only let in, he would pray for me during life; and, as to eating, would be contented with the drumsticks."

I laughed, and assented; and "Master Johnny" speedily produced a soft-looking, bullet-headed farmer; who, after scraping his leg across the floor, sate himself down at the corner of the table.

Dinner came. I, since I breathed the keen air of Connemara, had felt a quickened appetite; but "Master Johnny" double-distanced me easily as a trencher-man, and he, in turn, could not hold a candle to the nephew of the defunct priest. Peter Feaghan was a silent and a steady workman, and I firmly believe the drumsticks were regularly skeletonized before the priest's heir was disposed to cry "Hold, enough!" At last the cloth was removed; and a quart-bottle, a basin of sugar, with a jug of boiling water of enormous capacity, were set down.

"What an infernal night it is!" ejaculated the younger traveller, as a gust of wind drove the hail against the window. "Were you not in luck," he continued, "that chance drove two Christian men, like Peter and me, among the mountains? Honest Tim is speechless by this hour, or he has shortened his allowance greatly since I was here last. No flirting in the house, for Mrs. Corrigan is a Carmelite, andBrideen dhu[54]has bundled off with apeeler.[55]In short, you must have got drunk in self-defence, and, for lack of company, as I have often done, drank one hand against the other."

"Or," said I, "diluted the poteen with a draught of 'The Devil's Elixir.'"

"The Devil's Elixir!" repeated the foxy-headed traveller; "and pray what may that be?"

In reply, I handed him a volume of the Prussian Counsellor; he looked at the title-page, and read the motto, "In that yeare the Deville was alsoe seene walking publiclie on the streetes of Berline." Laughing loudly, he turned to the priest's heir.

"Holy Mary! had your poor uncle Paul been in town, he would have had a shy at ould Beelzebub, or made him quit the flagway."

"And who was Uncle Paul?" I inquired of the stranger.

"What!" he exclaimed, in manifest astonishment, "not know that excellent and gifted churchman,â€”one before whom the devil shook like a whipped schoolboy?"

"And was Mr. Feaghan's influence over him, surnamed 'the Morning Star,' so extraordinary?"

"Extraordinary you may well call it," resumed Foxy-Head. "The very mention of Paul's name would produce an ague-fit. Many a set-to they hadâ€”a clear stage and no favourâ€”and in all and every, the devil was regularly floored. There is the old house of Knockbraddigan,â€”for months, man, woman, or child could not close an eye. Priest, monk, and friar, all tried their hands in vain. Holy-water was expended by the gallonâ€”masses said thrice a weekâ€”a saint's finger borrowed for the occasion, and brought all the way from Cork,â€”and even the stable-lantern had a candle in it, blessed by the bishop. For all these 'Clooty' did not care a button, when Father Paul toddled in, and saved the house and owner."

"Indeed?"

"Ay! and I'll tell you the particulars. It was the year after the banks brokeâ€”times were badâ€”tenants rackedâ€”and Tom Braddigan, like many a better man, poor fellow! was cleaned out by the sheriff. Never was ashuck[56]sinner harder up for a few hundreds; and, to make a long story short,Hoofeycame in the way, and Tom 'sould himself' regularly. I never heard the sum, but it is said that it was a large figure; and that, to give the devil his due, he never cobbled for a moment, but paid a sporting price, and came down like a man. Well, the tenure-day came round; Clooty was true to time, and claimed his customer: but Tom was awake; Paul Feaghan was at his elbow, and, as it turned out, Paul proved himself nothing but a good one.

"'Arrah! what do ye want here, honest man?' says the priest to the devil, opening the conversation civilly.

"'No offence, I suppose,' says the other, 'for a body to look after his own.'

"'None in the world,' replied Father Paul, answering him quite politely; and all the while, poor Tom shaking like a Quaker.

"'Mr. Braddigan,' says the devil, 'we have a long drive before us, and the carriage is waiting. Don't mind yourCotamore,[57]Tom; and the eternal ruffian put his tongue in his cheek. 'Though the day's cold, 'pon my conscience, you shall have presently an air of the fire.'

"'Asy,' says the priest, 'what call have you to a Catholic?'

