“Bright effluence of bright essence increate”
“Bright effluence of bright essence increate”
works its mysterious wonders on every organic form. Much is still involved in mystery; but to the call of science some strange truths have been made manifest to man, and of some of these the phenomena must now be explained.
Germinationis a chemical change which takes place most readily in darkness;vegetable growthis due to the secretion of carbon under the agency of light; and the processes offloriationare shown to involve some new and compound operations: these three states must be distinctly appreciated.
The sunbeam comes to us as a flood of pellucid light, usually colorless; if we disturb this white beam, as by compelling it to pass through a triangularpiece of glass, we break it up into colored bands, which we call thespectrum, in which we have such an order of chromatic rays as are seen in the rainbow of a summer shower. These colored rays are now known to be the sources of all the tints by which nature adorns the surface of the earth, or art imitates, in its desire to create the beautiful. These colored bands have not the same illuminating power, nor do they possess the same heat-giving property. The yellow rays give the mostLIGHT; the red rays have the function ofHEATin the highest degree. Beyond these properties the sunbeam possesses another, which is the power of producingCHEMICAL CHANGE—of effecting those magical results which we witness in the photographic processes, by which the beams illuminating any object are made to delineate it upon the prepared tablet of the artist.
It has been suspected that these three phenomena are not due to the same agency, but that, associated in the sunbeam, we haveLIGHT, producing all the blessings of vision, and throwing the veil of color over all things—HEAT, maintaining that temperature over our globe which is necessary to the perfection of living organisms—and a third principle,ACTINISM, by which the chemical changes alluded to are effected. We possess the power, by the use of colored media, of separating these principles from each other, and of analyzing their effects. A yellow glass allowslightto pass through it most freely, but it obstructsactinismalmost entirely; a deep-blue glass, on the contrary, prevents the permeation oflight, but it offers no interruption to theactinic, or chemical rays; a red glass, again, cuts off most of the rays, except those which have peculiarly acalorific, or heat-giving power.
With this knowledge we proceed in our experiments, and learn some of the mysteries of nature’s chemistry. If, above the soil in which the seed is placed, we fix a deep, pure yellow glass, the chemical change which marks germination is prevented; if, on the contrary, we employ a blue one, it is greatly accelerated; seeds, indeed, placed beneath the soil, covered with a cobalt blue finger-glass, will germinate many days sooner than such as may be exposed to the ordinary influences of sunshine:—this proves the necessity of the principle actinism to this first stage of vegetable life. Plants, however, made to grow under the influences of such blue media present much the same conditions as those which are reared in the dark; they are succulent instead of woody, and have yellow leaves and white stalks—indeed, the formation of leaves is prevented, and all the vital energy of the plant is exerted in the production of stalk. The chemical principle of the sun’s rays, alone, is not therefore sufficient; remove the plant to the influence of light, as separated from actinism, by the action of yellow media, and wood is formed abundantly—the plant grows most healthfully, and the leaves assume that dark green which belongs to tropical climes or to our most brilliant summers. Light is thus proved to be the exciting agent in effecting those chemical decompositions which have already been described; but under the influence of isolated light it is found that plants will not flower. When, however, the subject of our experiment is brought under the influence of a red glass, particularly of that variety in which a beautifully pure red is produced by oxide of gold, the whole process of floriation and the perfection of the seed is accomplished.
Careful and long-continued observations have proved that in the spring, when the process of germination is most active, the chemical rays are the most abundant in the sunbeam. As the summer advances, light, relatively to the other forces, is largely increased: at this season the trees of the forest, the herb of the valley, and the cultivated plants which adorn our dwellings, are all alike adding to their wood. Autumn comes on, and then heat, so necessary for ripening grain, is found to exist in considerable excess. It is curious, too, that the autumnal heat has properties peculiarly its own—so decidedly distinguished from the ordinary heat, that Sir John Herschel and Mrs. Somerville have adopted a term to distinguish it. The peculiar browning or scorching rays of autumn are called theparathermicrays: they possess a remarkable chemical action added to their calorific one; and to this is due those complicated phenomena already briefly described.
In these experiments, carefully tried, we are enabled to imitate the conditions of nature, and supply, at any time, those states of solar radiation which belong to the varying seasons of the year.
Such is a rapid sketch of the mysteries of a flower; “Consider the lilies of the field, how they grow; they toil not, neither do they spin; and yet I say unto you, Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed like one of these.”
Under the influence of the sunbeam, vegetable life is awakened, continued, and completed; a wondrous alchemy is effected; the change in the condition of the solar radiations determines the varying conditions of vegetable vitality; and in its progress those transmutations occur, which at once give beauty to the exterior world, and provide for the animal races the food by which their existence is maintained. The contemplation of influences such as these realizes in the human soul that sweet feeling which, with Keats, finds that
A thing of beauty is a joy forever;Its loveliness increasing, it will neverPass into nothingness, but still will keepA bower quiet for us, and a sleepFull of sweet dreams, and health, and quiet breathing.* * * * *Such the sun and moon,Trees old and young, sprouting a shady boonFor simple sheep; and such are daffodils,With the green world they live in.
