e?A-i '^i!^f^?.!^-^'>'it^)r»rrl''*\fi^''k:^^ PR. 5G03 CORNELL UNIVERSITY LIBRARY Cornell University Library PR 5603.C76 1898 Contributions to "Punch" etc. 3 1924 013 562 099 Date Due ^1 The original of tiiis book is in tile Cornell University Library. There are no known copyright restrictions in the United States on the use of the text. http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924013562099 THE BIOGRAPHICAL EDITION THE WORKS OF WILLIAM MAKEPEACE THACKERAY WITH BIOGRAPHICAL INTRODUCTIONS BY HIS DAUGHTER, ANNE RITCHIE IN THIRTEEN VOLUMES Volume VI. CONTRIBUTIONS TO "PUNCH" Etc. pXM^M^Jt-- ■'L^ PubliRlietl by HarpcT flcBrciiJiers tJ-i CONTRIBUTIONS TO PUNCH" ETC. WILLIAM MAKEPEACE THACKERAY WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY THE AUTHOR AND A PORTRAIT HARPER & BROTHERS PUBLISHERS NEW YORK AND LONDON 1898 A. fS.'^^^^ Copyright, 1898, by Harper & Brothers. All rights reseyved. ,1 , 1 ,-i 11 w u ;) V'l I, Ml IV nil' CONTENTS INTRODUCTION PASE xvii MISS TIOKLETOBY'S LECTURES ON ENGLISH HISTORY A CHAEAOTEE (tO INTRODUCE ANOTHER CHARACTER) LBOTUEE I II. ... . ... III. THE SEA-KINGS IN ENGLAND IV. EDWARD THE CONFESSOR — HAROLD — WILLIAM THE CONQUEROR .... V. WILLIAM EUFUS VI. HENRY I. MAUDE — STEPHEN — HENEY II. VII. RICHARD THE FIRST .... VIII. . IX. X. EDWARD I. — THE SCOTS AND THEIR CLAIMS EDWARD III 3 6 U 17 22 26 29 33 38 42 47 PAPERS BY THE FAT CONTRIBUTOR WANDERINGS OF OUR FAT CONTRIBUTOR PUNCH IN THE EAST BRIGHTON ..... A BRIGHTON NIGHT ENTERTAINMENT MEDITATIONS OVER BRIGHTON BRIGHTON IN 1847 vii 53 73 88 90 94 97 CONTENTS MISCELLANEOUS CONTRIBUTIONS TO " PUNCH " OF A GENTLEMAN PAGE 107 MR. SPECS EEMONSTRANCE SINGULAR LETTER FROM THE REGENT OF SPAIN THE GEORGES TITMARSH V. TAIT ........ ROYAL ACADEMY PROFESSOR BYLES'S OPINION OF THE WESTMINSTER HALL EXHIBITION "punch" and the INFLUENZA 120 THE PERSECUTION OF BRITISH FOOTMEN . . .122 IRISH GEMS 129 MR. snob's remonstrance WITH MR. SMITH . . .133 YESTERDAY : A TALE OF THE POLISH BALL . .136 SCIENCE AT CAMBRIDGE . THE GREAT SQUATTLEBOROUGH SOIR:fiE PARIS REVISITED .... TWO OR THREE THEATRES AT PARIS ON SOME DINNERS AT PARIS . HOBSON's choice; or, THE TRIBULATIONS IN SEARCH OF A MAN-SERVANT THOUGHTS ON A NEW CQMEDY THE SIGHTS OF LONDON . THE LION-HUNTRESS OF BELGRAVIA WHY can't they leave US ALONE IN THE HOLIDAYS? . 191 A STRANGE MAN JUST DISCOVERED IN GERMANY . .193 WHAT I REMARKED AT THE EXHIBITION . . . .195 M. GOBEMOUCHE's AUTHENTIC ACCOUNT OF THE GRAND EXHIBITION 197 THE CHARLES THE SECOND BALL ..... 200 109 110 112 114 117 139 142 146 150 154 159. 171 175 179 CONTENTS PANORAMA OF THE INGLBEZ . AN INGLEEZ FAMILY POOR PUGGY PORTRAITS FROM THE LATE EXHIBITION PASE 204 207 212 215 VERSES THE FLYING DUKE . MR. SMITH AND MOSES . THE FRODDYLENT BUTLER 223 226 228 THE HISTORY OF THE NEXT FRENCH REVOLUTION CHAP. I. II. III. IV. V. VI. VII. VIII. IX. HENRY V. AND NAPOLEON III. THE ADVANCE OF THE PRETENDERS — HISTORICAL REVIEW THE BATTLE OF EHEIMS THE BATTLE OF TOURS . THE ENGLISH UNDER JENKINS THE LEAGUER OF PARIS THE BATTLE OF THE FORTS . LOUIS XVII. 233 237 242 246 247 252 256 258 260 LITTLE TRAVELS AND ROAD-SIDE SKETCHES L FROM RICHMOND IN SURREY TO BRUSSELS IN BELGIUM 267 II. GHENT BRUGES ....... 285 III. WATERLOO 294 CONTENTS THE BOOK OF SNOBS PASE PREFATORY REMARKS ....... 303 CHAP. I. THE SNOB PLAYFULLY DEALT WITH . . . 306 II. THE SNOB ROYAL ...... 310 III. THE INFLUENCE OF THE ARISTOCRACY ON SNOBS 313 IV. " THE COURT CIRCULAR," AND ITS INFLUENCE ON SNOBS ... ... 316 V. WHAT SNOBS ADMIRE . . . . .320 VI. ON SOME RESPECTABLE SNOBS .... 323 VII. ON SOME RESPECTABLE SNOBS .... 326 VIII. GREAT CITY SNOBS .... 330 IX. ON SOME MILITARY SNOBS . . . 334 X. MILITARY SNOBS ... . 337 XI. ON CLERICAL SNOBS . . . . 340 XII. ON CLERICAL SNOBS AND SNOBBISHNESS 343 XIII. ON CLERICAL SNOBS 347 XIV. ON UNIVERSITY SNOBS .... 350 XV. ON UNIVERSITY SNOBS 354 XVI. ON LITERARY SNOBS .... 357 XVII. A LITTLE ABOUT IRISH SNOBS . . . 360 XVIII. PARTY-GIVING SNOBS . . . 363 XIX. DININGS-OUT SNOBS ...... 367 XX. DINNER-GIVING SNOBS FURTHER CONSIDERED 370 XXI. SOME CONTINENTAL SNOBS .... 374 XXII. CONTINENTAL SNOBBERY CONTINUED . . . 378 XXIII. ENGLISH SNOBS ON THE CONTINENT . . . 381 XXIV. ON SOME COUNTRY SNOBS .... 385 XXV. A VISIT TO SOME COUNTRY SNOBS . . . 388 XXVI, ON SOME COUNTRY SNOBS 392 CONTENTS CHAP. XXVII. A VISIT TO SOME COUNTRY SNOBS XXVIII. ON SOME COUNTRY SNOBS XXIX. A VISIT TO SOME COUNTRY SNOBS XXX. ON SOME COUNTRY SNOBS XXXI. A VISIT TO SOME COUNTRY SNOBS XXXn. SNOBBIUM GATHERUM XXXIII. SNOBS AND MARRIAGE XXXIV. SNOBS AND MARRIAGE XXXV. SNOBS AND MARRIAGE XXXVI. SNOBS AND MARRIAGE XXXVII. CLUB SNOBS. I. XXXVIII. CLUB SNOBS. II. XXXIX. CLUB SNOBS. III. XL. CLUB SNOBS. IV. XLI. CLUB SNOBS. V. XLII. CLUB SNOBS. VI. XLUI. CLUB SNOBS. VII. XLIV. CLUB SNOBS. VIII. CONCLUDING OBSERVATIONS ON SNOBS PAGE 395 398 403 407 410 413 417 420 424 429 433 437 440 443 447 449 453 457 460 NOVELS BY EMINENT HANDS GEORGE DE BARNWELL. BY SIR E. L. B. L., BAET. . . 467 CODLINGSBY. BY D. SHREWSBEERY, ESQ. . . . 478 PHIL FOGARTY. A TALE OF THE FIGHTING ONETY-ONETH. BY HAREY ROLLICKEE 489 BARBAZUEE. BY G. P. R. JEAMES, ESQ., ETC. . 501 LORDS AND LIVERIES. BY THE AUTHORESS OF " DUKES AND DEJEUNERS,'' "HEARTS AND DIAMONDS," "MARCHION- ESSES AND MILLINERS,'' ETC. ETC 510 xu CONTENTS PAGE CEINOLINE. BY JE-MES PL-SH, ESQ. . . . .519 THE STARS AND STRIPES. BY THE AUTHOR OF "THE LAST OF THE MULLIGANS," "PILOT," ETC. . . . 528 A PLAN FOE A PRIZE NOVEL . . ... 535 SKETCHES AND TRAVELS IN LONDON TRAVELS IN LONDON 541 THE curate's WALK. I. 545 THE curate's walk. II. 549 A DINNER IN THE CITY. I. . . . . . 553 A DINNER IN THE CITY. II. . . . . . . 556 A DINNER IN THE CITY. III. . . . . .560 A night's pleasure. I. 564 A night's pleasure. II. ..... . 567 A night's pleasure. III. ..... 570 A night's pleasure. IV. . . . .573 A night's pleasure, v. . . . . . .576 A night's pleasure. VI . 579 A CLUB IN AN UPROAR ....... 583 A ROUNDABOUT RIDE 587 child's parties : and a remonstrance CONCERNING THEM. I 591 ■child's parties. II 595 WAITING AT THE STATION . , . . . .599 MR. brown's LETTERS TO HIS NEPHEW .... 604 ON TAILORING — AND TOILETTES IN GENERAL . . 607 THE INFLUENCE OF LOVELY WOMAN UPON SOCIETY . 611 SOME MORE WORDS ABOUT THE LADIES . . .615 ON FRIENDSHIP 619 CONTENTS xiii PAGE ME. BROWN THE ELDER TAKES MR. BROWN THE YOUNGER TO A CLUB 1 627 ME. BROWN THE ELDER TAKES MR. BROWN THE YOUNGER TO A CLUB. II. . . . .631 ME. BROWN THE ELDER TAKES MR. BROWN THE YOUNGER TO A CLUB. Ill 635 A WORD ABOUT BALLS IN SEASON .... 639 A WORD ABOUT DINNERS 644 ON SOME OLD CUSTOMS OF THE DINNER-TABLE . . 648 GREAT AND LITTLE DINNERS 652 ON LOVE, MARRIAGE, MEN, AND WOMEN. I. . . 656 ON LOVE, MARRIAGE, MEN, AND WOMEN. II. . . 660 ON LOVE, MARRIAGE, MEN, AND WOMEN. III. . ,663 OUT OF TOWN. 1 666 OUT OF TOWN. II 670 THE PROSER ESSAYS AND DISCOURSES BY DR. SOLOMON PACIFICO : — I. ON A LADY IN AN OPERA-BOX . , .675 II. ON THE PLEASURES OF BEING A FOGEY . . 680 III. ON THE BENEFITS OF BEING A FOGEY . . 683 IV. ON A GOOD-LOOKING YOUNG LADY . . . 687 V. ON AN INTERESTING FRENCH EXILE , .691 VI. ON AN AMERICAN TRAVELLER . . . .696 VII. ON THE PRESS AND THE PUBLIC . . . 701 CHAP. I. II. III. A LITTLE DINNER AT TIMMINS'S. 707 711 713 xiv CONTENTS PAGE CHAP. 717 ^^- ■ • • '721 ^ 724 ^i . 728 VII. . ■ ■ CARICATURES . 735 AUTHOKS' MISERIES . . • • " . 749 VAEIOUS CABICATUEES . • • • • LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS POETEAIT OF W. M. TIIACKEEAY Frontispiece chaeles ii. .... cane : a mysteey the peisonee op chill-on "miss potts's" tea-table . GEORGE DE BAENWELL . SKETCH IN LETTEE TO LADY MOELEY BUCKS MEMBEES OP THE GAEEICK CLUB . SILVEE PUNCH .... FAOK xviii xix xix XX xxvii xxix XXX xxxiii xxxvi THE BOOK OF SNOBS CLUB SNOB To face page 434 ME. SACKVILLE MAINE'S FAMILY VISIT THE CLUB „ 454 NOVELS BY EMINENT HANDS GEOEGE DE BAENWELL .... LOED CODLINGSBY AND EAFAEL MENDOZA LADY LAUDA LATYMEE .... CRINOLINE AND HISTERIA DE VIDDLEES To face page 470 478 484 b xn LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS A LITTLE DINNER AT TIMMINS'S ME. AND MES. TOPHAM SAWYEE . . To face page 710 CARICATURES AUTHOES' MISEEIES. NO. I. II. . III. IV. . V. . VI. . VII. . VAEIOUS CAEICAT0EES : — ONE " WHO CAN MINISTEE TO A MIND DISEASED " A TEA-TABLE TEAGEDY HALP-AN-HOUE BEFOEE DINNEE THE HEAVIES .... A SCENE IN SAINT JAMES's PARK LITERATURE AT A STAND PAGE 737 739 741 743 745 747 749 751 753 755 757 759 INTRODUCTIOlSr TO "PUNCH" 1843-1854 Much of my father's best work will be associated with the name of that friendly and supernatural being, Mr. Punch, for whom he was now writing. Even in these times, Punch is still a mighty personage ; not only the Punchinello of the peep- show, but somebody to be considered, to be trusted — a being merry and philosophical, wise, and not afraid, a sort of transfig- ured Socrates. From the days when, as children, we used to paint Mr. Punch and his nose and his hump, and try experiments in various colours upon his buttons, to the present hour, when he lies unornamented, in plain black and white, upon the table, he seems the same little friendly, unchanging presence — a sort of Immortal, like King Arthur or Hercules, a gentlemen among jokers, as Hamlet was, or Prince Hal, dignified and self-respect- ing even in his capers. Punch should certainly be reckoned as one of the demigods, those mighty but intangible presences who come joining in the fray of battle, now on one side, now on the other, taking part with the mortals, interested in their success, and cheering and encouraging them to make a good fight. Early in May 1842 Edward FitzGerald had written to a com- mon friend, " Tell Thackeray not to go to Punch yet." Punch was only a year old at this time, a bantling in arms ; but Leech, Douglas Jerrold, and Kenny Meadows were all on the stafE ; and notwithstanding Mr. FitzGerald's advice, in the middle of June Miss Tickletoby's "Lectures on English His- tory" began to appear in the columns. They were not a sue- xviii PUNCH cess, and did not go beyond Edward III. The portrait of Charles II. may or may not have been intended for some of the future chapters. By Christmas time 1843 my father became a regular contrib- utor, and toot his seat at the Punch table, as a successor to Albert Smith. It was in 1844 that the Fat Contributor regis- tered his notes of travel. In 1845 Jeames of Buckley Square CHARLES II. took to authorship, and besides a voluminous correspondence, published his valuable diary in Mr. Punch's columns. The entries in .my father's note -books are very constant: " Wrote for Punch. All day at work upon the Punc/i article. At work till three, and despatched the Punch article." Such memoranda occur again and again. " The Examiner and I have parted company in the best humour possible," he writes to his mother, " for it took more time than I could afEord to give for four sovereigns, and I was INTRODUCTION xix much too clever a fellow to do it well ; making omissions, blun- ders, &c., which any honest, plodding clerk would never have fallen into ; so that chain is off my leg, but there are plenty of other little ones." THE PRISONKB OF CHILL-ON. Although he had given up his connection with the Examiner, he was hard at work for Fraser and for other magazines. XX PUNCH These little jokes and puns out of Byron belong to prae- Punchian days, but the little water-colour painting of " Miss Potts's" tea-table is enlarged from a drawing which appeared in PuncKs columns, which will be found at the end of this volume. Mr. FitzGerald, dating from Boulge in 1845, writes to Mr. Frederick Tennyson: "If you want to know something of the Exhibition, read Eraser's Magazine for this month ; there Thack- 'MISS POTTS S TEA-TABLE. eray has a paper on the matter, full of fun. 1 met Stone in the street the other day; he took me by the button, and told me in perfect sincerity, and with increasing warmth, how, though he loved old Thackeray, yet these yearly out-speakings of his sorely tried him ; not on account of himself (Stone), but on ac- count of some of his friends — Charles Landseer, Maclise, &c. INTRODUCTION xxi Stone worked himself up to such a pitch under the pressure of forced calmness, that he at last said Thackeray would get him- self horsewhipped one day by one of these infuriated Apelleses. At this I, who had partly agreed with Stone that ridicule, though true, needs not always to be spoken, began to laugh, and told him two could play at that game. These painters cling to- gether, and bolster each other up to such a degree, that they really have persuaded themselves that any one who ventures to laugh at one of their drawings, exhibited publicly for the ex- press purpose of criticism, insults the whole corps. In the meanwhile old Thackeray laughs at all this and goes on in his own way, writing hard for half-a-dozen reviews and newspapers all the morning; driving, drinking, and talking of a night; managing to preserve a fresh colour and perpetual flow of spirits under a wear and tear of thinking and feeding, that would have knocked up any other man I know two years ago at least. . . ." There is a page from one of the note-books which must have been written just about this time, in fine weather, and one day when his work was done. " Had a very pleasant stroll on Mon- day on Wimbledon Common with Procter, Forster, and Leigh Hunt. Hunt as usual in great force; his good-humoured face encircled with a clean shirt-collar, and a sort of holiday dress put on to receive us. Passing by Home Tooke's house he talked about Pitt, described him on his deathbed like William the Conqueror — and Tooke's friends, Burdett and Orator Thelwall. ' Thelwall I knew,' Hunt said ; ' he was a practitioner of oratory, and believed in it.' " I won't put down the bad puns the good fellow made at a most comfortable dinner at the Rose and Crown, served by a neat-handed little waitress, who blushed hugely when she told us there were stewed eels and roast ducks for dinner. All was very good, too good, the champagne and claret just for all the world like London wine. The Common was noble, and the air and the green country delightfully fresh. The day quite a holiday." As I have already told, my sister and I were living abroad with our grandparents during these years, and we only saw our father when he could find time for brief visits. Here is one of xxii PUNCH his letters, written in copper-plate handwriting, and dated De- cember 30, 1845 : — " Mr DEAREST Nannv, — Your letter has made me and mamma very happ_v, and very sad too that we are away from our dearest little girls. But I for one shall see you before very long, I hope in a week from this day, and only write now to wish you a happy New Year. How glad I am that it is a black puss and not a black nuss you have got ! I thought you did not know how to spell nurse, and had spelt it en-you-double-ess ; but I see the .spelling gets better as the letters grow longer : they cannot be too long for me. Laura must be a very good-natured girl. I hope my dear Nanny is so too, not merely to her schoolmistress and friends, but to everybody — to her servants and her nurses. I would sooner have you gentle and humble-minded than ever so clever. Who was born on Christmas Day ? Somebody Who was so great, that all the world worships Him ; and so good, that all the world loves Him ; and so gentle and humble, that He never spoke an unkind word. And there is a little sermon, and a great deal of love and affection from papa." The " Prize Novelists " appeared in 1847. The diary for that year tells of the time when we had come to live again in Eng- land. The book begins as usual, "Drew for Punch." On Jan- uary 5th the entry is, " Duff Gordon — drew and wrote for ' V. F.' " Then follow many names, so familiar now, but of which only one or two had even faces then. My father was thirty-six when we came to him. He had not taken the house with the fields and the paddock, of which he had written to his mother, but the brown, bow- windowed house in Young Street. Young Street itself was al- most out of town when we first dwelt there, and, as I have already shown, he was delighted with his new home. " I have bought a boss, and ride in the Park with great ele- gance," he writes to my uncle, Arthur Shawe. " Strange to say, not knowing a horse from a cow, everybody says I have got a most wonderful bargain, a splendid stepper, &c. . . . One of mv prettiest and amiablest female friends, Mrs. B., has just fallen at Brighton, where the Fat Contributor used to ride with her, and INTRODUCTION xxiii broken her nose — the prettiest little nose in the world ! She is an Indian Civil Servant's wife. Mrs. B. sent me a bottle of