"'A Catholic!' replied the devil, with a twist of his lip, mimicking Father Paul; 'maybe your reverence would tell us when he was last at confession?'

"At this the priest lost temper. 'What the blazes,' says he, 'have you to do with that? Was there any body present at the bargainbetune[58]ye?'

"'Hell to the one,' replied the devil.

"'Then,' says Father Paul, 'sorrow leg you would have to stand on if the whole thing came before the barrister.'

"The devil gave a knowing look, and, dipping his hand into the left breeches-pocket, took out a piece of paper, and, as an attorney shows the corner of a promissory-note to an unwilling witness, he held it out to Tom, and asked him was it his hand-writing: 'Tummas a Brawdeen,'[59]says he, in Irish, 'is that yer fist?'

"'There's no denying it,' says Tom, with a shudder.

"'Then draw on yer boots, and let us be jogging.'

"'Asy,' says Father Feaghan. 'Did ye get the consideration, Tom?'

"The devil seemed uncommonly affronted. 'Paul Feaghan,' says he, 'I didn't think you would suppose that I would take his I.O.U. and not post the coal! By my oath,' he continued, 'and let him contradict me if he can, a Tuam note he would not touch with the tongs; and the devil a flimsy would go down with him, good or bad, but a regular Bank of Ireland!'

"'Oh, be Jakers!' says the priest, 'you're done, Tom! Show me the note.'

"'Bedershin!' says the devil, clapping his right fore-finger on his nose.

"'Honour bright!' replied Father Paul.

"'Will ye return it?' inquired Old Hoofey.

"'Will a duck swim?' says the priest. 'Be this book,' says he, laying his hand upon the tea-caddy, 'ye shall have it in two twos.'

"'There it is, then,' replied the other, 'and make your best of it. Come, Tom, there's no turnpikes to pay where you're going to; so on with your wrap-rascal,' pointing to the cotamore.

"But, sorrow wink was on Father Feaghan all the while. He examined the note, and not a letter was wanting. It was regular, as if the devil had been bound to an attorneyâ€”drawn on a three-shilling stamp,â€”and, as he turned it round and round, it crumpled like singed parchment.

"'You're dished,' ejaculated his reverence, looking over at Tom.

"'Murder! murder!' says he, as Hoofey held out his hand for the I.O.U.

"'Arrah!' says Father Paul, 'do ye keep your papers in a tinderbox?'

"'They're over dry, I allow,' replied the devil; 'but in my place it's hard to find a cool corner.'

"'We'll damp this one a little,' says the priest, slipping his hand fair and asy into a mug of holy-water, and splashing half a pint of it onTummas a Brawdeen'snote. 'Put that in yer pocket to balance yer pipe.'

"In a moment the devil changed colour. 'Bad luck attend ye night and day, for a circumventing villain!' says he.

"'Off with ye, you convicted ruffin!' roared Father Paul, making a flourishing â€ ; and before Tom Braddigan had time to bless himself, Clooty went up the chimney in a flash of fire, leaving the room untenantable for a fortnight, from the sulphur; andTummas a Brawdeensung, for the remainder of his life, 'Wasn't that elegantly done?'"

"Nothing could be better," said I, as Red-head closed his story. "What a sensation the affair must have occasioned. 'Like angels' visits,' I presume, the old gentleman's are 'few and far between?'"

"By no means," returned the stranger, "there are few families of any fashion in this country, who have not, at some period or other, been favoured with a call; and I myself was once honoured by his company at supper."

I stared at the man; but he bore my scrutiny without flinching.

"Had you a party to meet his Satanic Majesty?" I inquired, with a smile.

"Not a soul," replied he. "We suppedtÃªte-Ã -tÃªte; and a pleasanter fellow never stretched his legs beneath a man's mahogany."

"You certainly have excited my curiosity not a little," said I.

"If I have," returned the fox-headed stranger, "I shall most willingly give you a full account of our interview.

"It was the first Friday after the winter fair of Boyle. I was returning home in bad spirits; for, though I sold my bullocks well, I had been regularly cleaned out at loo, and hit uncommonly hard in a handicap. For three nights I scarcely won a pool, and that was bad enough; but to lose the best weight-carrier that was ever lapped in leather, for a paltry ten-pound note, and a daisy-cutter with a fired leg and feathered eye, would make a saint swear, and a Quaker kick his mother.