A thing of beauty is a joy forever;Its loveliness increasing, it will neverPass into nothingness, but still will keepA bower quiet for us, and a sleepFull of sweet dreams, and health, and quiet breathing.* * * * *Such the sun and moon,Trees old and young, sprouting a shady boonFor simple sheep; and such are daffodils,With the green world they live in.
A thing of beauty is a joy forever;Its loveliness increasing, it will neverPass into nothingness, but still will keepA bower quiet for us, and a sleepFull of sweet dreams, and health, and quiet breathing.* * * * *Such the sun and moon,Trees old and young, sprouting a shady boonFor simple sheep; and such are daffodils,With the green world they live in.
A thing of beauty is a joy forever;
Its loveliness increasing, it will never
Pass into nothingness, but still will keep
A bower quiet for us, and a sleep
Full of sweet dreams, and health, and quiet breathing.
* * * * *
Such the sun and moon,
Trees old and young, sprouting a shady boon
For simple sheep; and such are daffodils,
With the green world they live in.
TOO MUCH BLUE.
———
FROM HOUSEHOLD WORDS.
———
Early on a fine summer morning, an old man was walking on the road between Brussels and Namur. He expected a friend to arrive by the diligence, and he set out some time before it was due, to meet it on the road. Having a good deal of time to spare, he amused himself by watching any object of interest that caught his eye; and at length stopped to inspect the operations of a painter, who, mounted on a ladder placed against the front of a wayside inn, was busily employed in depicting a sign suitable to its name, “The Rising Sun.”
“Here,” said the old man to himself, “is an honest dauber, who knows as much of perspective as a cart-horse; and who, I’ll warrant, fancies himself a Rubens. How he brushes in that ultramarine sky!”
The critic then commenced walking backward and forward before the inn, thinking that he might as well loiter there for the diligence as walk on farther. The painter, meantime, continued to lay on fresh coats of the brightest blue, which appeared to aggravate the old gentleman very much. At length, when the sign-painter took another brush full of blue paint to plaster on, the spectator could endure it no longer, and exclaimed severely—
“Too much blue!”
The honest painter looked down from his perch, and said, in that tone of forced calmness which an angry man sometimes assumes:
“Monsieur does not perceive that I am painting a sky?”
“Oh, yes, I see very well, you are trying to paint a sky, but I tell you again there is too much blue.”
“Did you ever see skies painted without blue, Master amateur?”
“I am not an amateur. I merely tell you, in passing—I make the casual remark—that that there is too much blue; but do as you like. Put more blue, if you don’t think you have troweled on enough already.”
“But I tell you, that I want to represent a clear, blue sky at sunrise.”
“And I tell you that no man in his senses would make a sky at sunrise blue.”
“By St. Gudula, this is too much!” exclaimed the painter, coming down from his ladder, at no pains this time to conceal his anger; “I should like to see howyouwould paint skies without blue.”
“I don’t pretend to much skill in sky-painting; but, if I were to make a trial, I wouldn’t put in too much blue.”
“And what would it look like if you didn’t?”
“Like nature, I hope, and not like yours, which might be taken for a bed of gentianella, or a sample of English cloth, or any thing you please—except a sky; I beg to assure you, for the tenth time, there is too much blue!”
“I tell you what, old gentleman,” cried the insulted artist, crossing his maul-stick over his shoulder, and looking very fierce, “I dare say you are a very worthy fellow when you are at home; but you should not be let out—alone.”
“Why not?”
“Why not? Because you must be crazy to play the critic after this fashion; too much blue indeed! What, I, the pupil of Ruysdael, the third cousin of Gerard Douw’s great-grandson, not know how to color a sky? Know that my reputation has been long established. I have a Red Horse at Malines, a Green Bear at Namur, and a Charlemagne at Aix-la-Chapelle, before which every passenger stops fixed in admiration!”
“Nonsense!” exclaimed the critic, as he snatched the palette from the painter’s hand. “You deserve to have your own portrait painted to serve for the sign of the Flemish Ass!” In his indignation he mounted the ladder with the activity of a boy, and began with the palm of his hand to efface thechef d’oeuvreof Gerard Douw’s great-grandson’s third cousin.
“Stop! You old charlatan!” shouted the latter, “you are ruining my sign! Why, it’s worth thirty-five francs. And then my reputation—lost! gone for ever!”
He shook the ladder violently to make his persecutor descend. But the latter, undisturbed either by that or by the presence of a crowd of villagers, attracted by the dispute, continued mercilessly to blot out the glowing landscape. Then, using merely the point of his finger and the handle of a brush, he sketched, in masterly outline, three Flemish boors, with beer-glasses in their hands, drinking to the rising sun; which appeared above the horizon, dispersing the gloom of a grayish morning sky. One of the faces presented a strong and laughable caricature of the supplanted sign-painter. The spectators at first were greatly disposed to take part with their countryman against the intrusive stranger. What right had he to interfere? There was no end to the impudence of these foreigners.
As, however, they watched and grumbled, the grumbling gradually ceased, and was turned into a murmur of approbation when the design became apparent. The owner of the inn was the first to cry “Bravo!” and even Gerard Douw’s cousin nine times removed, felt his fury calming down into admiration.