Chutney. I wish you could have seen her face when I told her that I was very much obliged to her, and had rubbed it into my hair." To Mrs. Procter he writes in this same year : " I have been reading a capital paper in Punch, which has made me positively die with laughing. It is by a lady of position — who can it be ?" He signs his letter, " A young fellow of the best Society." Whatever happened, my father, I think, could not help smiling and playing about a little, before settling down to work. Here are a couple of answers to invitations from Mrs. Procter: — (1.) " My dear Mrs. Procter, — I quite forgot it was Monday. Monday is Punch day. I was not there last week, being unwell, and next week I must attend. "But we dine early; business is over by 8.30 or so, and if you please, I will come to tea nice and early, leaving those vulgar Punch creatures just as they begin to smoke. " ' V. F.' is getting later and later ; but I am still yours (with my respectful compliments to a young lady who has dreams), " W. M. T." (2.) " The little girls are glad, and free To wait upon the Misses P. You ask my children, as I see. To come to dinner and to tea ; But why the deuce you don't ask me. That is a point I cannot see." Mr. FitzGerald, again writing to Mr. Frederick Tennyson, says, " Since I saw you I have entered into a decidedly agricultural course of conduct — read books about composts, &c. I walk about the fields also. I see in Punch a humorous catalogue of supposed pictures — Prince Albert's favourite ' Spaniel and Boot-Jack,' the Queen's ' Macaw with a Muffin,' by Landseer, in which I recog- nised Thackeray's fancy. He is in full vigour, play, and pay in London, writing in a dozen reviews and a score of newspapers, and while health lasts, he sails before the wind." As a preface to his interesting book, Mr. Spielmann gives, a xxiv PUNCH picture of the Mahogany Tree, at which my father used to sit with his good friends. Year after year, week after week, the little square invitations came regularly, with their quaint-printed notice of " Five o'clock sharp." In after days, on one solemn occasion, Mr. Punch came to dine at our house in Onslow Square, and the silver bowl was put out, and our own silver Punch's nose rubbed up for the occasion. My father's well-deserved tribute to Punch will be remem- bered. " There never were before published in this world so many volumes that contained so much cause for laughing, so little for blushing. It is so easy to be witty and wicked, so hard to be witty and wise ! . . ." Here is a note of one particular Punch dinner. " Such a fog in London yesterday," my father writes. " I was going to Punch, and actually turned back, so black was it ; but meeting stout old Percival Leigh, took his arm and walked with him, and the fog was not near so bad in the City as in Brompton and Knightsbridge, and we had a pleasant evening." All the writers of Punch have carved their names in turn upon the " Mahogany Tree." J. L. and W. M. T., and M. L., the first editor, and T. T. and C. K., and R. D. of beloved memory, and the editor of these days, and the noble J. T., and dear D. M., whose sun-tipped pen and pencil reached so far, and A. G., who only writes delightfully as yet, but whose drawings will surely come to the fore. " It is on record," says Mr. Spielmann, " how Douglas Jerrold would go radiant to the dinner when Mrs. Caudle was sending up PuncKs circulation. Thackeray, too, first tasted the delights of wide popularity in the success of his ' Snob Pa- pers,'* and showed the pleasure felt in his demeanour at the * Since writing the above I have received from Mr. Reginald Smith a commentary upon the " Boole of Snoba," which has been lately published for the use of students of English in Christiania. The little handbook is very appreciative of my father's works, and also goes into many learned details. "Punch," we read, "is a hump-backed character in the once popular English toy-theatre. It has consequently nothing to do with punch (Sanskrit joo^cAan, five), from the five ingredients of which that liquor is made up." The notes go into all sorts of odd and unexpected elucidations. " Rabbits are very teeming animals." " His reverence," a title of respect given to cler- gymen. " Tatteraall's " still mentioned as a place where people indulge in betting. "Busm," also written "buzzum." "Snooks," an imaginary per- INTRODUCTION xxv board." Mr. Spielmann quotes that beautiful elegy on my father's death which was written for Punch by Mr. Shirley Brooks : — " His heart wide open to all kindly thought, His hand so quick to give, hia tongue to praise." The lines are well known as they deserve to be, and they in truth describe my father as he was to his friends, rather than to the strangers, "who but knew his books, not him." As a boy and a young man, his sense of the ludicrous often carried him into the regions of nonsensical burlesque, and he has said to us that he wished some of his early and more personal jokes had never been printed. It must have been from such a feel- ing as this that he told Mr. Motley the "Snob Papers" were those of his writings he liked the least, and that he published a note of explanation when he withdrew a certain number of these papers from the collected edition. The poem of the " Mahogany Tree" was published in Jan- uary 1847: — " Here let us sport, Boys, as we sit. Laughter and wit Flashing so free; Life is but short. When we are gone, Let them sing on. Bound the old tree." The lines are almost like a wind playing among tie leaves of the branches overhead. Turning over the pages of Punch, and looking at the famil- iar titles and histories and pictures, the circumstances under which all these were devised come vagnely back to my mind again. Suns long set begin to shine once more through the old Kensington study windows. My father's silvery grey head is bending over his drawing-board as he sits at his work, seri- son, often brought forward as the answer to an idle question. Diddlesex, a pun upon Middlesex, very often found in Thack.'s works. '• A friend in yel- low satin — a female friend." Besides the commentaries on the " Book of Snobs " there is a short life of the author, prettily written, with a certain original foreign accent. xxvi PUNCH ous, preoccupied, with the water-colour box open on the table beside him, and the tray full of well-remembered implements. To the writer her own childhood comes back and fills her world. The old friend who used to pose for him so often as a model m those days seems to be forty summers young again. There she is, sitting motionless and smiling, with black hair, in the stiff cane-bottom chair, while he draws on, and dabs in the shadows. The cane-bottom chair, " that bandy-legged, high-shouldered, worm-eaten seat," is gone, though one of its contemporaries still survives in our home ; and as I look at the pictures of that time, and recognise one and another of the objects depicted there, I are always carried away from now to then. Why, the very coal- scuttle which Becky brought in with her own two hands still serves to warm the hearth where my family is assembled. It used to be a joy to us as we swung our legs in the school- room, making believe to work at our historical studies upon the Plantagenets (beyond which race we never seemed to travel), or at exercises in literature (represented chiefly by Ollendorf s Grammar and Cowper's Poems), to be called from these ab- stractions to take a share in the great living drama of Punch or "Vanity Fair" going on in the study below. We were to be trusted to stand upon chairs, to hold draperies and cast a shadow, to take the part of supers on our father's stage. There were also the wood-blocks ready to fascinate us ; and it was often our business to rub out the failures, and to wash the chalk off the blocks. I still remember a dreadful day when I washed away a finished drawing, for which the messenger was at that moment waiting in the hall. My father's sketches in Punch are estimated at 380 ; and I am amused to find noticed among these one which is entitled " Horrid Tragedy in Private Life," and which (so says the His- tory) represents a room in which there are two ladies in a state of excitement. It is further stated that on the appearance of this drawing, the Man in the Moon, a rival periodical, offered a reward of £500 and a free pardon to any one who would pub- lish an explanation of it. Is it too late to claim the £500? The room was my father's study, where two little girls were found by him dressed up in various tablecloths and curtains. One was enacting a queen, and was ordering the rival sovereio-n INTRODUCTION xxvii oflE to instant execution, when he came home unexpectedly, and drew them then and there. We read the "Prize Novelists" for real stories, and longed for them to be finished, instead of always breaking off at the most interesting point. He wanted to end up the series with Dickens and himself, but the proprietors of Punch refused to let him publish the parody of Dickens in their columns, and the series came to an end. An interesting note^ which concerns these early times, is ad- dressed to Mr. Albany Fonblanque : — " January 27, 1847. " Mt dear Fonblanque, — A great qualm has just come over me about our conversation this morning. I am going to do a GEORGE DE BARNWELL. series of novels by the most popular authors for Punch, and Bulwer is actually done, the blocks designed, and the story in progress. It is George de Barnwell. He will quote Plato, xxviii PUNCH speak in Big Phrases, and let out his Nunky's, old etc. . • • Numbers of others are to follow — Cooper, James, Dickens, Le- ver, &c. — but they will all be good-natured, and I can't afiord to give up my plan. It is m}' bread indeed for next year. " I am bound to tell you this (how the deuce did I forget it in our talk this morning?), lest you should be putting your hos- pitable intentions into execution, and after having had my legs sub iisdem trabihus with Bulwer, should seem to betray him. I can't leave him out of the caricature ; and all that I promise is to be friendly and meek in spirit." Along with this letter will be seen the sketch of George de Barnwell absorbed in his Greek, and of the charming customer waiting to be supplied with loaf-sugar. Another letter, to the Dowager Lady Morley of those days, may also be inserted here : — " But permit me to say, dear Lady Morley — Merciful powers ! what must have been the astonishment of the reigning Duchess on entering her granddaughter's apartment long before day- break on the bridal morning (with her maids of honour called up from their couches to attend the anxious parent and sov- ereign) — what, I say, must have been her H's astonishment to find the Princess's couch deserted ! — " Yes, deserted — the virgin nightcap lay crimped and undis- turbed on the unruflBed pillow, the pillow on the swelling feather- bed, which that night, enfin — which had not been slept upon that night. The room was vacant. The window was open. The bird had flown. " Dear Lady Morley, Adelgisa had fled ! With best respects to your family circle, believe me ever faithfully yours, " Samubl Eogers." "Travels in London" were written in 1847. "A Little Din- ner at Timmins's" appeared in 1848, and in 1849 came "Mr. Brown's Letters to a Young Man About Town." "Authors' Miseries," a series of drawings and letterpress, were also pub- lished about this time. As for the Fat Contributor, he used to ilourish and contribjjte ^iji aJJ parts of the world, and to travel INTRODUCTION xxix about in London too. We know that lie actually went to the East, although some one declared he had never been beyond the sound of Bow Bells. His note to Mr. Punch may be re- membered when he touches at Smyrna, where, as he says, " I have purchased a real Smyrna sponge, which trifle I hope your lady will accept for her toilette, some real Turkey Rhubarb for SKETCH IN LETTER TO LADT MOELET. your dear children, and a friend going to Syria has promised to procure for me some real Jerusalem artichokes, which I hope to see flourishing in your garden." There is a most amusing account of the Fat Contributor's Eastern adventures to be found later in PuncKs Pocket-Booh for XXX PUNCH 1847. How he suffered at parting from Dolores at Cadiz, how he, nevertheless, proposed to Miss Noakes, who was going t" Bombay to be married to Ledermore of the Civil Service, how he was ready to throw himself into the water when Colonel Hustler's daughter also refused him upon the Nile, how be re- ceived a bunch of flowers at Cairo— a rhododendron, a magno- lia, two tulips. Captain Glanders, who said he understood the language of flowers, interpreted the meaning of this romantic combination. For the Eastern adventures of the Fat Contribu- tor Leech drew the only illustration I believe that he ever made for my father's writing. INTRODUCTION xxxi Mrs. Jackson, who as a girl had knowu my father at Paris, told me, that when she arrived at Cairo, in after years, with her two eldest children on their way home from India, she heard the people all saying that " Punch was staying in the hotel." Some one pointed out my father to her, saying, "There, that is Punchy " Nonsense," said she, " that is William Thackeray; tell him that Mrs. Jackson — Mia Pattle — is here, and would like to see him again." A few minutes afterwards she said, as she sat with her two little girls in their nursery, she heard a footstep running upstairs, and a knock at the door, and my father came in with a glad greeting. Frank Whitestock, the curate, who subsequently meets the Fat Contributor in a street in Soho, was Mr. Brookfield, who carried my father along with him on one or two occasions when he went the round of his parish. In Douglas Jerrold's story of " The Man made of Money," the hero actually turns into bank-notes ; he pulls them out one after another from his breast, until there is nothing more of him- self left, and his clothes fall in a heap on the ground. But though an imaginative writer gives of himself, his imagination lives just as much as he does. It is part of his very life to give ; only his interest travels on with the years, and he cares for dif- ferent things at difEerent times. When my father was writing his more important books, he found the effort of composing short articles and subjects an increasing strain. Towards the end of the published letters to Mrs. Brookfield one can see how much the double work is beginning to tell. In the earlier times he writes gaily enough and easily ; everything is turned to good account. When pestered with friendly bores, he declares he will send a paper to Punch about them, and exhale his griefs in print. He also makes his fun into copy. There is a delightful descrip- tion of a play he has been to, called " Les Mysteres de Londres," which "Mysteres" are a plot by a marquis of Irish extraction to rehabilitate his country and to annihilate England. "This is getting to be so very like print," he says, " that I shall copy it very likely for Punch. . . ." The Miss Berrys, and Mrs. Brookfield herself at her sewing, all the common events of those days, seem to have been in a friendly partnership to furnish him 6 c xxxii PUNCH with material. One of his letters is dated from the Punch office, where he is dressing to dine with the Lord Mayor ; then he is at Paris, inventing wonderful facts about England for Jules Janin s benefit, telling him that to see people boxing in the streets or London is a constant amusement with the English, and that suicides are to be found hanging from every lamp-post on Lon- don Bridge. " Did you ever read any of the works of Janin ?" he asks. " No ; well, he has been twenty years famous in France, and he, on his side, has never heard of the works of Titmarsh." But only a year later, writing from Paris again, soon after his bad illness, and apparently rather bored by the recognition, long-delayed, of his acquaintances, he says, " The French people all talk about Ponche when they are introduced to me." It is in July 1850 that he writes, "My hand is weary with writing ' Pendennis,' and my head is boiling up with some non- sense that I must do after dinner for Punch. Isn't it strange that in the midst of all the selfishness, that one of doing one's business is the strongest of all ? What funny songs I have writ- ten when fit to hang myself !" In the next letter he mentions a doggerel ballad about a yel- low postchaise, which seems to have come to him on the Chip- penham Road as he posted along in the dark. It was about this time that the following letter was sent to his kind old friend, Horace Smith : — " My dear Mr. Smith, — I write to own the criticism in The