"Night had closed in, as I passed the cross-roads of Kilmactigue, about two miles from home; and I pulled up into a walk, to bring my bad bargain cool to the stable. Just then I heard a horse behind me, coming on in a slapping trot; and, before you could say Jack Robinson, a strange horseman was beside me.

"'Morra,[60]Mistre Dixon,' says he.

"'Morra to ye, sir,' says I, turning sharp about to see if I could know him. He looked in the dim light a 'top-sawyer,' and, as far as I could judge, the best-mounted man I had met for a month of Sundays. He appeared to be dressed in black; his horse was the same colour as his coat, and I began to tax my memory, hard, to recollect the place where he and I had met before.

"'You have the advantage of me, sir,' says I.

"'Faith, and that's odd enough,' says he, 'for you and I rode head and girth together at the stag-hunt at Rathgranaher.'

"'Death and nouns!' says I, 'is this Mr. Magan?'

"'I believe so,' says he, 'for want of a better.'

"'Ah! then,' said I, 'I'm glad I met you. Is that the black mare that carried you so brilliantly?'

"'The same,' he replied.

"'No wonder I didn't know ye: you wore at Rathgranaher a light-green coatee, and now you're black as a bishop.'

"'I buried an aunt of mine lately,' says he.

"'Maybe you could do as much for a friend,' replied I; 'I have a couple at your service; and, as I pay them a hundred a year, I wish them often at the devil.'

"'I'll make no objection on my part,' replied Mr. Magan. 'But how far is it to Templebeg? It will be late before I reach it, I fear.'

"'It's the worst road in Connaught,' said I: 'my den is scarcely a mile off; and, if you are not in a hurry, turn in for the night, and you shall have a warm stall, a grilled bone, and a hearty welcome.'

"'Never say it again,' says Mr. Magan; and on we rode, cheek by jowl, talking of fairs, horses, and the coming election. Lord! nothing came amiss to him: he was up to every thing, fromÃ©cartÃ©to robbing the mail-coach; and in politics so knowing, that one while I fancied him a Whig, and at the next I would have given my book oath he was a black Orangeman.

"Before we reached the avenue, I tried if he would 'stand a knock.'[61]

"'Would you part with the mare?' says I.

"'If I was bid a sporting price, I would part with my grandmother, if I had one,' was the reply.

"'What boot will you take, and turn tails?' said I.

"'Neighbour,' replied Mr. Magan, 'it must be a long figure that gets Black Bess. What's that you're riding?'

"'A thorough-bred four-year old, by Langar, out of a Tom Pipes mare.'

"'Bedershin!' says Mr. Magan; 'Tom died before you were born.'

"This was a hard hit. Devil a one of me knew how the horse was bred; but, as he happened to be a chestnut, I thought I would give Langar for a sire. Pretending not to hear the remark, I continued,

"'He's uncommon fast up to twelve stone; will take five feet, 'coped and dashed,' without a balk; and live the longest day with any fox-hounds on the province. At three years old, Peter Brannick refused fifty for him.'

"'And didn't ask a rap for a dark eye and a ring-bone,' observed Mr. Magan.

"'Oh!' says I, to myself, 'Magan, there's no coming over ye!' So I thought that I had better leave horse-flesh alone, and try if I could draw him at a setch of loo, or a hand of five and ten.

"With that we had ridden into the yard, and given our prads to the men, with a hundred charges from the stranger, that his mare should have a bran-mash and warm clothing. Well, I ushered him into the parlour, and there was a roaring fire, and the cloth laid for supper; for, luckily enough, Judy Mac Keal had expected me home. Mr. Magan took off his cotamore, laid his hat and whip aside, and then threw his eyes over the apartment.

"'Mona mon diaoul!'[62]says he, 'if there's a snugger hunting-box between Birr and Bantry.'

"'Oh!' said I, 'the cabin's well enough for a loose lad like me. Everything here is rough and ready; and, as it's a bachelor's shop, you must make allowances.'