“Oh!” he exclaimed, “you belong to the craft, honest man, and there’s no use in denying it. Yes, yes,” he continued, laughing, as he turned toward his neighbors, “this is a French sign-painter,who wishes to have a jest with me. Well, I must frankly say he knows what he is about.”
The old man was about to descend from the ladder, when a gentleman, riding a beautiful English horse, made his way through the crowd.
“That painting is mine!” he exclaimed in French, but with a foreign accent. “I will give a hundred guineas for it!”
“Another madman!” exclaimed the native genius. “Hang me, but all these foreigners are mad!”
“What do you mean, monsieur?” said the innkeeper, uncommonly interested.
“What I say—I will give one hundred guineas for that painting,” answered the young Englishman, getting off his horse.
“That picture is not to be sold,” said the sign-painter, with an air of as much pride as if it had been his own work.
“No,” quoth mine host, “for it is already sold, and even partly paid for in advance. However, if monsieur wishes to come to an arrangement about it, it is with me that he must treat.”
“Not at all, not at all,” rejoined the Flemish painter of signs, “it belongs to me. My fellow-artist here gave me a little help out of friendship; but the picture is my lawful property, and I am at liberty to sell it to any one I please.”
“What roguery!” exclaimed the innkeeper, “My Rising Sun is my property; fastened on the wall of my house. How can it belong to anybody else. Isn’t it painted on my boards. No one but myself has the smallest right to it.”
“I’ll summon you before the magistrate,” cried he who hadnotpainted the sign.
“I’ll prosecute you for breach of covenant,” retorted the innkeeper who had half paid for it.
“One moment!” interposed another energetic voice, that of the interloper; “it seems to me thatIought to have some little vote in this business.”
“Quite right, brother,” answered the painter. “Instead of disputing on the public road, let us go into Master Martzen’s house, and arrange the matter amicably over a bottle or two of beer.”
To this all parties agreed, but I am sorry to say they agreed in nothing else; for within doors, the dispute was carried on with deafening confusion and energy. The Flemings contended for the possession of the painting, and the Englishman repeated his offer to cover it with gold.
“But suppose thatIdon’t choose to have it sold?” said its real author.
“Oh, my dear monsieur,” said the innkeeper, “I am certain you would not wish to deprive an honest poor man, who can scarcely make both ends meet, of this windfall. Why, it would just enable me to lay in a good stock of wine and beer.”
“Don’t believe him, brother,” cried the painter, “he is an old miser. I am the father of a family; and being a painter, you ought to help a brother artist, and give me the preference. Besides, I am ready to share the money with you.”
“He!” said Master Martzen. “Why, he’s an old spendthrift, who has no money left to give his daughter as a marriage portion, because he spends all he gets on himself.”
“No such thing; my Susette is betrothed to an honest, young French cabinet-maker; who, poor as she is, will marry her next September.”
“A daughter to portion!” exclaimed the stranger artist; “that quite alters the case. I am content that the picture should be sold for a marriage portion. I leave it to our English friend’s generosity to fix the sum.”
“I have already offered,” replied the best bidder, “one hundred guineas for the sketch just as it is: I will gladly give two hundred for it if the painter will consent to sign it in the corner with two words.”
“What words?” exclaimed all the disputants at once.
The Englishman replied,
“Pierre David.”
The whole party were quiet enough now; for they were struck dumb with astonishment. The sign-painter held his breath, glared with his eyes, frantically clasped his hands together, and fell down on his knees before the great French painter.
“Forgive me!” he exclaimed, “forgive me for my audacious ignorance.”
David laughed heartily; and, taking his hand, shook it with fraternal cordiality.
By this time the news of the discovery had spread; the tavern was crowded with persons anxious to drink the health of their celebrated visitor; and the good old man, standing in the middle of the room, pledged them heartily. In the midst of the merry-making, the sign-painter’s daughter, the pretty Susette, threw her arms round her benefactor’s neck.
———
BY MRS. JULIA C. R. DORR.
———
Look thou upon me with approving eyes,Oh, thou whose love is more than life to me!So shall my soul be strong, though I may seeCold looks and stern to other faces rise.Since first I promised to be thine alone,Hath one fond word from thee been dearer farThan loudest praises from all others are,Or warmest smiles. Thou art my world, mine own;And the one treasure that I prize aboveAll else that earth can give—the one rich boonSo dear, that if I lost it I should soonLie in the grave’s cold bosom, is thy love!Love me then ever, for I fain would beAll onto thee, love, that thou art to me.
Look thou upon me with approving eyes,Oh, thou whose love is more than life to me!So shall my soul be strong, though I may seeCold looks and stern to other faces rise.Since first I promised to be thine alone,Hath one fond word from thee been dearer farThan loudest praises from all others are,Or warmest smiles. Thou art my world, mine own;And the one treasure that I prize aboveAll else that earth can give—the one rich boonSo dear, that if I lost it I should soonLie in the grave’s cold bosom, is thy love!Love me then ever, for I fain would beAll onto thee, love, that thou art to me.
Look thou upon me with approving eyes,
Oh, thou whose love is more than life to me!
So shall my soul be strong, though I may see
Cold looks and stern to other faces rise.