Chronicle to-day. The best of your poems, instead of making me laugh, has had the other effect, and the notice is written in rather a dolorous strain. Do you consider this an insult ? All the best comic stufE so aSects me, — Sancho, Falstafi, even Field- ing in ' Amelia.' ' Fanny's Ghost ' is the sweetest, most charm- ing lyric. I know why it is so beautiful. I recollect reading some of the verses in ' Gaieties and Gravities ' eighteen years ago, and in imitation of them,* and after the manner of the Greeks, began a classical drama, ' Ariadne in Naxos,' which would do for Punch if I could find it. I take a short cut * See " Pendennis." INTRODUCTION xxxiii (written slanting) to say I am most sincerely, dear Mr. Smith, yours, W. M. T. " With compliments to Miss Smith in a postscript 1" In 1854 my father was still writing for Punch. " I have be- gun a piece of bufioonery, which will pay the rent of the ch&,teau at Boulogne," he says to his mother, and in his note-book for that same year he mentions three more papers. But after 1864 he ceased altogether to contribute for Punch. The " Organ Boy's Appeal " was the last article he sent in. There is a letter to Mr. Evans, which gives the reasons of his MEMBERS OF THE OARRICK CLUB. resignation. He did not share Punch's views about Prince Al- bert, and he did not like the attacks upon the Crystal Palace and Lord Palmerston, and Louis Napoleon, in all of which Punch was acting dangerously for the welfare and peace of the coun- try, he thought. xxxiv PUNCH To his mother he writes : " It was a general scorn and sad- ness which made me give up Punch, I think, more than anything else. I did not go with folks about the Times' abuse of the President. The later articles have been measured and fuU of dignity, I think, but the early writing was awfully dangerous. What we have to do is not to chafe hira, but silently to get ready to fight him. Fancy his going down to his chambers with that article in the Times, in which he was called ' cutpurse ' and his uncle ' assassin,' and that one of the Examiner on 'Killing no Murder,' and saying, 'See, gentlemen, the language of that perfidious Albion ! Shall we suffer these insults, or reply to them by war?' Don't give any occasion to it by calling names, but when war comes, then, oh ye gods ! will be the time for doing. " You'll see I am hankering still to write a ballad or two without my name in Punch, or do something to show my old friends that I'm not quite separated from them." To a friend he writes : " I am in a fury with Punch for writ- ing the ' Old Pam ' article against the chief of foreign affairs. His conduct in the Kossuth affair just suited my Radical pro- pensities. If he could have committed his Government to a more advanced policy, so much the better ; and that ribald Punch must go and attack him for just the best thing he has ever done." One peculiarity which has always struck me in my father, and which I have never noticed in any one else to the same extent, was his personal interest in others and in their actions. He seemed to feel in a measure responsible for the doings of any one he was concerned with. His admiration, his appreciation, were extraordinarily keen for things which he approved and loved ; in the same way, his feeling of real suffering and emo- tion over the failures and lapses of those with whom he lived was intensely vivid. This made his relations with others anx- ious at times — indifferent, never. My father's passing difficulty with his colleagues at Punch is well known, and there is no objection to alluding to it here. Mr. George Smith has given me a letter to himself written upon this subject, and also concerning one of my father's fa- vourite plans for a small daily paper. INTRODUCTION xxxv " February 4, 1855. " Shortly before I left town to go to Paris twenty-five days since I was strongly advised by some friends of mine to apply for a magistracy, and led to believe the application would be favourably received at headquarters. Whilst that was pending the 'Fair Play ' question was also naturally hung up, hence my silence on the subject with you. " Now, I dare say the Ministerial upset has destroyed my little chance of promotion (though I think the Peelites have shown themselves most honourably, and must rise from their temporary fall) ; but another incident has occurred to put a spoke in ' Fair Play's ' wheel, and I must give up all idea of a paper. I wrote an unlucky half line in the Quarterly about Punch men, saying that Leech was Punch, and that without him the gentlemen who wrote might leave the thing alone — an opinion which, true or not, certainly should not have been uttered by me, and has caused the saddest annoyance and pain amongst my old comrades. I had quite forgotten the phrase until it stared me in the face on my return home. Jerrold had attacked me about it, and with per- fect reason, calling me snob and flunkey, and on the face of the matter I think I was a snob — but that's not the question. " I wrote to confess my fault to my old friends the publishers and editor, and passed half the night awake thinking of the pain I had given my kind old companions. This is for half a line written in an article intended to be entirely good-natured. Don't you see the moral ? " If in writing once in five years or so a literary criticism, intended to be good-natured, I managed to anger a body of old friends, to cause myself pain and regret, to put my foot into a nest of hornets which sting and have their annoyance too, to lose rest and quiet, hadn't I better give up that game of 'Fair Play' * which I thought of, stick to my old pursuits, and keep my health and temper ?" His actual connection with Punch lasted for about ten years, but in one sense it was never discontinued. Two of the con- tributors, Mr. Leech and Mr. Doyle, were among the closest * " Fair Play " was the name of a small daily print which Mr. Thackeray had proposed. It was to be something after the pattern of the old Serials, Tatlers, &c. olunteer, had been eagerly accepted by his Majesty, anxious to lessen as much as possible the number of food-consumers in his beleaguered capital. It is said even that he selected the most gormandising battalions of the civic force to send forth against the enemy : viz., the grocers, the rich bankers, the lawyers, &c. Their parting with their families was very afiecting. They would have been very willing to recall their offer of marching, but companies of stern veterans closing round them, marched them to the city gates, which were closed upon them ; and thus perforce they were compelled to move on. As long as he had a bottle of brandy and a couple of sausages in his holsters, the General of the National Guard, Odillon Barrot, talked with tremendous courage. Such was the power of his eloquence over the troops, that, could he have come up with the NEXT FRENCH REVOLUTION 249 enemy -while his victuals lasted, the issue of the combat might have been very different. But in the course of the first day's march he finished both the sausages and the brandy, and became quite uneasy, silent, and crestfallen. It was on the fair plains of Toui'aine, by the banks of silver Loire, that the armies sat down before each other, and the battle was to take place which had such an effect upon the fortunes of France. 'Twas a brisk day of March : the practised valour of Nemours showed him at once what use to make of the army under his orders, and having enfiladed his National Guard battalions, and placed his artillery in Echelons, he formed his cavalry into hollow squares on the right and left of his line, flinging out a cloud of howitzers to fall back upon the main column. His veteran infantry he formed behind his National Guard — politely hinting to OdiUon Barrot, who wished to retire under pretence of being ex- ceedingly unwell, that the regular troops would bayonet the National Guard if they gave way an inch : on which their General, turning very pale, demurely went back to his post. His men were dread- fully discouraged; they had slept on the ground all night; they regretted their homes and their comfortable nightcaps in the Rue St. Honord : they had luckily fallen in with a flock of sheep and a drove of oxen at Tours the day before ; but what were these, compared to the delicacies of Chevet's or three courses at V^four's 1 They mournfully cooked their steaks and cutlets on their ramrods, and passed a most wretched night. The army of Henry was encamped opposite to them, for the most part in better order. The noble cavalry regiments found a village' in which they made themselves pretty comfortable, Jenkins's Foot taking possession of the kitchens and garrets of the buildings. The Irish Brigade, accustomed to lie abroad, were quartered in some potato-fields, where they sang Moore's melodies all night. There were, besides the troops regular and ii-regular, about three thousand priests and abbfe with the army, armed with scourging-whips, and chanting the most lugubrious canticles : these reverend men were found to be a hindrance rather than otherwise to the operations of the regular forces. It was a touching sight, on the morning before the battle, to see the alacrity with which Jenkins's regiment sprung up at the fint riveille of the bell, and engaged (the honest fellows !) in offices almost menial for the benefit of their French allies. The Duke himself set the example, and blacked to a nicety the boots of Henri. At half-past ten, after coffee, the brilliant warriors of the cavalry were ready ; their clarions rung to horse, their banners were given to the wind, their shirt-collars were exquisitely starched, and the 250 THE HISTOKY OF THE whole air was scented with the odours of their pomatums and pocket-handkerchiefs. Jenkins had the honour of holding the stirrup for Henri. " My faithful Duke ! " said the Prince, pulling him by the shoulder-knot, "thou art always at thy Post." "Here, as in Wellington Street, sire," said the hero, blushing. And the Prince made an appropriate speech to his chivalry, in which allusions to the lilies, Saint Louis, Bayard, and Henri Quatre, were, as may be imagined, not spared. " Ho ! standard-bearer ! " the Prince concluded, " fling out my oriflamme. Noble gents of Prance, your King is among you to-day!" Then turning to the Prince of Ballybunion, who had been drink- ing whisky-punch all night with the Princes of Donegal and Oonnemara, "Prince," he said, "the Irish Brigade has won every battle in the French history — we will not deprive you of the honour of winning this. You will please to commence the attack with your brigade." Bending his head until the green plumes of his beaver mingled with the mane of the Shetland pony which he rode, the Prince of Ireland trotted off with his aides-de-camip ; who rode the same horses, powerful greys, with which a dealer at Nantes had supplied them on their and the Prince's joint bill at three months. The gallant sons of Erin had wisely slept until the last minute in their potato-trenches, but rose at once at the summons of their beloved Prince. Their toilet was the work of a moment — a single shake and it was done. Eapidly forming into a line, they advanced headed by their Generals — who, turning their steeds into a grass- field, wisely determined to fight on foot. Behind them came the line of British foot under the illustrious Jenkins, who marched in advance perfectly collected, and smoking a Manilla cigar. The /avalry were on the right and left of the infantry, prepared to act in pontoon, in ichelon, or in ricochet, as occasion might demand. The Prince rode behind, supported by his Staff, who were almost all of them bishops, archdeacons, or abb& ; and the body of ecclesiastics followed, singing to the sound, or rather howl, of serpents and trombones, the Latin canticles of the Reverend Fran- ciscus O'Mahony, lately canonised under the name of Saint Francis of Cork. The advanced lines of the two contending armies were now in presence — the National Guard of Orleans and the Irish Brigade. The white belts and fat paunches of the Guard presented a terrific appearance ; but it might have been remarked by the close observer, that their faces were as white as their belts, and the long line of their bayonets might be seen to quiver. General Odillon Barrot, with a cockade as large as a pancake, endeavoured to make a speech : the words honneur, patrie, Frangais, champ de bataille might be NEXT FEENCH REVOLUTION 25] distinguished; but the General was dreadfully flustered, and was evidently more at home in the Chamber of Deputies than in the field of war. The Prince of Ballybuuion, for a wonder, did not make a speech. "Boys," said he, "we've enough talking at the Corn Exchange; bating's the word now." The Green-Islanders replied with a tremendous hurroo, which sent terror into the fat bosoms of the French. " Gentlemen of the National Guard," said the Prince, taking off his hat and bowing to Odillon Barrot, " will ye be so igsthramely obleeging as to fire first 1 " This he said because it had been said at Fontenoy, but chiefly because his own men were only armed with shillelaghs, and therefore could not fire. But this proposal was very unpalatable to the National Guards- men : for though they understood the musket exercise pretty well, firing was the thing of all others they detested — the noise, and the lack of the gun, and the smell of the 'powder being very unpleasant to them. " We won't fire," said Odillon Barrot, turning round to Colonel Saugrenue and his regiment of the line — which, it may be remembered, was formed behind the National Guard. " Then give them the bayonet," said the Colonel, with a terrific oath. " Charge, corbleu ! " At this moment, and with the most dreadful howl that ever was heard, the National Guard was seen to rush forwards wildly, and with immense velocity, towards the foe. The fact is, that the line regiment behind them, each selecting his man, gave a poke with his bayonet between the coat taUs of the Nationalists, and those troops bounded forwards with an irresistible swiftness. Nothing could withstand the tremendous impetus of that manoeuvre. The Irish Brigade was scattered before it, as chaff before the wind. The Prince of Ballybunion had barely time to run Odillon Barrot through the body, when he too was borne away in the swift rout. They scattered tumultuously, and fled for twenty miles without stopping. The Princes of Donegal and Oonnemara were taken prisoners ; but though they offered to give bills at three months, and for a hundred thousand pounds, for their ransom, the oflfer was refused, and they were sent to the rear ; when the Duke of Nemours, hearing they were Irish Generals, and that they had been robbed of their ready money by his troops, who had taken them prisoners, caused a comfortable breakfast to be supplied to them, and lent them each a sum of money. How generous are men in success ! — the Prince of Orleans was charmed with the conduct of his National Guards, and thought his victory secure. He despatched a courier to Paris with the brief words, " We met 252 THE HISTORY OF THE the enemy before Tours. The National Guard has done its duty. The troops of the Pretender are routed. Vive le JRoi I " The note, you may be sure, appeared in the Journal des Dibats, and the editor, who only that morning had called Henri V. "a great prince, an august exile," denominated him instantly a murderer, slave, thief, cut-throat, pickpocket, and burglar. CHAPTER VI THE ENGLISH UNDER JENKINS BUT the Prince had not calculated that there was a line of I British infantry behind the routed Irish Brigade. Borne on with the hurry of the mel^e, flushed with triumph, puffing and blowing with running, and forgetting, in the intoxication of victory, the trifling bayonet pricks which had impelled them to the charge, the conquering National Guardsmen found themselves suddenly in presence of Jenkins's Foot. They halted all in a huddle, like a flock of sheep. " Up, Foot, and at them ! " were the memorable words of the Duke Jenkins, as, waving his baton, ho pointed towards the enemy, and with a tremendous shout the stalwart sons of England rushed on ! — Down went plume and cocked-hat, down went corporal and captain, down went grocer and tailor, under the long staves of the indomitable English Footmen. " A Jenkins ! a Jenkins ! " roared the Duke, planting a blow which broke the aquiline nose of Major Arago, the celebrated astronomer. " St. George for Mayfair ! " shouted his followers, strewing the plain with carcasses. Not a man of the Guard escaped ; they fell like grass before the mower. " They are gallant troops, those yellow-plushed Anglais,'' said the Duke of