"'Arrah! nabocklish![63]I'm a single man myself, and it's wonderful how well I get my health, and manage with a housekeeper. 'By-the-bye,' and he looked knowing as a jailor,'is Judy Mac Keal with you still?'

"'And what do you know about Judy, neighbour?' says I.

"'Don't be offended,' replied he. 'The boys were joking after supper at Dinny Balfe's; and Maurice Ffrench named her for face and figure, against any mentioned, for a pony.'

"'Ffrench is a fool!' I replied. 'But as you know Judy already, we'll ring, and see if there's any chance of supper.'

"She answered the bell; told us the ducks were at the fire, and that in half an hour all would be ready. When she went away, Magan swore she was the best-looking trout he had laid eyes on for a twelvemonth; and, spying out a pack of cards upon the chimney-piece, proposed that we should kill time with a game of hookey or lansquenet.

"It was the very thing I wanted; but I took the offer indifferently.

"'Egad! I'm afraid of you,' says I, as I laid the pack upon the table-cloth. He cut the cards.

"'The deal is yours. What an infernal ass I am to touch paper,' says he; and kissing the knave of clubs. 'By this book, I'm such an unlucky devil, that I verily believe, had my father bound me to a hatter, men would be born without heads. Come, down with the dust!' and he pulled from his breast-pocket a parcel of notes as thick as an almanack. They were chiefly fives and tens; and when I remarked them all the black bank,[64]I set him down a Northman.

"We played at first tolerably even; but, by the time supper was served, I found myself a winner of twenty pounds. This was a good beginning; and I determined to continue my good luck, and, if I could, do Mr. Magan brown.

"Down we sate; my friend had an excellent appetite, and finished a duck to his own share. We drank a bottle of sherry in double-quick, got the cards again, and called for tumblers and hot water.

"Judy brought in the materials, and Mr. Magan began to quiz her.

"'Arrah! Miss Mac Keal,' says he, 'will ye come and keep house for me, and I'll double your wages?'

"'And where do ye live?' replied she.

"'Down in the North,' returned Magan; 'and I have as nate a place, ay, and as warm a house, as ever you laid a foot in!'

"'Have done with your joking,' says Judy, 'and go home to your own dacent wife.'

"'I have her yet to look for,' replied he.

"'Devil have the liars,' says Judy.

"'Ah then, amen!' said Magan.

"'I wouldn't believe ye,' continued she, 'if you kissed the vestment on it.'

"'Why, what good Irish you have for a Northman!' replied Judy.

"'My mother was a Munster woman,' says Mr. Magan.

"'Is she alive?' inquired she.

"'Dead as Cleopatra,' he said, with a laugh; and Judy afterwards remarked, 'she knew he was a rascal, or he would have added, 'God rest her soul!'

"When the housekeeper disappeared, the stranger filled a bumper. 'Egad!' thought I, 'I'll try him now, whether he be radical or true-blue; and, lifting up the tumbler, I proposed, 'The glorious, pious, and immortal memoryâ€”'

"'Of the great and good King William,' says he, taking the word out of my mouth.

"'Who freed us from Pope and popery, knavery, slaveryâ€”'

"'Brass money, and wooden shoes,' returned the Northman.

"'May he who would not, on bare and bended knee, drink this toast, be rammed, crammedâ€”'

"'And damned!' roared Magan, as if the sentiment came from his very heart. 'Here's the Pope in the pillory, and the Devil pelting priests at him!' cried the Northman; and, with a laugh, off went the bumpers, and we commenced the cards anew.

"Well, sir, that night I had the luck of thousands. The black bank-notes came over the table-cloth by the dozen; and, as the Northman lost his money, his temper went along with it. He cursed the cards, and their maker; swore he would book himself[66]against bones and paper for a twelvemonth; made tumbler after tumbler; and, as he drank them boiling from the kettle, I wondered how he could swallow poteen-punch hot enough to scald a pig.

"'Come,' says he, in a rage, 'I see how the thing will end; and the sooner I am cleaned out, the better. Instead of a beggarly flimsey, fork out a five-pound note.'

"'With all my heart,' replied I.