Since first I promised to be thine alone,
Hath one fond word from thee been dearer far
Than loudest praises from all others are,
Or warmest smiles. Thou art my world, mine own;
And the one treasure that I prize above
All else that earth can give—the one rich boon
So dear, that if I lost it I should soon
Lie in the grave’s cold bosom, is thy love!
Love me then ever, for I fain would be
All onto thee, love, that thou art to me.
THE TRIAL BY BATTLE.
A TALE OF CHIVALRY.[3]
THE CORONATION.
Easter-even, in the year of our Lord 1099, was held as a high festival in the fine city of Barcelona: it was the coronation-day of the young Count Raymond Berenger the Third, whose twelvemonth’s mourning for his lamented father and sovereign was to close with his own solemn inauguration. The count had accordingly, by his letters patent, convoked to his good city of Barcelona the bishops, barons, knights, and also the ambassadors from foreign courts, to witness him take his knighthood, and receive from the altar, and place upon his head, the garland of golden roses which formed the coronet of the Counts of Arragon.
At the appointed day, not only the prelates, barons, and chivalry of Spain repaired to the festival, but a great many foreign lords and princes: the Judge and the Archbishop of Albera, from Sardinia; the King of Arragon, from Saragossa; the King of Castile, from Madrid. The Moorish sovereigns of Tlemecen and Granada, not being able to come in person, had sent rich presents to the count, with congratulatory epistles by the hands of their ambassadors. Indeed, so great was the concourse to Barcelona on this day, that thirty thousand stirrups belonging to gentlemen of condition were counted in the city and its environs.
This concourse was too great for the count to receive at his own palace of Aljaferia, which stood a short distance from Barcelona: he was therefore compelled to limit the number of his guests to kings, prelates, princes, ambassadors, and their suites; and there were present in Barcelona at that time four thousand persons who claimed his hospitality as their right.
Throughout the day an immense crowd traversed the streets, visited the churches, or amused themselves with the tricks of the jugglers and mountebanks, passing from devotion to mirth, and from mirth to devotion; but toward evening every one took his way to the palace, for the count was to watch his arms that evening in the church of St. Saviour. The whole road to the palace, two miles from the city, was illuminated by torches, which were kindled before the close of the day, the moment the vesper-bell was rung. This broad avenue of light defined the route to the church of St. Saviour, and as soon as this was effected, the heralds appeared with the banners of the Count of Barcelona, and marshaled the people on each side, that thecortégemight have room to pass, unobstructed by the pressure of the crowd. At the last stroke of the vesper-bell, the gates of the palace opened, amidst the joyful shouts of the multitude, who had been awaiting that event since the hour of noon.
The first who appeared in the procession were the noble knights of Catalonia, on horseback, wearing the swords of their forefathers; valiant blades, gapped by hard service in battle or tournament, bearing names like those of Charlemagne, Roland, and Réné.
Behind them came their squires, bearing the arms and naked swords of their masters, which, unlike the ancestral brands the knights had displayed, were bright and unstained; but they knew that in the hands of their owners they would soon lose their virgin brightness and lustre in the turmoil of battle.
Next appeared the sword of the lord count, made in the form of a cross, to recall continually to his mind that he was the soldier of God before he became an earthly prince. Neither emperor, king, nor count had ever before worn a sword better tempered, or more richly embossed with jewels on the handle. It was in the hands of Don Juan Ximenes de la Roca, one of the bravest knights in the world, who held it till the time should arrive when it would pass into those of its master. He was supported on each side by the Baron Gulielmo di Cervallo and Sir Otto de Monçada.
After the sword of the lord count came his equerries, in two chariots, bearing lighted torches, and charged with ten quintals of wax, to be offered as a gift to the church of St. Saviour, because the count had vowed a taper to the altar, to expiate the fault his filial duty had obliged him to commit, since, detained in his own country by the long illness of his father, he had not departed for the Crusade. This wax taper had gone in solemn procession through the city, to prove the penitence of the count, who felt grief as a knight, and remorse as a Christian.
After the chariots came the lord count himself, mounted on a steed magnificently caparisoned. He was a beautiful youth between eighteen and nineteen, wearing long ringlets on his shoulders, waving on either side, but restrained from concealing his open brow by a fillet of gold. He wore his close-fitting coat of war, for during the watch he would have to assume his armor; but this vestment was covered with a large mantle of cloth of gold, which fell even to his stirrups. Behind him followed his arms, carried by two nobles, consisting of a helmet, with the visor closed; a coat of mail of polished steel,inlaid with gold; a buckler, on which was engraved the garland of roses, the well-known sign of sovereignty of the Counts of Barcelona. The nobleman who bore these arms was accompanied by Roger, Count de Pallars, and Alphonse Ferdinando, Lord of Ixer, both with their swords drawn, to defend, if necessary, the royal armor.
After the armor of the lord count came, in pairs, the nobles upon whom he was to confer the honor of knighthood. They were twelve in number; and these, in their turn, were each to arm ten knights as soon as they had received the order; and these hundred and twenty came also in pairs, their fine horses magnificently caparisoned, and covered with cloth of gold.