Nemours, surveying them with his opera-glass. " 'Tis a pity they will all be cut up in half-an-hour. Ooncombre ! take your dragoons and do it ! " " Remember Waterloo, boys ! " said Colonel Ooncombre, twirling his moustache, and a thousand sabres flashed in the sun, and the gallant hussars prepared to attack the Englishmen. Jenkins, his gigantic form leaning on his staff", and surveying the havoc of the field, was instantly aware of the enemy's manoeuvre. His people were employed rifling the pockets of the National Guard, and had made a tolerable booty, when the great Duke, taking a bell out of his pocket (it was used for signals in his battalion in place of fife or bugle), speedily called his scattered warriors together. NEXT FRENCH REVOLUTION 253 "Take the muskets of the Nationals," said he. They did so. " Form in square, and prepare to receive cavalry ! " By the time Concombre's regiment arrived, he found a square of bristling bayonets with Britons behind them ! The Colonel did not care to attempt to break that tremendous body. " Halt ! " said he to his men. " Fire ! " screamed Jenkins, with eagle swiftness ; but the gims of the National Guard not being loaded, did not in consequence go off. The hussars gave a jeer of derision, but nevertheless did not return to the attack, and seeing some of the Legitimist cavalry at hand, prepared to charge upon them. The fate of those carpet warriors was soon decided. The Millefleur regiment broke before Concombre's hussars instan- taneously ; the Eau-de-Rose dragoons stuck spurs into their blood horses, and galloped far out of reach of the opposing cavalry ; the Eau-de-Cologne lancers fainted to a man, and the regiment of Concombre, pursuing its course, had actually reached the Prince and his aides-de-camp, when the clergymen coming up formed gallantly round the oriflamme, and the bassoons and serpents bray- ing again, set up such a shout of canticles, and anathemas, and excommunications, that the horses of Concombre's dragoons in turn took fright, and those warriors in their turn broke and fled. As soon as they turned, the Vend^an riflemen fired amongst them and finished them : the gallant Concombre fell ; the intrepid though diminutive Cornichon, his major, was cut down ; Cardon was wounded a la moelle, and the wife of the fiery Navet was that day a widow. Peace to the souls of the brave ! In defeat or in victory, where can the soldier find a more fitting resting-place than the glorious field of carnage? Only a few disorderly and dispirited riders of Concombre's regiment reached Tours at night. They had left it but the day before, a thousand disciplined and high-spirited men ! Knowing how irresistible a weapon is the bayonet in British hands, the intrepid Jenkins determined to carry on his advantage, and charged the Saugrenue light infantry (now before him) with cold steel. The Frenchmen delivered a volley, of which a shot took efifect in Jenkins's cockade, but did not abide the crossing of the weapons. " A Frenchman dies, but never surrenders," said Saugrenue, yielding up his sword, and his whole regiment were stabbed, trampled down, or made prisoners. The blood of the Englishmen rose in the hot encounter. Their curses were horrible ; their courage tremendous. " On ! on ! " hoarsely screamed they ; and a second regiment met them and was crushed, pounded in the hurtling, grinding encounter. " A Jenkins, a Jenkins ! " still roared 254 THE HISTORY OP THE the heroic Duke j "St. George for Mayfair ! " The Eootmen of England still yelled their terrific battle-cry, " Hurra, hurra ! " On they went; regiment after regiment was annihilated, until, scared at the very trample of the advancing warriors, the dismayed troops of France screaming fled. Gathering his last warriors round about him, Nemours determined to make a last desperate effort. 'Twas vain: the ranks met; the next moment the truncheon of the Prince of Orleans was dashed from his hand by the irresistible mace of the Duke Jenkins ; his horse's shins were broken by the same weapon. Screaming with agony the animal fell. Jenkins's hand was at the Duke's collar in a moment, and had he not gasped out, " Je me rends ! " he would have been throttled in that dreadful grasp ! Three hundred and forty-two standards, seventy-nine regiments, their baggage, ammunition, and treasure-chests, fell into the hands of the victorious Duke. He had avenged the honour of Old Eng- land ; and himself presenting the sword of the conquered Nemours to Prince Henri, who now came up, the Prince, bursting into tears, fell on his neck and said, " Duke, I owe my crown to my patron saint and you." It was indeed a glorious victory : but what will not British valour attaini The Duke of Nemours, having despatched a brief note to Paris, saying, " Sire, all is lost except honour ! " was sent off in confine- ment ; and in spite of the entreaties of his captor, was hardly treated with decent politeness. The priests and the noble regi- ments who rode back when the affair was over, were for having the Prince shot at once, and murmured loudly against " cet Anglais brutal " who interposed in behalf of his prisoner. Henri V. granted the Prince his life ; but, no doubt misguided by the advice of his noble and ecclesiastical counsellors, treated the illustrious English Duke with marked coldness, and did not even ask him to supper that night. "Well!" said Jenkins, "I and my merry men can sup alone.'' And, indeed, having had the pick of the plunder of about 28,000 men, they had wherewithal to make themselves pretty comfortable. The prLsoners (25,403) were all without difficulty induced to assume the white cockade. Most of them had those marks of loyalty ready sewn in their flannel-waistcoats, where they swore they had worn them ever since 1830. This we may believe, and we will ; but the Prince Henri was too politic or too good-humoured in the moment of victory to doubt the sincerity of his new subjects' protestations, and received the Colonels and Generals afikbly at his table. The next morning a proclamation was issued to the united armies : — " Faithful soldiers of France and Navarre,'' said the Prince, NiEXT FRENCH REVOLUTION 255 " the saints have won for us a great victory — the enemies of our religion have been overcome — the lilies are restored to their native soil. Yesterday morning at eleven o'clock the army under my command engaged that which was led by his Serene Highness the Duke de Nemours. Our forces were but a third in number when compared with those of the enemy. My faithful chivalry and nobles made the strength, however, equal. "The regiments of Fleur-d'Orange, Millefleur, and Eau-de- Cologne covered themselves with glory: they sabred many thousands of the enemy's troops. Their valour was ably seconded by the gallantry of my ecclesiastical friends : at a moment of danger they rallied round my banner, and forsaking the crosier for the sword, showed that they were of the church miUtant indeed. "My faithful Irish auxiliaries conducted themselves with be- coming heroism — but why particularise when all did their duty? How remember individual acts when all were heroes ? " The Marshal of France, Sucre d'Orgeville, Commander of the Army of H.M. Christian Majesty, recommended about three thou- sand persons for promotion ; and the indignation of Jenkins and his brave companions may be imagined when it is stated that they were not even mentioned in the despatch ! As for the Princes of Ballybunion, Donegal, and Connemara, they wrote off despatches to their Government, saying, " The Duke of Nemours is beaten, and a prisoner ! The Irish Brigade has done it all ! " On which his Majesty, the King of the Irish, convoking his Parliament at the Corn Exchange Palace, Dublin, made a speech, in which he called Louis Philippe an " old miscreant," and paid the highest compliments to his son and his troops. The King on this occasion knighted Sir Henry Sheehan, Sir Gavan Duffy (whose journals had published the news), and was so delighted with the valour of his son, that he despatched him his Order of the Pig and Whistle (1st class), and a munificent present of iive hundred thou- sand pounds — in a bill at three months. All Dublin was illu- minated ; and at a ball at the Castle the Lord Chancellor Smith (Earl of Smithereens) getting extremely intoxicated, called out the Lord Bishop of Galway (the Dove), and they fought in the Phoenix Park. Having shot the Right Reverend Bishop through the body. Smithereens apologised. He was the same practitioner who had rendered himself so celebrated in the memorable trial of the King — before the Act of Independence. Meanwhile, the army of Prince Henri advanced with rapid strides towards Paris, whither the History likewise must hasten; for extraordinary were the events preparing in that capital. CHAPTER VII THE LEAGUER OF PARIS BY a singular coincidence, on the very same day when the armies of Henri V. appeared before Paris from the Western Eoad, those of the Emperor John Thomas Napoleon arrived from the North. Skirmishes took place between the advanced guards of the two parties, and much slaughter ensued. " Bon ! " thought King Louis Philippe, who examined them from his tower; "they will kill each other. This is by far the most economical way of getting rid of them." The astute monarch's calculations were admirably exposed by a clever remark of the Prince of Ballybunion. " Faix, Harry," says he (with a familiarity which the punctilious son of Saint Louis resented), " you and him yandther — Jhe Emperor, I mane — are like the Kilkenny cats, dear." " Et que font-ils ces chats de Kilkigny, Monsieur le Prince de Ballybunion 1 " asked the Most Christian King haughtily. Prince Daniel replied by narrating the well-known apologue of the animals "ating each other all up but their teeh ; and that's what you and Imparial Pop yondther will do, blazing away as ye are," added the jocose and Royal boy. " Je prie votre Altesse Royale de vaguer k ses propres affaires," answered Prince Henri sternly : for he was an enemy to anything like a joke ; but there is always wisdom in real wit, and it would have been well for his Most Christian Majesty had he followed the acetious counsels of his Irish ally. The fact is, the King, Henri, had an understanding with the garrisons of some of the forts, and expected all would declare for him. However, of the twenty-four forts which we have described, eight only — and by the means of Marshal Soult, who had grown extremely devout of late years — declared for Henri, and raised the white flag : while eight others, seeing Prince John Thomas Napoleon before them in the costume of his revered predecessor, at once flung open their gates to him, and mounted the tricolour with the eagle. The remainin.; eight, into which the Princes of the blood of Orleans had thrown themselves, remained constant to Louis Philippe. Nothina; could induce that Prince to quit the Tuileries. His money was there, and he swore he would remain by it. In vain his sons offered to bring him into one of the forts — he would not stir with- out his treasure. They said they would transport it thither ; but no, no : the patriarchal monarch, putting his finger to his aged nose, NEXT FRENCH REVOLUTION 257 and winking archly, said " he knew a trick worth two of that," and resolved to abide by his bags. The theatres and caf^s remained open as usual : the funds rose three centimes. The Journal des BSats published three editions of different tones of politics : one, the Journal de V Empire, for the Napoleonites ; the Jov/rnal de la LigitvniiU another, very compli- mentary to the Legitimate monarch ; and finally, the original edition, bound heart and soul to the dynasty of July. The poor editor, who had to write all three, complained not a little that his salary was not raised : but the truth is, that, by altering the names, one article did indifferently for either paper. The Duke of Brittany, under the title of Louis XVII., was always issuing manifestoes from Charenton, but of these the Parisians took little heed : the Charivari proclaimed itself his Gazette, and was allowed to be very witty at the expense of the three pretenders. As the country had been ravaged for a hundred miles round, the respective Princes of course were for throwing themselves into the forts, where there was plenty of provision ; and, when once there, they speedily began to turn out such of the garrison as were dis- agreeable to them, or had an inconvenient appetite, or were of a doubt- ful fidelity. These poor fellows, turned into the road, had no choice but starvation ; as to getting into Paris, that was impossible : a mouse could not have got into the place, so admirably were the forts guarded, without having his head taken off by a cannon-ball. Thus the three conflicting parties stood, close to each other, hating each other, " willing to wound, and yet afraid to strike " — the victuals in the forts, from the prodigious increase of the garrisons, getting smaller every day. As for Louis Philippe in his palace, in the centre of the twenty-four forts, knowing that a spark from one might set them all blazing away, and that he and his money-bags might be blown into eternity in ten minutes, you may fancy his situation was not very comfortable. But his safety lay in his treasure. Neither the Imperialists nor the Bourbonites were willing to relinquish the two hundred and fifty billions in gold ; nor would the Princes of Orleans dare to fire upon that considerable sum of money, and its possessor, their revered father. How was this state of things to end % The Emperor sent a note to his Most Christian Majesty (for they always styled each other in this manner in their communications), proposing that they should turn out and decide the quarrel sword in hand ; to which pro- position Henri would have acceded, but that the priests, his ghostly counsellors, threatened to excommunicate him should he do so. Hence this simple way of settling the dispute was impossible. The presence of the holy fathers caused considerable annoyance 6 E 258 THE HISTORY OF THE in the forts. Especially the poor English, as Protestants, were subject to much petty persecution, to the no small anger of Jenkins, their commander. And it must be confessed that these intrepid Footmen were not so amenable to discipline as they might have been. Remembering the usages of merry England, they clubbed together, and swore they would have four meals of meat a day, wax candles in the casemates, ' and their porter. These demands were laughed at : the priests even called upon them to fast on Fridays ; on which a general mutiny broke out in the regi- ment ; and they would have had a fowrth standard raised before Paris — viz., that of England — but the garrison proving too strong for them, they were compelled to lay down their sticks ; and in consideration of past services, wore permitted to leave the forts. 