"'Curse of Cromwell attend upon all shoemakers!' ejaculated Mr. Magan, with a grin.

"'Arrah! what's vexing ye now?' says I, pulling the third five-pounder across the cloth.

"'Every thing!' returned he, 'I have the worst of luck, a tight boot, and a bad corn.'

"'I'll get ye slippers in a shake.'

"'Mind your cards,' says he, rather cross; 'there's nobody here but ourselves, and I'll pull off my boot quietly under the table!'

"He did so: we continued play; and, though he lost ahead, he recovered his temper, and seemed to bear it like a gentleman. It was quite clear that the boot had made him cranky. No wonder: an angry corn and tight shoe would try the patience of a bride.

"Well, the last of his bundle of bank-notes was in due course transferred to me, and I fancied I had him 'polished off;' but, dipping his hand into his big-coat pocket, he produced a green silk purse, half a yard long, and stuffed, apparently, with sovereigns. I lighted a cigar, and offered him another, but he declined it; and, after groping hiscotamorefor half a minute, produced adudheen,[67]which he lighted at the candle. I have smoked tobacco here these ten years,â€”Persian or pigstail were all the same to me;â€”but the first whiff of Magan's pipe I thought would have smothered me on the spot.

"'Holy Bridget!' says I, gasping for breath. 'Arrah! what stuff is that you're blowing?'

"'It's rather strong,' says he, 'but beautiful when you're used to it. Cut the cards; and, as they say in Connaught, 'if money stands, luck may turn.'

"Just then Judy come in to ask Mr. Magan if he would have a second pair of blankets on his bed.

"'Will you come with me?' says he, putting his arm round her jokingly.

"'God take ye, if possible!' cried Judy: 'pheaks! ye'r not over well honest man, for your hand's in a fever!'

"'It's the liker my heart, Judy,' and he gave her a coaxing smile.

"'Sorrow one of me liked his making so free. 'Go on with your game,' says I, 'and don't be putting yourcomether[68]over my housekeeper.'

"At the moment a horse-tramp was heard in the yard, and Judy ran to the window.

"'Who's that?' says I. 'Devil welcome him, whoever he is;' for I thought he would interrupt us.

"'It's a short man on a grey pony,' says Judy, 'with a big blue cloak about him.'

"'Phew!' and I whistled. 'It's Father Paul Feaghan.'

"'Father Paul!' ejaculated Mr. Magan, turning pale as a shirt-frill, and dropping thedudheenon the floor.

"'Oh, death and nouns! the carpet will be ruined!' roared Judy, plumping down upon her knees, and snatching at the pipe; but, before she reached it, she gave a wild scream, as if she saw a ghost, and began blessing herself busily. But, scarcely had she made the sign of the â€ , when a thunderclap shook the lodge; a blaze lightened through the supper-room, and Mr. Magan, taking with him the black bank-notes, and the hand of cards he was playing with, vanished up the chimney. No doubt he would have taken the roof away into the bargain, had not Father Paul been fortunately so near us."

"And," said I, "did no other evil consequences attend this unhallowed visit?"

"Evil consequences!" returned Johnny Dixon, as he repeated my words: "my stable-boy was frightened into fits; Judy Mac Keal kept her bed for a fortnight,â€”and,mona mon diaoul![69]thirty shillings did not pay the glazierâ€”for Magan,â€”the Lord's curse light upon him!â€”smashed the windows into smithereens. But it grows late," he continued, addressing his companion; "and you and I, Peter, must be up ere cockcrow. Good night, sir!" and he turned to me. "Should you ever meet Mr. Maganâ€”while you remain in his society, never be persuaded, as they say in Mayo, to 'prove agreeable;' or, 'fight, flirt, play cards, or hold the candle.'"

[Note:â€”The story was told me at a supper-table table by a Connaught gentleman, with the most profound gravity imaginable. He, the hero, believed it religiously himself; and woe be to the sceptic who gainsayed its authenticity.

Poor Johnny lies under a ton weight of Connemara marble.Requiescat!A better fellow never took six feet in a stroke, carried off a third bottle, or gave a job to the coroner.Requiescat! Amen!]

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