Last of all, four abreast, came, first, the prelates; then the kings and the ambassadors from foreign courts, who represented the persons of their sovereigns; then the dukes, counts, and knights; each degree separated by the musicians, who rent the air with their trumpets, timbrels, and flutes. The last rank in the pageant was followed by thejongleurs, or jugglers, in the costume of savages, running on foot, or mounted on little horses without bridle or saddle, on whose backs they exhibited a variety of tricks.
Thus, by the aid of the flambeau, which changed night into day, and darkness into light, and with the mighty sound of drums, tymbals, trumpets, and other musical instruments, aided by the shouts of thejongleurs, and the proclamations of the heralds, who called out—“Barcelona! Barcelona!” the count was conducted to the church, having been seen by every one, on account of the slow progress of the procession, and the length of way between the palace and the sacred edifice. The hour of midnight, indeed, struck the moment the count alighted at the porch, where he was met by the Archbishop of Barcelona, and all the clergy.
The lord count, followed by all the nobles who were to receive their arms, entered the church, and watched them together, according to old custom on such occasions, reciting prayers and singing psalms in honor of their Saviour. They passed the night very happily in these devotional services, and attended matins, which service was performed by the archbishops, bishops, priors, and abbots.
When the day broke, the church was opened to the congregation of the faithful, who filled it in such a fashion, that it was wonderful how so many men and women could be so closely crowded together without injury to themselves or their neighbors. The archbishop then made himself ready to say mass, and the lord count put on a surplice, as if he intended to assist him; but over the surplice he wore a richer Dalmatica than emperor or king had ever appeared in, clasped at the throat with a diamond star, set round with pearls of inestimable value. Then he assumed the manipule, or girdle, which was also very splendid; and every time he was invested with a new garment, the archbishop repeated a prayer. This ceremony being finished, the archbishop said mass; but when the epistle was ended he paused—when the two godfathers of the count, Don Juan Ximenes de la Roca, and Don Alphonse Ferdinando, Lord of Ixer, approached the count, and one affixed the spur to his right heel, the other to his left—the solemn notes of the organ accompanying this part of the ceremonial. Then the count, approaching the altar, knelt before the shrine, and repeated to himself a whispered prayer, while the archbishop, standing by his aide, prayed aloud.
When this prayer was ended, the count took the sword from the altar, kissed meekly the cross that formed its handle, girded it to his loins, and then, drawing it from its scabbard, brandished the knightly weapon three times. At the first flourish, he defied all the enemies of the holy Catholic faith; at the second, he vowed to succor all widows, orphans and minors; and at the third, he promised to render justice all his life to high and low, rich and poor, to his own subjects, and to foreigners who might require redress at his hands. At this last oath, a deep sonorous voice replied “Amen.” Every body turned round to see the person from whom this response proceeded; it came, however, from a Provençaljongleur, who had crowded into the church, not-withstanding the opposition made by those who did not consider him fit to be in such good company; but the count, having heard the quality of his respondent, would not allow him to be turned out, declaring—“that it would ill become him at such a moment to refuse the prayer of any one, be he lord or vassal, rich or poor, provided it came from a pure and contrite heart.” Thejongleur, in virtue of this declaration on the part of the lord count, was permitted to keep his place.
The lord count then, returning his sword to the scabbard, offered his person and his blade, by a solemn act of dedication, to God; praying him to take him into his holy keeping, and to give him the victory over all his enemies. The archbishop, after the lord count had uttered this prayer, anointed him with the holy chrisme on the right shoulder and arm; then he took the crown of golden roses from the altar and set it on his head, the godfathers of the lord count supporting the diadem on each side. At the same instant, the archbishops, bishops, abbots, kings, princes, and the two godfathers of the lord count chaunted in chorus, with loud voices,Te Deum Laudamus, during which the lord count took the golden sceptre in his left, and the globe in his right hand, and held them while theTe Deumwas chanted and the gospel read. He then replaced them on the altar, and seated himself in his chair of state, before which twelve nobles led up twelve knights, whom they armed one after the other; these, in their turn, retired to one of the twelve chapels belonging to the church, and armed, in like manner, ten knights.
The coronation being concluded, the lord count, with his crown on his head, bearing the golden sceptre and globe in his hands, and wearing the dalmatica, star, and belt, came out of the church, and mounted his horse; but as he could not guide hissteed, encumbered as he was with these insignia of his high power and dignity, two pairs of reins were attached to the bridle, that on the left being held by his godfathers; the others, which were of white silk, and forty feet in length, were held by the barons, the knights, and the most eminent citizens of Catalonia; and after these came six deputies from Valencia, six from Saragossa, and four from Tortosa; those who held the reins to the right or left marched on foot, to denote their subjection to the count, their lord paramount, who, in this stately manner, and with this magnificentcortége, toward noon returned to his palace of Aljaferia, amidst loud hurrahs and flourishes of trumpets. As soon as he alighted, he entered the dining-room, where a high throne had been prepared for him between two golden stools, on which he deposited the sceptre, the globe, and the crown. Then his two godfathers seated themselves near their sovereign, and the Kings of Arragon and Castile, the Archbishops of Saragossa and Arboise placed themselves by their side. At another table, the bishops, dukes, and all the new-made knights took their places; after them, the barons, envoys of the provinces, and the most eminent citizens of Barcelona, all marshaled according to their degree, were seated in due order, the whole assembly being waited upon by the junior nobility and knights.