'Twas well for them ! as you shall hear. The Prince of Ballybunion and the Irish force were quartered in the fort which, in compliment to them, was called Fort Potato, and where they made themselves as comfortable as circumstances would admit. The Princes had as much brandy as they liked, and passed their time on the ramparts playing at dice, or pitch-and-toss (with the halfpenny that one of them somehow had) for Vast sums of money, for which they gave their notes-of-hand. The warriors of their legion would stand round delighted ; and it was, " Musha, Master Dan, but that's a good throw ! " " Good luck to you, Misther Pat, and throw thirteen this time ! " and so forth. But this sort of in- action could not last long. They had heard of the treasures amassed in the palace of the Tuileries : they sighed when they thought of the lack of bullion in their green and beautiful country. They panted for war ! They formed their plan. CHAPTER VIII THE BATTLE OF THE FORTS ON the morning of the 26th October 1884, as his Majesty Louis Philippe was at breakfast reading the Debats news- paper, and wishing that what the journal said about " Cholera Morbus in the Camp of the Pretender Henri," — " Chicken- pox raging in the Forts of the Traitor Bonaparte," — might be true, what was his surprise to hear the report of a gun ; and at the same instant — whizz ! came an eighty-four pound ball through the window, and took off the head of the faithful Monsieur de Montalivet, who was coming in with a plate of muffins. NEXT FEENCH REVOLUTION 259 " Three francs for the window," said the monarch ; " and the muflans of course spoiled ! " and he sat down to breakfast very peevishly. Ah, King Louis Philippe, that shot cost thee more than a window-pane — more than a plate of muffins — it cost thee a fair kingdom and fifty millions of taxpayers. The shot had been fired from Fort Potato. "Gracious heavens!" said the commander of the place to the Irish Prince, in a fury, " What has your Highness done ? " " Faix," replied the other, " Donegal and I saw a sparrow on the Tuileries, and we thought we'd have a shot at it, that's all." " Hurroo ! look out for squalls," here cried the intrepid Hibernian ; for at this moment one of Paixhans' shells fell into the counterscarp of the demilune on which they were standing, and sent a ravelin and a couple of embrasures flying about their ears. Fort Twenty-three, which held out for Louis Philippe, seeing Fort Twenty-four, or Potato, open a fire on the Tuileries, instantly replied by its guns, with which it blazed away at tbe Bourbonite fort. On seeing this. Fort Twenty-two, occupied by the Imperialists, began pummelling Twenty-three ; Twenty-one began at Twenty-two ; and in a quarter of an hour the whole of this vast line of fortification was in a blaze of flame, flashing, roaring, cannonading, rocketing, bombing, in the most tremendous manner. The world has never, perhaps, before or since, heard such an uproar. Fancy twenty-four thousand guns thundering at each other. Fancy the sky red with the fires of hundreds of thousands of blazing brazen meteors ; the air thick with impenetrable smoke — the universe almost in a fiame ! for the noise of the cannonading was heard on the peaks of the Andes, and broke three windows in the English factory at Canton. Boom, boom, boom ! for three days incessantly the gigantic — I may say, Cyclopean battle went on : boom, boom, boom, bong ! The air was thick with cannon-balls : they hurtled, they jostled each other in the heavens, and fell whizzing, whirling, crashing back into the very forts from which they came. Boom, boom, boom, bong — brrwrrwrrr ! On the second day a band might have been seen (had the smoke permitted it) assembling at the sally-port of Fort Potato, and have been heard (if the tremendous clang of the cannonading had allowed it) giving mysterious signs and counter-signs. "Tom," was the word whispered, "Steele" was the sibilated response. (It is astonishing how, in the roar of elements, the human whiter hisses above all !) It was the Irish Brigade assembling. " Now or never, boys ! " said their leaders ; and sticking their doodeens into their mouths, they dropped stealthily into the trenches, heedless of the broken glass and sword-blades ; rose fi^om those trenches j formed 260 THE HISTORY OF THE in silent order; and marched to Paris. Tliey knew they could arrive there unobserved — nobody, indeed, remarked their absence. The frivolous Parisians were, in the meanwhile, amusing them- selves at their theatres and caffe as usual; and a new piece, in which Arnal performed, was the universal talk of the foyers : while a new feuilleton by Monsieur Eugfene Sue kept the attention of the reader so fascinated to the journal, that they did not care in the least for the vacarme without the walls. CHAPTER IX LOUIS xvn. THE tremendous cannonading, however, had a singular eflfect upon the inhabitants of the gi'eat public hospital of Charenton, in which it may be remembered Louis XVII. had been, as in mockery, confined. His majesty of demeanour, his calm deport- ment, the reasonableness of his pretensions, had not failed to strike with awe and respect his four thousand comrades of captivity. The Emperor of China, the Princess of the Moon, Julius Csesar, Saint Genevifeve, the patron saint of Paris, the Pope of Rome, the Cacique of Mexico, and several singular and illustrious personages who happened to be confined there, all held a council with Louis XVII. ; and all agreed that now or never was the time to support his legiti- mate pretensions to the Crown of France. As the cannons roared around them, they howled with furious delight in response. They took council together : Doctor Pinel and the infamous gaolers, who, under the name of keepers, held them in horrible captivity, were pounced upon and overcome in a twinkling. The strait-waistcoats were taken off from the wretched captives languishing in the dungeons ; the guardians were invested in these shameful garments, and with triumphant laughter plunged under the doiiches. The gates of the prison were flung open, and they marched forth in the blackness of the storm ! On the third day, the cannonading was observed to decrease ; only a gun went off' fitfully now and then. On the fourth day, the Parisians said to one another, " Tiens ! ils sont fatigufe, les canonniers des forts ! " — and why ? Because there was no more powder ? — Ay, truly, there was no more powder. NEXT FRENCH REVOLUTION 2f)l There 'was no more powder, no more guns, no more gunners, no more forts, no more nothing. The forts had blown each other vjp. The battle-roar ceased. The battle-clouds rolled oflf. The silver moon, the twinkling stars, looked blandly down from the serene azure, — and all was peace — stillness — the stillness of death. Holy, holy silence ! Yes ; the battle of Paris was over. And where were the com- batants ? All gone — not one left ! — And where was Louis Philippe ? The venerable Prince was a captive in the Tuileries ; the Irish Brigade was encamped around it ; they had reached the palace a little too late ; it was already occupied by the partisans of his Majesty Louis XVII. That respectable monarch and his followers better knew the way to the Tuileries than the ignorant sons of Erin. They burst through the feeble barriers of the guards ; they rushed triumphant into the kingly halls of the palace ; they seated the seventeenth Louis on the throne of his ancestors ; and the Parisians read in the Journal des D^ats, of the fifth of November, an important article, which proclaimed that the civil war was concluded : — " The troubles which distracted the greatest empire in the world are at an end. Europe, which marked with sorrow the disturbances which agitated the bosom of the Queen of Nations, the great leader of Civilisation, may now rest in peace. That monarch whom we have long been sighing for ; whose image has lain hidden, and yet oh ! how passionately worshipped, in every French heart, is with us once more. Blessings be on him ; blessings — a thousand blessings upon the happy country which is at length restored to his beneficent, his legitimate, his reasonable sway ! " His Most Christian Majesty Louis XVII. yesterday arrived at his palace of the Tuileries, accompanied by his august allies. His Royal Highness the Duke of Orleans has resigned his post as Lieutenant-General of the kingdom, and will return speedily to take up his abode at the Palais Royal. It is a great mercy that the children of his Royal Highness, who happened to be in the late forts round Paris (before the bombardment which has so happily ended in their destruction), had returned to their father before the commencement of the cannonading. They will continue, as hereto- fore, to be the most loyal supporters of order and the throne. " None can read without tears in their eyes our august mon- arch's proclamation. " ' Louis, by, &c. — " ' My children ! After nine hundred and ninety-nine years of captivity, I am restored to you. The cycle of events predicted by 262 THE HISTORY OF THE the ancient Magi, and the planetary convolutions mentioned in the lost Sibylline books, have fulfilled their respective idiosyncrasies, and ended (as always in the depths of my dungeons I confidently expected) in the triumph of the good Angel, and the utter discom- fiture of the abominable Blue Dragon. '"When the bombarding began, and the powers of darkness commenced their hellish gunpowder evolutions, I was close by — in my palace of Oharenton, three hundred and thirty-three thousand miles off, in the ring of Saturn — I witnessed your misery. My heart was affected by it, and I said, "Is the multiplication-table a fiction ? are the signs of the Zodiac mere astronomers' prattle ? " " ' I clapped chains, shrieking and darkness, on my physician. Doctor Pinel. The keepers I shall cause to be roasted alive. I summoned my allies roimd about me. The high contracting Powers came to my bidding : monarchs from all parts of the earth ; sove- reigns from the Moon and other illumined orbits ; the white necro- mancers, and the pale imprisoned genii. I whispered the mystic sign, and the doors flew open. We entered Paris in triumph, by the Oharenton bridge. Our luggage was not examined at the Octroi. The bottle-green ones were scared at our shouts, and retreated, howling : they knew us, and trembled. " ' My faithful Peers and Deputies will rally around me. I have a friend in Turkey — the Grand Vizier of the Mussulmans : he was a Protestant once — Lord Brougham by name. I have sent to him to legislate for us : he is wise in the law, and astrology, and all sciences ; he shall aid my Ministers in their councils. I have written to him by the post. There shall be no more infamous mad- houses in France, where poor souls shiver in strait-waistcoats. '"I recognised Louis Philippe, my good cousin. He was in his counting-house, counting out his money, as the old prophecy warned me. He gave me up the keys of his gold ; I shall know well how to use it. Taught by adversity, I am not a spendthrift, neither am I a miser. I will endow the land with noble institu- tions instead of diabolical forts. I will have no more cannon founded. They are a curse, and shall be melted — the iron ones into railroads ; the bronze ones into statues of beautiful saints, angels, and wise men ; the copper ones into money, to be distributed among my poor. I was poor once, and I love them, " ' There shall be no more poverty ; no more wars ; no more avarice ; no more passports ; no more custom-houses ; no more lying ; no more physic. " ' My Chambers will put the seal to these reforms. I will it. I am the King. _ (Signed) "'Louis.'" NEXT FRENCH REVOLUTION 263 "Some alarm was created yesterday by the arrival of a body of the English Foot-Guard under the Duke of Jenkins ; they were at first about to sack the city, but on hearing that the banner of the lilies was once more raised in France, the Duke hastened to the Tuileries, and offered his allegiance to his Majesty. It was ac- cepted : and the Plush Guard has been established in place of the Swiss, who waited on former sovereigns." " The Irish Brigade quartered in the Tuileries are to enter our service. Their commander states that they took every one of the forts round Paris, and having blown them up, were proceeding to release Louis XVII., when they found that august monarch, happily, free. News of their glorious victory has been conveyed to Dublin, to his Majesty the King of the Irish. It will be a new laurel to add to his green crown ! " And thus have we brought to a conclusion our history of the great French Revolution of 1884. It records the actions of great and vai-ious characters ; the deeds of various valour ; it narrates wonderful reverses of fortune ; it affords the moralist scope for his philosophy ; perhaps it gives amusement to the merely idle reader. Nor must the latter imagine, because there is not a precise moral afiSxed to the story, that its tendency is otherwise than good. He is a poor reader, for whom his author is obliged to supply a moral application. It is well in spelling-books and for children ; it is needless for the reflecting spirit. The drama of Pimch himself is not moral : but that drama has had audiences all over the world. Happy he, who in our dark times can cause a smile ! Let us laugh then, and gladden in the sunshine, though it be but as the ray upon the pool, that flickers only over the cold black depths below ! LITTLE TRAYELS AND ROAD-SIDE SKETCHES By TITMARSH LITTLE TRAYELS AND EOAD-SIDE SKETCHES FROM RICHMOND IN SURREY TO BRUSSELS IN BELGIUM I QUITTED the " Kose jOottage Hotel " at Richmond, one of the comfortablest, quietest, cheapest, neatest little inns in England, and a thousand times preferable, in my opinion, to the " Star and Garter," whither, if you go alone, a sneering waiter, with his hair curled, frightens you oflF the premises ; and where, if you are bold enough to brave the sneering waiter, you have to pay ten shillings for a bottle of claret ; and whence, if you look out of the window, you gaze on a view which is so rich that it seems to knock you down with its splendour — a view that has its hair curled like the swaggering waiter : I say, I quitted the " Eose Cottage Hotel " with deep regret, believing that I should see nothing so pleasant as its gardens, and its veal cutlets, and its dear little bowling-green else- where. But the time comes when people must go out of town, and so I got on the top of the omnibus, and the carpet-bag was put inside. If I were a great prince and rode outside of coaches (as I should if I were a great prince), I would, whether I smoked or not, have a case of the best Havannahs in my pocket — not for my own smoking, but to give them to the snobs on the coach, who smoke the vilest cheroots. They poison the air with the odour of their filthy weeds. A man at all easy in his circumstances would spare himself much annoyance by taking the above simple precaution. 268 LITTLE TRAVELS A gentleman sitting behind me tapped me on tlie back and asked for a light. He was a footman, or rather valet. He had no livery, but the three friends who accompanied him were tall men in pepper-and-salt undress jackets with a duke's coronet on their buttons. After tapping me on the back, and when he had finished his cheroot, the gentleman produced another wind-instrument which he called a "kinopium," a sort of trumpet, on which he showed a great inclination to play. He began puffing out of the " kinopium " a most abominable air, which he said was the " Duke's March." It was played by particular request of one of the pepper-and-salt gentry. The noise was so abominable that even the coachman objected (although my friend's brother footmen were ravished with it), and said that it was not allowed to play toons on Ms 'bus. "Very well," said the valet, " we're only of the Duke of B 's establish- ment, that's all." The coachman could not resist that appeal to his fashionable feelings. The valet was allowed to play his infernal kinopium, and the poor feUow (the coachman), who had lived in some private families, was quite anxious to conciliate the footmen " of the Duke of B 's estabhshment, that's all," and told several stories of his having been groom in Captain Hoskins's family, nephew of Governor Hoshins ; which stories the footmen received with great contempt. The footmen were like the rest of the fashionable world in this respect. I felt for my part that I respected them. They were in daily communication with a duke ! They were not the rose, but they had lived beside it. There is an odour in the English aris- tocracy which intoxicates plebeians. I am sure that any commoner in England, though he would die rather than confess it, would have a respect for those great big hulking Duke's footmen. The day before, her Grace the Duchess had passed us alone in a chariot-and-four with two outriders. What better mark of innate superiority could man want? Here was a slim lady who required four — six horses to herself and four servants (kinopium was, no doubt, one of the number) to guard her. We are sixteen inside and out, and had consequently an eighth of a horse apiece. A duchess = 6, a commoner = \ ; that is to say, 1 duchess = 48 commoners. If I were a duchess of the present day, I would say to the duke my noble husband, " My dearest Grace, I think, when I travel alone in my chariot from Hammersmith to London, I will not care for the outriders. In these days, when there is so much FROM RICHMOND TO BRUSSELS 269 poverty and so much disaffection in the country, we should not eclabousser the canaille with the sight of our preposterous prosperity." But this is very likely only plebeian envy, and I dare say, if I were a lovely duchess of the realm, I would ride in a coach- and-six, with a coronet on the top of my bonnet and a robe of velvet and ermine even in the dog-days. Alas! these are the dog-days. Many dogs are abroad — snarling dogs, biting dogs, envious dogs, mad dogs; beware of exciting the fury of such with your flaming red velvet and dazzling ermine. It makes ragged Lazarus doubly hungry to see Dives feasting in cloth-of-gold ; and so if I were a beauteous duchess . . . Silence, vain man ! Can the Queen herself make you a duchess 1 Be content, then, nor gibe at thy betters of "the Duke of B 's establishment — that's all." On board the ' Antweepen," off everywhere. We have bidden adieu to Billingsgate, we have passed the Thames Tunnel ; it is one o'clock, and