The lord count himself was served by twelve nobles. Hismajor domo, the Baron Gulielmo di Cervallo, brought in the first dish, singing a roundel; he was followed by twelve noblemen, each carrying a dish, and joining in full chorus. As soon as the roundel was concluded, he placed the dish before the lord count, and cut a portion, with which he served him; then he divested himself of his mantle and vest of cloth of gold, trimmed with ermine, and ornamented with pearls, and gave them to ajongleur. As soon as he had arrayed himself in vestments of the same rich material, themajor domobrought, in like manner, and followed by the same nobles, the first dish of the second course, singing a roundel as before, and concluding the ceremony by the gift of his magnificent costume. He conducted, after this fashion, ten courses, with songs, and concluded with the usual rich largess, to the great admiration and astonishment of the whole assembly.
The lord count sat three hours at table, after which he rose, took up the globe and sceptre, and entering the next chamber, placed himself on a chair raised on a platform, with steps. The two kings were seated on each side the throne, and round them, on the steps, all the barons, knights, and eminent citizens. Then ajongleurapproached, and sang a newsirvente, which he had composed for this august occasion, entitled—“The Crown, the Sceptre, and the Globe—”
“The crown being quite round, and this circle having neither beginning nor end, signifies the great power of God, which he has placed, not on the middle of the body, nor yet on the feet, but on your head, as the symbol of intelligence; and because he has placed it on your head, you ought always to remember this omnipotent God; may you, with this earthly and perishable crown, win the celestial crown of glory in the eternal kingdom.
“The sceptre signifies justice, which you ought to maintain and extend to all ranks; and as this sceptre is a long rod with a curve, fit to strike and chastise, thus justice should, in like manner, punish, that the wicked may leave off their bad ways, and the good may become better and better.
“The globe signifies, that as you hold the globe in your hand you also hold your country and your power; and since God has confided them to you, it is necessary that you should govern with truth, justice and clemency, that none of your subjects may sustain injury from yourself or any other person.”
The lord count appeared to hear thissirventewith pleasure, like a prince who laid the good counsel it contained to heart, and intended to put it in practice. Thesirventewas followed by a song in twelve parts, and the song by a poem in three cantos; and when all was said and done, the lord count, who was much fatigued, took up the globe and sceptre, and went into his chamber to get a few minutes’ sleep, of which, indeed, he was much in need. His attendants had scarcely unclasped his mantle of state, before he was informed that ajongleurmust speak with him, having affairs of interest to communicate, which would not bear delay. The lord count ordered him to be admitted.
Thejongleuradvanced two steps, and bent his knee to the ground.
“Speak!” said the count.
“May it please your lordship to order that you should be in private with your servant?”
Raymond Beranger made a sign to his people that he wished to be alone with thejongleur.
“Who are you?” asked he, as soon as the door was shut.
“I am,” said thejongleur, “the person who answered ‘Amen,’ in the church of St. Saviour, when your lordship vowed, sword in hand, to render justice to the high and low, the rich and poor, to foreigners as well as your own subjects.”
“In whose name do you ask justice?”
“In the name of the Empress Praxida of Germany, unjustly accused of adultery by Guthram de Falkemberg and Walter de Than, and condemned by her husband, the Emperor Henry the Fourth, to die, unless a champion, within a twelvemonth and a day, successfully defend her innocence against her accusers.”
“Why has she chosen such a singular messenger for this important mission?”
“Because none but the poorjongleurdared expose himself to the anger of a powerful prince, and the vengeance of two renowned knights like Guthram de Falkemberg and Walter de Than; and certainly I should not have ventured to do so myself, if my young mistress, Douce, Marchioness of Provence, who has such fine eyes and such a touching voice that no one can refuse what she asks, had not required it of me. I went, therefore, by her command, in search of a knight sufficiently brave to defend, and sufficiently powerful to dare to vindicate,the fame of an injured and innocent lady. I have traversed, in obedience to my mistress, France and Italy in vain, and even Spain, the very holy land of chivalry, and found no one disposed to championize the Empress of Germany. On the way to Barcelona I heard you named as a generous and courageous gentlemen. I entered the church at the moment you vowed, sword in hand, to defend the oppressed against the oppressor; and it appeared to me that the hand of God had led me there. I raised my voice, and cried ‘Amen, so be it!’”
“So let it be, then,” chivalrously replied the count; “for the honor of my name, and the increase of my renown, in the name of the Lord, I will hold myself ready to undertake this enterprise.”
“Thanks, my lord, for this grace; but, saving your good pleasure, you have no time to lose, for ten months have already elapsed, and you will have little left for your journey to Cologne.”
“Well; these festivals will be ended by Thursday night; on Friday we shall offer up our public thanks to God; and on Saturday we will put ourselvesen routefor Cologne.”