of course people are thinking of being hungry. What a merry place a steamer is on a calm sunny suinmer forenoon, and what an appetite every one seems to have ! We are, I assure you, no less than one hundred and seventy noble- men and gentlemen together, pacing up and down under the awning, or lolling on the sofas in the cabin, and hardly have we passed Greenwich when the feeding begins. The company was at the brandy and soda-water in an instant (there is a sort of legend that the beverage is a preservative against sea-sickness), and I admired the penetration of gentlemen who partook of the drink. In the first place, the steward will put so much brandy into the tumbler that it is fit to choke you ; and, secondly, the soda-water, being kept as near as possible to the boiler of the engine, is of a fine wholesome heat when presented to the hot and thirsty traveller. Thus he is prevented from catching any sudden cold which might be dangerous to him. The forepart of the vessel is crowded to the full as much as the genteeler quarter. There are four carriages, each with piles of imperials and aristocratic gimcracks of travel, under the wheels of which those personages have to clamber who have a mind to look at the bowsprit, and perhaps to smoke a cigar at ease. The carriages overcome, you find yourself confronted by a huge penful of Durham oxen, lying on hay and surrounded by a barricade of oars. Fifteen of these horned monsters maintain an incessant mooing and bellowing. Beyond the cows come a heap of cotton- bags, beyond the cotton-bags more carriages, more pyramids of travel- 270 LITTLE TRAVELS ling trunks, and valets and couriers bustling and swearing round about them. And already, and in various comers and niches, lying on coils of rope, black tar-cloths, ragged cloaks, or hay, you see a score of those dubious fore-cabin passengers, who are never shaved, who always look unhappy, and appear getting ready to be sick. At one, dinner begins in the after-cabin — boiled salmon, boiled beef, boiled mutton, boiled cabbage, boiled potatoes, and parboiled wine, for any gentlemen who like it, and two roast ducks between seventy. After this, knobs of cheese are handed round on a plate, and there is a talk of a tart somewhere at some end of the table. All this I saw peeping through a sort of meat-safe which ventilates the top of the cabin, and very happy and hot did the people seem below. " How the deuce can people dine at such an hour ? " say several genteel fellows who are watching the manoeuvres. "I can't touch a morsel before seven." But somehow at half-past three o'clock we had dropped a long way down the river. The air was delightfully fresh, the sky of a faultless cobalt, the river shining and flashing like quicksilver, and at this period steward runs against me bearing two great smoking dishes covered by two great glistening hemispheres of tin. " Fellow," says I, " what's that "i " He lifted up the cover : it was ducks and green peas, by jingo ! " What ! haven't they done yet, the greedy creatures V I asked. " Have the people been feeding for three hours 1 " " Law bless you, sir, it's the second dinner. Make haste, or you won't get a place." At which words a genteel party, with whom I had been conversing, instantly tumbled down the hatchway, and I find myself one of the second relay of seventy who are attack- ing the boiled salmon, boiled beef, boiled cabbage, &c. As for the ducks, I certainly had some peas, very fine yellow stiff peas, that ought to have been split before they were boiled ; but, with regard to the ducks, I saw the animals gobbled up before my eyes by an old widow lady and her party just as I was shrieking to the steward to bring a knife and fork to carve them. The fellow ! (I mean the widow lady's whiskered companion) — I saw him eat peas with the very knife with which he had dissected the duck ! After dinner (as I need not tell the keen observer of human nature, who peruses this), the human mind, if the body be in a decent state, expands into gaiety and benevolence, and the intellect longs to measure itself in friendly converse with the divers intelli- gences around it. We ascend upon deck, and after eyeing each other for a brief space and with a friendly modest hesitation, we begin anon to converse about the weather and other profound and delight- ful themes of English discourse. We confide to each other our FKOM EIOHMOND TO BRUSSELS 271 respective opinions of the ladies round about us. Look at that charming creature in a pink bonnet and a dress of the pattern of a Kilmarnock snuff-box : a stalwart Irish gentleman in a green coat and bushy red whiskers is whispering something very agreeable into her ear, as is the wont of gentlemen of his nation ; for her dark eyes kindle, her red lips open and give an opportunity to a dozen beauti- ful pearly teeth to display themselves, and glance brightly in the sun ; while round the teeth and the lips a number of lovely dimples make their appearance, and her whole countenance assumes a look of perfect health and happiness. See her companion in shot silk and a dove-coloured parasol : in what a graceful Watteau-like attitude she reclines. The tall courier who has been bouncing about the deck in attendance upon these ladies (it is his first day of service, and he is eager to make a favourable impression on them and the lady's-maids too) has just brought them from the carriage a small paper of sweet cakes (nothing is prettier than to see a pretty woman eating sweet biscuits) and a bottle that evidently contains Malmsey madeira. How daintily they sip it; how happy they seem ; how that lucky rogue of an Irishman prattles away ! Yonder is a noble group indeed : an English gentleman and his family. Children, mother, grandmother, grown-up daughters, father, and domestics, twenty-two in all. They have a table to themselves on the deck, and the consumption of eatables among them is really endless. The nurses have been bustling to and fro, and bringing, first, slices of cake ; then dinner ; then tea with huge fiimily jugs of milk ; and the little people have been playing hide-and-seek round the deck, coquetting with the other children, and making friends of every soul on board. I love to see the kind eyes of women fondly watch- ing them as they gambol about ; a female face, be it ever so plain, when occupied in regarding children, becomes celestial almost, and a man can hardly fail to be good and happy while he is looking on at such sights. " Ah, sir ! " says a great big man, whom you would not accuse of sentiment, "I have a couple of those little things at home ; " and he stops and heaves a great big sigh and swallows down a half tumbler of cold something and water. We know what the honest fellow means well enough. He is saying to himself, " God bless my girls and their mother ! " but, being a Briton, is too manly to speak out in a more intelligible way. Perhaps it is as well for him to be quiet, and not chatter and gesticulate like those Frenchmen a few yards from him, who are chirping over a bottle of champagne. There is, as you may fancy, a number of such groups on the deck, and a pleasant occupation it is for a lonely man to watch them and build theories upon them, and examine those two person- 272 LITTLE TEAVELS ages seated cheek by jowl. One is an English youth, travelling for the first time, who has been hard at his Guide-book during the whole journey. He has a " Manuel du Voyageur " in his pocket : a very pretty amusing little oblong work it is too, and might be very useful, if the foreign people in three languages, among whom you travel, would but give the answers set down in the book, or understand the questions you put to them out of it. The other honest gentleman in the fur cap, what can his occupation be ? We know him at once for what he is. " Sir," says he, in a fine German accent, " I am a brofessor of languages, and will gif you lessons in Danish, Swedish, English, Bortuguese, Spanish, and Bersian." Thus occupied in meditations, the rapid hours and the rapid steamer pass quickly on. The sun is sinking, and, as he drops, the ingenious luminary sets the Thames on fire : several worthy gentlemen, watch in hand, are eagerly examining the phenomena attending his dis- appearance, — rich clouds of purple and gold, that form the curtains of his bed, — little barks that pass black across his disc, his disc every instant dropping nearer and nearer into the water. " There he goes ! " says one sagacious observer. " No, he doesn't," cries another. Now he is gone, and the steward is already threading the deck, asking the passengers, right and left, if they will take a little supper. What a grand object is a sunset, and what a wonder is an appetite at sea ! Lo ! the horned moon shines pale over Margate, and the red beacon is gleaming from distant Kamsgate pier. A great rush is speedily made for the mattresses that lie in the boat at the ship's side ; and as the night is delightfully calm, many fair ladies and worthy men determine to couch on deck for the night. The proceedings of the former, especially if they be young and pretty, the philosopher watches with indescribable emotion and interest. What a number of pretty coquetries do the ladies perform, and into what pretty attitudes do they take care to fall ! All the little children have been gathered up by the nursery-maids, and are taken down to roost below. Balmy sleep seals the eyes of many tired wayfarers, as you see in the case of the Russian nobleman asleep among the portmanteaus ; and Titmarsh, who has been walk- ing the deck for some time with a great mattress on his shoulders, knowing full well that were he to relinquish it for an instant, some other person would seize on it, now stretches his bed upon the deck, wraps his cloak about his knees, draws his white cotton night-cap tight over his head and ears ; and, as the smoke of his cigar rises calmly upwards to the deep sky and the cheerful twinkling stars, he feels himself exquisitely happy, and thinks of thee, my Juliana ! FEOM KICHMOND TO BRUSSELS 273 Why people, because they are in a steamboat, should get up so deuc6dly early I cannot understand. Gentlemen have been walking over my legs ever since three o'clock this morning, and, no doubt, have been indulging in personalities (which I hate) regarding my appearance and manner of sleeping, lying, snoring. Let the wags laugh on ; but a far pleasanter occupation is to sleep until breakfast- time or near it. The tea, and ham and eggs, which, with a beefsteak or two, and three or four rounds of toast, form the component parts of the above-named elegant meal, are taken in the River Scheldt. Little neat plump-looking churches and villages are rising here and there among tufts of trees and pastures that are wonderfully green. To the right, as the " Guide-book " says, is Walcheren : and on the left Cadsand, memorable for the English expedition of 1809, when Lord Chatham, Sir Walter Manny, and Henry Earl of Derby, at the head of the English, gained a great victory over the Flemish mer- cenaries in the pay of Philippe of Valois. The clothyard shafts of the English archers did great execution. Flushing was taken, and Lord Chatham returned to England, where he distinguished himself greatly in the debates on the American war, which he called the brightest jewel of the British crown. You see, my love, that, though an artist by profession, my education has by no means been neglected ; and what, indeed would be the pleasure of travel, unless these charming historical recollections were brought to bear upon it ? Antwerp. As many hundreds of thousands of English visit this city (I have met at least a hundred of them in this half-hour walking the streets, " Guide-book " in hand), and as the ubiquitous Murray has already depicted the place, there is no need to enter into a long description of it, its neatness, its beauty, and its stiif antique splen- dour. The tall pale houses have many of them crimped gables, that look like Queen Elizabeth's ruflfs. There are as many people in the streets as in London at three o'clock in the morning ; the market-women wear bonnets of a flower-pot shape, and have shining brazen milk-pots, which are delightful to the eyes of a painter. Along the quays of the lazy Scheldt are innumerable good-natured groups of beer-drinkers (small-beer is the most good-natured drink in the world) ; along the barriers outside of the town, and by the glistening canals, are more beer-shops and more beer-drinkers. The city is defended by the queerest fat military. The chief trafi&c is between the hotels and the railroad. The hotels give wonderful good dinners, and especially at the "Grand Laboureur" may be 6 Q 274 LITTLE TRAVELS mentioned a peculiar tart, which is the best of all tarts that ever a man ate since he was ten years old. A moonlight walk is delightful. At ten o'clock the whole city is quiet; and so little changed does it seem to be, that you may walk back three hundred years into time, and fancy yourself a majestical Spaniard, or an oppressed and patriotic Dutchman at your leisure. You enter the inn, and the old Quentin Durward com-tyard, on which the old towers look down. There is a sound of singing — singing at mid- night. Is it Don Sombrero, who is singing an Andalusian seguidilla under the window of the Flemish burgomaster's daughter? Ah, no ! it is a fat Englishman in a zephyr coat : he is drinking cold gin-and-water in the moonlight, and warbling softly — ' ' Nix my dolly, pals, fake away, N-ix my dolly, pals, fake a — a — way."* I wish the good people would knock off the top part of Antwerp Cathedral spire. Nothing can be more gracious and elegant than the lines of the first two compartments; but near the "top there bulges out a little round, ugly, vulgar Dutch monstrosity (for which the architects have, no doubt, a name) which offends the eye cruelly. Take the Apollo, and set upon him a bob-wig and a little cocked- hat; imagine "God Save the King" ending with a jig; fancy a polonaise, or procession of slim, stately, elegant Court beauties, headed by a buffoon dancing a hornpipe. Marshal G&ard should have discharged a bomb-shell at that abomination, and have given the noble steeple a chance to be finished in the grand style of the early fifteenth century, in which it was begun. This style of criticism is base and mean, and quite contrary to the orders of the immortal Goethe, who was only for allowing the eye to recognise the beauties of a great work, but would have its defects passed over. It is an unhappy luckless organisation which will be perpetually fault-finding, and in the midst of a grand concert of music will persist only in hearing that unfortmiate fiddle out of tune. Within^except where the rococo architects have introduced their ornaments (here is the fiddle out of tune again) — the cathe- dral is noble. A rich tender sunshine is streaming in through the windows, and gilding the stately edifice with the purest light. The admirable stained-glass windows are not too brilliant in their colours. The organ is playing a rich solemn music ; some two hundred of people are listening to the service ; and there is scarce one- of the women kneeliiig on her chair, enveloped in her full majestic black * In 1844. FROM RICHMOND TO BRUSSELS 275 drapery, that is not a fine study for a painter. These large black mantles of heavy silk brought over the heads of women, and cover- ing their persons, fall into such fine folds of drapery, that they cannot help being picturesque and noble. See, kneeling by the side of two of those fine devout-looking figures, is a lady in a little twiddling Parisian hat and feather, in a little lace mjintelet, in a tight gown and a bustle. She is almost as monstrous as yonder figure of the Virgin, in a hoop, and with a huge crown and a ball and a sceptre; and a bambino dressed in a little hoop, and in a little crown, round which are clustered flowers and pots of orange trees, and before which many of the faithful are at prayer. Gentle clouds of incense come wafting through the vast edifice ; and in the luUs of the music you hear the faint chant of the priest, and the silver tinkle of the bell. Six Englishmen, with the commissionaires, and the "Murray's Guide-books " in their hands, are looking at the " Descent from the Cross." Of this picture the " Guide-book " gives you orders how to judge. If it is the end of religious painting to express the religious sentiment, a hundred of inferior pictures must rank before Rubens. Who was ever piously afiected by any picture of the master 1 He can depict a livid thief writhing upon the cross, some- times a blonde Magdalen weeping below it ; but it is a Magdalen a very short time indeed after her repentance : her yellow brocades and flaring satins are still those which she wore when she was of thQ world ; her body has not yet lost the marks of the feasting and voluptuousness in which she used to indulge, according to the legend. Not one of the Rubens pictures, among all the scores that decorate chapels and churches here, has the least tendency to purify, to touch the affections, or to awaken the feelings of religious respect- and wonder. The " Descent from the Cross " is vast, gloomy, and awful ; but the awe inspired by it is, as I take it, altogether material. He might have painted a picture of any criminal broken on the wheel, and the sensation inspired by it would have been precisely similar. Nor in a religious picture do you want the savoir-faire of the master to be always protruding itself; it detracts fi-om the feeling of reverence, just as the thumping of cushion and the spouting of tawdry oratory does from a sermon : meek Religion disappears, shouldered out of the desk by the pompous, stalwart, big-chested, fresh-coloured, bushy-whiskered pulpiteer. Rubens's piety has always struck us as of this sort. If he takes a pious subject, it is to show you in what a fine way he, Peter Paul Rubens, can treat it. He never seems to doubt but that he is doing it a great honour. His " Descent from the Cross," and its accompany- ing wings and cover, are a set of puns upon the word Christopher, 276 LITTLE TKAVELS of which the taste is more odious than that of the hooped-petticoated Virgin yonder, with her artificial flowers, and her rings and brooches. The people who made an offering of that hooped petticoat did their best, at any rate ; they knew no better. There is humility in that simple quaint present; trustfulness and Idnd intention. Looking about at other altars, you see (much to the horror of pious Pro- testants) all sorts of queer little emblems hanging up under little pyramids of penny candles that are sputtering and flaring there. Here you have a silver arm, or a little gold toe, or a wax leg, or a gilt eye, signifying and commemorating cures that have been per- formed by the supposed intercession of the saint over wliose chapel they hang. Well, although they are abominable superstitions, yet these queer little offerings seem to me to be a great deal more pious than Eubens's big pictures ; just as is the widow with her poor little mite compared to the swelling Pharisee who flings his purse of gold into the plate. A couple of days of Rubens and his church pictures makes one thoroughly and entirely sick of him. His very genius and splendour pall upon one, even taking the pictures as worldly pictures. One grows weary of being perpetually feasted with this rich, coarse, steaming food. Considering them as church pictures, I don't want to go to church to hear however splendid an organ play the "British Grenadiers." The Antwerpians have set up a clumsy bronze statue of their divinity in a square of the town ; and those who have not enough of Rubens in the churches may study him, and indeed to much greater advantage, in a good well-lighted museum. Here, there is one picture, a dying saint taking the communion, a large piece ten or eleven feet high, and painted in an incredibly short space of time, which is extremely curious indeed for the painter's study. The picture is scarcely more than an immense magnificent sketch ; but it tells the secret of the artist's manner, which, in the midst of its dash and splendour, is curiously methodical. Where the shadows are warm the lights are cold, and vice versd ; and the picture has been so rapidly painted, that the tints lie raw by the side of one another^ the artist not having taken the trouble to blend them. There are two exquisite Vandykes (whatever Sir Joshua may say of them), and in which the very management of the grey tones which the President abuses forms the principal excellence and charm. Why, after all, are we not to have our opinion? Sir Joshua is not the Pope. The colour of one of those Vandykes is as fine as fine Paul Veronese, and the sentiment beautifully tender and graceful. FROM RICHMOND TO BRUSSELS 277 I saw, too, an exhibition of the modern Belgian artists (1843), the remembrance of whose pictures after a month's absence has almost entirely vanished. Wappers's hand, as I thought, seemed to have grown old and feeble, Verboeckhoven's cattle-pieces are almost as good as Paul Potter's, and Keyser has dwindled down into namby-pamby prettiness, pitiful to see in the gallant young painter who astonished the Louvre artists ten years ago by a hand almost as dashing and ready as that of Rubens himself There were besides many caricatures of the new German school, which are in themselves caricatures of the masters before Raphael. An instance of honesty may be mentioned here with applause. The writer lost a pocket-book containing a passport and a couple of modest ten-pound notes. The person who found the portfolio in- geniously put it into the box of the post-office, and it was faithfully restored to the owner; but somehow the two ten-pound notes were absent. It was, however, a great comfort to get the passport, and the pocket-book, which must be worth about ninepence. Brussels. It was night when we arrived by the railroad from Antwerp at Brussels; the route is very pretty and interesting, and the flat countries through which the road passes in the highest state of peaceful smiling cultivation. The fields by the roadside are en- closed by hedges as in England, the harvest was in part down, and an English country gentleman who was of our party pronounced the crops to be as fine as any he had ever seen. Of this matter a cockney cannot judge accurately, but any man can see with what extraordinary neatness and care all these little plots of ground are tilled, and admire the richness and brilliancy of the vegetation. Outside of the moat of Antwerp, and at every village by which we passed, it was pleasant to see the happy congregations of well-clad people that basked in the evening sunshine, and soberly smoked their pipes and drank their Flemish beer. Men who love this drink must, as I fancy, have something essentially peaceful in their composition, and must be more easily satisfied than folks on our side of the water. The excitement of Flemish beer is, indeed, not great. I have tried both the white beer and the brown ; they are both of the kind which schoolboys denominate " swipes," very sour and thin to the taste, but served, to be sure, in quaint Flemish jugs that do not seem to have changed their form since the days of Rubens, and must please the lovers of antiquarian nicknacks. Numbers of comfortable-looking women and children sat beside the 278 LITTLE TRAVELS head of the family upon the tavern-benches, and it was amusing to see one little fellow of eight years old smoking, with much gravity, his father's cigar. How the worship of the sacred plant of tobacco has spread through all Europe ! I am sure that the persons who cry out against the use of it are guilty of superstition and unreason, and that it would be a proper and easy task for scientific persons to write an encomium upon the weed. In solitude it is the pleasantest companion possible, and in company never de trap. To a student it suggests all sorts of agreeable thoughts, it refreshes the brain when weary, and every sedentary cigar-smoker will tell you how much good he has had from it, and how he has been able to return to his labour, after a quarter of an hour's mild interval of the delightful leaf of Havannah. Drinking has gone from among us since smoking came in. It is a wicked error to say that smokers are drunkards : drink they do, but of gentle diluents mostly, for fierce stimulants of wine or strong liquors are abhorrent to the real lover of the Indian weed. Ah ! my Juliana, join not in the vulgar cry that is raised against us. Cigars and cool drinks beget quiet conversations, good- humour, meditation ; not hot blood such as mounts into the head of drinkers of apoplectic port or dangerous claret. Are we not more moral and reasonable than our forefathers % Indeed I think so somewhat ; and many improvements of social life and converse must date with the introduction of the pipe. We were a dozen tobacco-consumers in the waggon of the train that brought us from Antwerp ; nor did the women of the party (sensible women !) make a single objection to the fumigation. But enough of this : only let me add, in conclusion, that an excellent Israelitish gentleman, Mr. Hartog of Antwerp, supplies cigars for a penny apiece, such as are not to be procured in London for four times the sum. Through smiling cornfields, then, and by little woods from which rose here and there the quaint peaked towers of some old- fashioned chdteaux, our train went smoldng along at thirty miles an hour. We caught a glimpse of Mechlin steeple, at fii'st dark against the sunset, and afterwards bright as we came to the other side of it, and admired long glistening canals or moats that surrounded the queer old town, and were lighted up in that wonderful way which the sun only understands, and not even Mr. Turner, with all his vermilion and gamboge, can put down on canvas. The verdure was everywhere astonishing, and we fancied we saw many golden Cuyps as we passed by these quiet pastures. Steam-engines and their accompaniments, blazing forges, gaunt manufactories, with numberless windows and long black chimneys, of course take away from the romance of the place ; but, as we FROM RICHMOND TO BRUSSELS 279 whirled into Brussels, even these engines had a fine appearance. Three or four of the snorting, galloping monsters had just finished their journey, and there was a quantity of flaming ashes lying under the brazen bellies of eact^that looked properly lurid and demoniaoal. The men at the station came out with flaming torches — awful-looking fellows indeed ! Presently the diiferent baggage was handed out, and in the very worst vehicle I ever entered, and at the very slowest pace, we were borne to the " Hotel de Sufede," from which house of entertainment this letter is written. We strolled into the town, but, though the night was excessively fine and it was not yet eleven o'clock, the streets of the little capital were deserted, and the handsome blazing cafds round about the theatres contained no inmates. Ah, what a pretty sight is the Parisian Boulevard on a night like this ! how many pleasant hours has one passed in watching the lights, and the hum, and the stir, and the laughter of those happy idle people. There was none of this gaiety here ; nor was there a person to be found, except a skulking commissioner or two (whose real name in French is that of a fish that is eaten with fennel-sauce), and who offered to con- duct us to certain curiosities in the town. What must we English not have done, that in every town in Europe we are to be fixed upon by scoundrels of this sort ; and what a pretty reflection it is on our country that such rascals find the means of living on us ! Early the next morning we walked through a number of streets in the place, and saw certain sights. The Park is very pretty, and aU the buildings round about it have an air of neatness — almost of stateliness. The houses are tall, the streets spacious, and the roads extremely clean. In the park is a little theatre, a caf^ somewhat ruinous, a little palace for the king of this little kingdom, some smart public buUdings (with S. P. Q. B. emblazoned on them, at which pompous inscription one cannot help laughing), and other rows of houses, somewhat resembling a little Rue de Rivoli. Whether from my own natural greatness and magnanimity, or from that handsome share of national conceit that every Englishman possesses, my impressions of this city are certainly anything but respectful. It has an absurd kind of LiUiput look with it. There are soldiers, just as in Paris, better dressed, and doing a vast deal of-drumming and bustle ; and yet, somehow, far from being frightened at them, I feel inclined to laugh in their faces. There are little Ministers, who work at their little bureaux; and to read the journals, how fierce they are ! A great thundering Times could hardly talk more big. One reads about the rascally Ministers, the 280 LITTLE TKAVELS miserable Opposition, the designs of tyrants, the eyes of Europe, &c., just as one would in real journals. The Moniteur of Ghent belabours the Indepevdent of Brussels ; the Independent falls foul of the Lynx ; and really it is difficult not to suppose sometimes that these worthy people are in earnest. And yet how happy were they sua si bona n&rint I Think what a comfort it would be to belong to a little State like this ; not to abuse their privilege, but philosophically to use it. If I were a Belgian, I would not care one single fig about politics. I would not read thundering leading articles. I would not have an opinion. What's the use of an opinion here ? Happy fellows ! do not the French, the English, and the Prussians spare them the trouble of thinking, and make all their opinions for them. Think of living in a country free, easy, respectable, wealthy, and with the nuisance of talking politics removed irom out of it. All this might the Belgians have, and a part do they enjoy, but not the best part : no, these people will be brawling and by the ears, and parties run as high here as at Stoke Pogis or Little Pedlington. These sentiments were elicited by the reading of a paper at the cafd in the Park, where we sat under the trees for a while and sipped our cool lemonade. Numbers of statues decorate the place, the very worst I ever saw. These Cupids must have been erected in the time of the Dutch dynasty, as I judge from the immense posterior developments. Indeed, the arts of the country are very low. The statues here, and the lions before the Prince of Orange's palace, would disgrace almost the figure-head of a ship. Of course we paid our visit to this little lion of Brussels (the Prince's palace, I mean). The architecture of the building is admirably simple and firm ; and you remark about it, and all other works here, a high finish in doors, woodwork, paintings, &c., that one does not see in France, where the buildings are often rather sketched than completed, and the artist seems to neglect the limbs, as it were, and extremities of his figures. The finish of this little place is exquisite. We went through some dozen of state-rooms, paddling along over the slippery floors of inlaid wood in great slippers, without which we must have come to the ground. How did his Eoyal Highness the Prince of Orange, manage when he lived here, and her Imperial Highness the Princess, and their excellencies the chamberlains and the footmen? They must have been on their tails many times a day, that's certain, and must have cut queer figures. The ballroom is beautiful — all marble, and yet with a com- fortable cheerful look ; the other apartments are not less agreeable, and the people looked with intense satisfaction at some great lapis- FEOM EICHMOND TO BRUSSELS 281 lazuli tables, -which the guide informed us were worth four millions, more or less ; adding, with a very knowing look, that they were ■wnpeuplm cher que I' or. This speech has a tremendous effect on visitors, and when we met some of our steamboat companions in the Park or elsewhere — in so small a place as this one falls in with them a dozen times a day — "Have you seen the tables?" was the general question. Prodigious tables are they, indeed ! Fancy a table, my dear — a table four feet wide — a table with legs. Ye heavens ! the mind can hardly picture to itself anything so beautiful and so tremendous ! There are some good pictures in the palace, too, but not so extraordinarily good as the guide-books and the guide would have us to think. The latter, like most men of his class, is an igno- ramus, who showed us an Andrea del Sarto (copy or original), and called it a Correggio, and made other blunders of a like nature. As is the case in England, you are hurried through the rooms without being allowed time to look at the pictures, and, consequently, to pronounce a satisfactory judgment on them. In the Museum more time was granted me, and I spent some hours with pleasure there. It is an absurd little gallery, absurdly imitating the Louvre, with just such compartments and piUars as you see in the noble Paris gallery ; only here the pillars and capitals are stucco and white in place of marble and gold, and plaster-of- Paris busts of great Belgians are placed between the piUars. An artist of the country has made a picture containing them, and you will be ashamed of your ignorance