“Let it be so, according to your lordship’s pleasure,” replied thejongleur, making his farewell devoir to the Count of Barcelona. Before he could withdraw from his presence, the count detached from his neck a magnificent gold chain of great value, and threw it round that of thejongleur; for the lord count was as generous as he was brave, and the union of these qualities acquired for him the surname of Great, an appellation which the judgment of posterity has confirmed to the sovereign of Barcelona. He was pious, too; for these festival-days were designed to do honor to Easter, the day of the resurrection of the Redeemer; and the gracious rain that, after a long period of drought, descended on Catalonia, Arragon, and the kingdoms of Valencia and Murcia, the evening on which these religiousfètesconcluded, gave to his people the presage of a long and happy reign, of which, indeed, Barcelona still preserves the memory.
[To be continued.
[3]
This tale of chivalry is a free translation from one entitledPraxède, by Alexandre Dumas, and presents a complete description of the ancient trial, or appeal by battle, as formerly practiced in the middle ages. The champion was supposed to depend upon God for making the cause he had undertaken good, provided the party he represented were clear of the crime of which he or she was accused. This law remained on the statute book of Great Britain unrepealed until a few years since, when it was finally abolished. To those who love ancient customs, this translation from an eminent living author, deeply versed in such lore, may not prove either unacceptable or uninteresting.—Jane Strickland.
———
BY JAMES W. WALL.
———
Whatever original thoughts people may think fit to boast of, there is scarcely any idea which must not before have passed through the minds of many. Let it be sufficient then to the good-natured reader, if some of the present thoughts may not happen to have occurred to him, or if they are not all remembered to have done so.
In preparing these Brevia, I have not knowingly adopted any one thought or expression of other writers. At the same time, I do not affect originality. Lucian, Cervantes and Rabelais have forestalled humor; Horace, Juvenal, and Perseus have exhausted satire; and upon the subject of love, Ovid and Tibullus have left us nothing new to say. The letter of Rousseau, so much admired for its exquisite tenderness and sensibility, beginning—“Mourons, ma douce amie,” is but an imitation of Chærea’s speech in one of Terence’s comedies, who expresses his raptures in the same ideas and expressions. “Nunc est projectò tempucum perpeti me possum interjici;” and of Phædria’s speech in Phermio—“Ut mihi liceat tam dice quod amo, frui, jam depacisci mortem cupio.” Even the best writers, therefore, may be accused of plagiarism; but merely to have the same ideas, many of which are common to all mankind, is no proof of it.
BREVIA.
Friendship divided amongst many, is like a mirror broken into separate small pieces, wherein each can partly see himself, but less of himself as the pieces are divided into more parts.
Our public boarding-schools are said to bring all boys forward; which is only true in part. Great liberty and numbers elevate boys of bold and daring dispositions, and give opportunities of tyrannising over meek and modest minds; thus, those spirits which ought to be restrained are ruined by indulgence, and those which ought to be cherished and encouraged are depressed.
Obstinacy and contradiction are like a paper kite; they are only kept up while you pull against them.
The best wives have been brought up in a family where there has been a subordination to men. Forsaken widows and disappointed aunts set up a hostile warfare against the other sex, and inculcate early prejudices in young women’s minds, which generally take too strong root to be eradicated.
People are generally in the end obliged to make an apology for those very virtues which alone dignify human nature. Friendship, good-nature, and generosity have often conducted a man to jail, where he has been obliged, before he could obtain assistance, to confess himself a fool, and to promise to divest himself of all such companions for the future; or, to adopt the most effectual method, totally to disavow the acquaintance of those virtues altogether, and pretend that they assumed the more worthy form and disguise of discretion and worldly wisdom, which authorised him to act as he did for the sake of his own interest.
Love often turns to the greatest hatred, as the sharpest vinegar is made from the sweetest sugar.
Economy is often tempted into expense, merely from the cheapness of it.
Books are quiet, amiable friends; their information is pleasing, because communicated without petulance, or affected superiority. You must even take some trouble to find out the knowledge you wish to acquire from them, notwithstanding your implicit respect and avowed ignorance. They are generally, too, at home, and their access requires little court.
How disappointed your acquaintances are, if you bear your misfortunes with calmness and cheerfulness! Some, indeed, derive consolation in thinking their assistance will not be asked; but most are mortified in not being able to insult you by their compassion, while they find arguments to heighten your distress.
How seldom utility is considered in our system of modern education! Personal accomplishments can not be of any use in this country, at least, to either men or women, above ten or twelve years; after which they are rather hid, or render the possession ridiculous. Ought the father of a family be able to distort his body in the fashionable polka, or the mother to sing a fine song.
A man gives entertainments only for criticism; and people, on their return home, revenge themselves for the obligation of the invitation, by laughing at his vanity for pretending to live at so much expense.
The Egyptians offered to their god Isis an herb—Persica—whose fruit was like a heart, and the leaf like a tongue. Modern professions and love offerings have a different fruit and a different leaf; the profession is all heart, and the fruit all tongue.
Doctor Johnson says, “that allowances are seldom made for ill success;” and it may be truly said, that reasons are seldom narrowly investigated for good success. Public men generally meet with more praise and blame, in both, than they deserve; and at the end of their lives the balance is probably even.
The easy, good-natured man is like one of theferæ naturæ: every body hunts him as their prey; and, instead of being cherished by every one, he is claimed as their property: if he is caressed, it is only to draw him into a snare.
A politician, like the Cyprian, seldom grants favors but to those who can amply repay them. Virtue, for them, may be its own reward: they only lavish their favors on those who contribute to their interest.
Every wife would make her husband as many compliments as Eve pays to Adam, in Milton, if he was the only man in the world; so would every man, if his wife was the only woman.
People are better pleased with the knavish lawyer—who instructs them how to cheat the adverse party in a cause, or to avoid the payment of a just claim, by a legal technicality, than with the honest one—who recommends an equitable arbitration.
Romance and comedy writers always make lovers rich before they marry: they know this is an essential requisite to the completion of happiness, both in the hero and the heroine. Unfortunately, young people follow the example of these romantic characters in love, but not in the acquisition of fortune: they forget that love alone will not make them happy, and that, like lunatics, as they come more and more to themselves, they will require more and more the comforts and conveniences of life, which, in the paroxysm of passion, were never attended to.
The people of Fire Island are accused of pillaging strangers who are shipwrecked. Are not the inhabitants of inland towns equally eager to divide the spoil of a deceased neighbor or friend, and to glut themselves with the idea of obtaining his property at half the value?
Prudent people never are beloved. Imprudence, by preventing envy, raises popularity; yet prudence is the sole friend of generosity. Generosity is like a beautiful and expansive river; we admire its beauty, and enjoy its advantages, but neither see nor think of the secret springs that feed it.
The idea of good or bad fortune attending a man, has been generally received in all ages. Cicero recommended Pompey to the Romans for their general, as he was a man of good fortune; and Cardinal Mazarin, when any officer was recommended to him, always asked, “Est il heureux?”
We never regard innovation, or even oppression, till it comes home to ourselves. In the life of Cromwell, an anecdote is told of a clerk in chancery, who had seen with great indifference all the alterations that had been made in the constitution both in church and state; but when he was told there was to be some new regulations in the sex’ clerk’s office—Nay, says he, if they begin once to strike outfundamentals, there is no telling where they will stop.
Public opinion is a tyrant—cruel are the sacrifices it demands.
How many fathers there are who always comfort themselves with saying, “I shall die poor, but let my sons make their way in the world as I have done!” To which some complaisant neighbor replies, “And I am sure, sir, they cannot do better!” But should not parents reflect that their sons have not only the same difficulties to encounter which they have had, but the additional disadvantage, that having been brought up in habits of luxury and idleness, to which the parents themselves in their youth were strangers.
Married people sometimes study to appear as fond as lovers, passing their time in billing and cooing like turtle doves. Let them remember that bankrupts in love, like those in fortune, appear in gaudy colors, to keep up their credit.
A deaf and dumb person being asked what is forgiveness,took out his pencil and wrote the answer to the written question thus: “It is the odor which flowers yield when trampled upon.” What a volume of exquisite poetry and at the same time forcible truth is contained in it.
I remember somewhere to have read of a tyrannical ruler, who is said to have publicly erected altars to cruelty and injustice. Many modern worshipers of the same hideous divinities are equally as zealous as this tyrant: but with the essential difference, that their altars are erected in private, within the penetralia of their own homes. Like the Egyptian priesthood, after having performed the most diabolical rites, they come forth arrayed in the white robes of innocence. And society is too apt, like the “ignobile vulgus” of Egypt, to greet them with the same reverence they did their priesthood. They, too, have their esoteric and exoteric theology—the one is their religion in private, the other abroad.
“The nobility of the Spencers has been enriched by the trophies of Marlborough; but I exhort them to consider ‘The Fairy Queen’ as the most precious jewel in their coronet.”
This lively paragraph may be found in the memoirs of Gibbon; and the sentiment therein conveyed is no less beautiful than true; for after all, what is military glory and renown when compared with the fame of the distinguished poet, historian, or man of letters. The hero, after the lapse of a few centuries shines like a very distant constellation, merely visible in the wide expanse of history, while the poet and historian continue to sparkle in the eyes of all men, like that radiant star of the evening, perpetually hailed by the voice of gratitude, affection, and delight.
“The lawyer,” said Burke, “has his forms and his positive institutions, and he adheres to them with a veneration altogether as religious as the divine. The worst cause cannot be so prejudicial to the litigant as his attorney’s ignorance of forms. A good parson once said, where mystery begins, there religion ends. May not the same be said of justice, that where the mystery of forms begin, there all justice ends.”
There is a great deal more truth in the above quotation from Burke, than is generally admitted by the followers of Coke and Littleton. The satire may be, perhaps, too broad, as the whole essay in which it occurs was a burlesque upon Bolingbroke; but, nevertheless, there is truth in the sarcasm. Law, as a system, even in this age of intelligence, is cumbered up with useless forms, absurd fictions, and unmeaning technicalities; serving only to strew with stumbling blocks the pathway to the temple of justice, which should ever be of safe and easy approach. The system of the administration of laws in this country, needs a thorough overhauling. The Augean stables were not half as much in want of the labors of an Hercules, as the departments of law of the labors of the modern reformer. And as the stables in the classic fable were cleansed by the turning of a river through them, so all that it wants now in reference to the administration of law, is, that the current of popular sentiment should be turned in that direction; and gathering strength as it goes