when you hear many of their names. Old Tilly of Magdeburg figures in one comer; Eubens, the endless Rubens, stands in the midst. What a noble coun tenance it is, and what a manly swaggering consciousness of power ! The picture to see here is a portrait, by the great Peter Paul, of one of the governesses of the Netherlands. It is just the finest portrait that ever was seen. Only a half-length, but such a majesty, such a force, such a splendour, such a simplicity about it ! The woman is in a stiff black dress, with a ruff and a few pearls ; a yellow curtain is behind her — the simplest arrangement that can be conceived ; but this great man knew how to rise to his occasion ; and no better proof can be shown of what a fine gentleman he was than this his homage to the vice-Queen. A common bungler would have painted her in her best clotlies, with crown and sceptre, just as our Queen has been painted by — but comparisons are odious. Here stands this majestic woman in her every-day working-dress of black satin, looking your hat off, as it were. Anotlier portrait of the same personage hangs elsewhere in the gallery, and it is curious 282 LITTLE TEAVELS to observe the difference between the two, and see how a man of genius paints a portrait, and how a common limner executes it. Many more pictures are there here by Rubens, or rather from Rubens's manufactory, — odious and vulgar most of them are : fat Magdalens, coarse Saints, vulgar Virgins, with the scene-painter's tricks far too evident upon the canvas. By the side of one of the most astonishing colour-pieces in the world, the "Worshipping of the Magi," is a famous picture of Paul Veronese that cannot be too much admired. As Rubens sought in the first picture to dazzle and astonish by gorgeous variety, Paul in his seems to wish to get his effect by simplicity, and has produced the most noble harmony that can be conceived. Many more works are there that merit notice, — a singularly clever, brilliant, and odious Jordaens, for example ; some curious costume-pieces ; one or two works by the Belgian Raphael, who was a very Belgian Raphael indeed; and a long gaUery of pictures of the very oldest school, that, doubtless, afford much pleasure to the amateurs of ancient art. I confess that I am inclined to believe in very little that existed before the time of Raphael. There is, for instance, the Prince of Orange's picture by Perugino, very pretty indeed, up to a certain point, but all the heads are repeated, all the drawing is bad and affected ; and this very badness and affectation is what the so-called Catholic school is always anxious to imitate. Nothing can be more juvenile or paltry than the works of the native Belgians here exhibited. Tin crowns are suspended over many of them, showing that the pictures are prize compositions : and pretty things, indeed, they are ! Have you ever read an Oxford prize poem 1 Well, these pictures are worse even than the Oxford poems — an awful assertion to make. In the matter of eating, dear sir, which is the next subject of the fine arts, a subject that, after many hours' walking, attracts a gentleman very much, let me attempt to recall the transactions of this very day at the table-d'hote. 1, green peasoup ; 2, boiled salmon ; 3, mussels ; 4, crimped skate ; 5, roast-meat ; 6, patties ; 7, melon ; 8, carp, stewed with mushrooms and onions ; 9, roast- turkey; 10, cauliflower and butter; 11, fillets of venison piques, with asafoetida sauce ; 12, stewed calf's-ear ; 13, roast-veal ; 14, roast- lamb ; 15, stewed cherries ; 16, rice-pudding; 17, Gruyfere cheese, and about twenty-four cakes of different kinds. Except 5, 13, and 14, I give you my word I ate of all written down here, with three rolls of bread and a score of potatoes. What is the meaning of it ? How is the stomach of man brought to desire and to receive all this quantity ? Do not gastronomists complain of heaviness in London after eating a couple of mutton-chops '! Do not respectable gentle- men fall asleep in their arm-chairs ? Are they fit for mental labour 1 FROM EICHMOND TO BRUSSELS 283 Far from it. But look at the difference here : after dinner here one is as light as a gossamer. One walks with pleasure, reads with pleasure, writes with pleasure — nay, there is the supper-hell going at ten o'clock, and plenty of eaters, too. Let lord mayors and aldermen look to it, this feet of the extraordinary increase of appetite in Belgium, and instead of steaming to Blackwall, come a little farther to Antwerp. Of ancient architectures in the place, there is a fine old Port de Halle, which has a tall, gloomy, bastille look; a most magnificent town-haU, that has been sketched a thousand of times, and opposite it, a building that I think would be the very model for a Conserva- tive club-house in London. Oh ! how charming it would be to be a great painter, and give the character of the building, and the numberless groups round about it. The booths lighted up by the sun, the market-women in their gowns of brilliant hue, each group having a character and telling its little story, the troops of men lolling in all sorts of admirable attitudes of ease round the great lamp. Half-a-dozen light-blue dragoons are lounging about, and peeping over the artist as the drawing is made, and the sky is more bright and blue than one sees it in a hundred years in London. The priests of the country are a remarkably well-fed and re- spectable race, without that scowling hangdog look which one has remarked among reverend gentlemen in the neighbouring country of France. Their reverences wear buckles to their shoes, light-blue neckcloths, and huge three-cornered hats in good condition. To- day, strolling by the cathedral, I heard the tinkling of a bell in the street, and beheld certain persons, male and female, suddenly plump down on their knees before a little procession that was passing. Two men in black held a tawdry red canopy, a priest walked beneath it holding the sacrament covered with a cloth, and before him marched a couple of little altar-boys in short white surplices, such as you see in Rubens, and holding lacquered lamps. A small train of street-boys followed the procession, cap in hand, and the clergyman finally entered a hospital for old women, near the church, the canopy and the lamp-bearers remaining without. It was a touching scene, and as I stayed to watch it, I could not but think of the poor old soul who was dying within, listening to the last words of prayer, led by the hand of the priest to the brink of the black fathomless grave. How bright the sun was shining without all the time, and how happy and careless everything around us looked ! The Duke d'Arenberg has a picture-gallery worthy of his princely house. It does not contain great pieces, but titbits of 284 LITTLE TRAVELS pictures, such as suit an aristocratic epicure. For such persons a great huge canvas is too much, it is like sitting down alone to a roasted ox; and they do wisely, I think, to patronise small, high- iiavoured, delicate morceaux, such as the Duke has here. Among them may be mentioned, with special praise, a magnificent small Rembrandt, a Paul Potter of exceeding minuteness and beauty, an Ostade, which reminds one of Wilkie's early performances, and a Dusart quite as good as the Ostade. There is a Berghem, much more unaffected than that artist's works generally are ; and, what is more, precious in the eyes of many ladies as an object of art, there is, in one of the grand saloons, some needlework done by the Duke's own grandmother, which is looked at with awe by those admitted to see the palace. The chief curiosity, if not the chief ornament, of a very elegant library, filled with vases and bronzes, is a marble head, supposed to be the original head of the Laocoon. It is, unquestionably, a finer head than that which at present figures upon the shoulders of the famous statue. The expression of woe is more manly and intense ; in the group as we know it, the head of the principal figure has always seemed to me to be a grimace of grief, as are the two accom- panying young gentlemen with their pretty attitudes, and their little silly open-mouthed despondency. It has always had upon me the effect of a trick, that statue, and not of a piece of true art. It would look well in the vista of a garden ; it is not august enough for ■a^ temple, with all its jerks, and twirls, and polite convulsions. But who knows what susceptibilities such a confession may offend ? Let us say no more about the Laocoon, nor its head, nor its tail. The Duke was offered its weight in gold, they say, for this head, and refused. It would be a shame to speak ill of such a treasure, but I have my opinion of the man who made the offer. In the matter of sculpture almost all the Brussels churches are decorated with the most laborious wooden pulpits, which may be worth their weight in gold, too, for what I know, including his reverence preaching inside. At St. Gudule the preacher mounts into no less a place than the garden of Eden, being supported by Adam and Eve, by Sin and Death, and numberless other animals ; he walks up to his desk by a rustic railing of flowers, fruits, and vegetables, with wooden peacocks, paroquets, monkeys biting apples, and many more of the birds and beasts of the field. In another church the clergyman speaks from out a hermitage ; in a third from a carved palm tree, which supports a set of oak clouds that form the canopy of the pulpit, and are, indeed, not much heavier in appearance than so many huge sponges. A priest, however tall or GHENT ^8,^ stout, must be lost in the midst of all these queer gimcracks ; in order to be consistent, they ought to dress him up, too, in some odd fantastical suit. I can fancy the Cur^ of Meudon preaching out of such a place, or the Eev. Sydney Smith, or that famous clergyman of the time of the League, who brought all Paris to laugh and listen to him. But let us not be too supercilious and ready to sneer. It is only bad taste. It may have been very true devotion which erected these strange edifices. II GHENT— BR UGE8 GHENT (1840) THE Bdguine College or Village is one of the most extra- ordinary sights that all Europe can show. On the confines of the town of Ghent you come upon an old-fashioned brick gate, that seems as if it were one of the city barriers; but, on passing it, one of the prettiest sights possible meets the eye : At the porter's lodge you see an old, lady, in black and a white, hood, occupied over her book; before you is a red church with a tall roof and fantastical Dutch pinnacles, and all around it rows upon rows of small houses, the queerest, neatest, nicest that ever were seen (a doll's house is hardly smaller or prettier). Eight and left, on each side of little alleys, these little mansions rise ; they have a courtlet before them, in which some green plants or hollyhocks are growing ; and to each house is a gate, that has mostly a picture or queer-carved ornament upon or about it, and bears the name, not of the B^guine who inhabits it, but of the saint to whom she may have devoted it — the house of St. Stephen, the house of St. Donatus, the English or Angel Convent, and so on. OM ladies in black are pacing in the quiet alleys here and there, and drop the stranger a curtsey as he passes them and takes off his hat. Never were such patterns of neatness seen as these old ladies and their houses. I peeped into one or two of the chambers, of which the windows were open to the pleasant evening sun, and saw beds scrupulously plain, a quaint old chair or two, and little pictures of favourite saints decorating the spotless white walls. The old ladies kept up a quick cheerful clatter, as they paused to gossip at the 286 LITTLE TRAVELS gates of their little domiciles ; and with a great deal of artifice, and lurking behind walls, and looking at the church as if I intended to design that, I managed to get a sketch of a couple of them. But -what white paper can render the whiteness of their linen ; what black ink can do justice to the lustre of their gowns and shoes ? Both of the ladies had a neat ankle and a tight stocking ; and I fancy that Heaven is quite as well served in this costume as in the dress of a scowhng stockingless friar, whom I had seen passing just before. The look and dress of the man made me shudder. His great red feet were bound up in a shoe open at the toes, a kind of compromise for a sandal. I had just seen him and his brethren at the Dominican Church, where a mass of music was sung, and orange trees, flags, and banners decked the aisle of the church. One begins to grow sick of these churches, and the hideous exhibitions of bodily agonies that are depicted on the sides of all the chapels. Into one wherein we went this morning was what they called a Calvary : a horrible ghastly image of a Christ in a tomb, the figure of the natural size, and of the livid colour of death ; gaping red wounds on the body and round the brows : the whole piece enough to turn one sick, and fit only to brutalise the beholder of it. The Virgin. is commonly represented with a dozen swords stuck in her heart ; bleeding throats of headless John Baptists are perpetually thrust before your eyes. At the Cathedral gate was a papier-mslch^ church-ornament shop — most of the carvings and reliefs of the same dismal character : one, for instance, represented a heart with a great gash in it, and a double row of large blood-drops drib- bling from it ; nails and a knife were thrust into the heart ; round the whole was a crown of thorns. Such things are dreadful to think of. The same gloomy spirit which made a religion of them, and worked upon the people by the grossest of all means, terror, dis- tracted the natural feelings of man to maintain its power — shut gentle women into lonely pitiless convents — frightened poor peasants with tales of torment — taught that the end and labour of life was silence, wretchedness, and the scourge — murdered those by fagot and prison who thought otherwise. How has the blind and furious bigotry of man perverted that which God gave us as our greatest boon, and bid us hate where God bade us love ! Thank Heaven that monk has gone out of sight ! It is pleasant to look at the smiling cheerful old B^guine, and think no more of yonder livid face. One of the many convents in this little religious city seems to be the specimen house which is shown to strangers, for all the guides conduct you thither, and I saw in a book kept for t)ie purpose the names of innumerable Smiths and Joneses registered. GHENT 287 A very kind, sweet-voiced, smiling nun (I wonder, do they always choose the most agreeable and best-humoured sister of the house to show it to strangers ?) came tripping down the steps and across the flags of the little garden court, and welcomed us with much courtesy into the neat little old-fashioned, red-bricked, gable-ended, shining- windowed Convent of the Angels. First she showed us a white- washed parlour, decorated with a grim picture or two and some crucifixes and other religious Emblems, where, upon stiff old chairs, the sisters sit and work. Three or four of them were still there, pattering over their laces and bobbins ; but the chief part of the sisterhood were engaged in an apartment hard by, from which issued a certain odour which I must say resembled onions : it was in fact the kitchen of the establishment. Every B^guine cooks her own little dinner in her own little pipkin ; and there were half-a-score of them, sure enough, busy over their pots and crockery, cooking a repast which, when ready, was carried off to a neighbouring room, the refectory, where, at a ledge- table which is drawn out from under her own particular cupboard, each nun sits down and eats her meal in silence. More religions emblems ornamented the carved cupboard doors, and within, every- thing was as neat as neat could be; shining pewter ewers and glasses, snug baskets of eggs and pats of butter, and little bowls with about a farthing's-worth of green tea in them — for some great day of f§te, doubtless. The old ladies sat round as we examined these things, each eating soberly at her ledge, and never looking roimd. There was a bell ringing in the chapel hard by. " Hark ! " said our guide, " that is one of the sisters dying. Will you come up and see the cells 1 " The cells, it need not be said, are the snuggest little nests in the world, with serge-curtained beds and snowy linen, and saints and martyrs pinned against the wall. " We may sit up till twelve o'clock, if we like," said the nun ; " but we have no fire and candle, and so what's the use of sitting up'? When we have said our prayers we are glad enough to go to sleep." I forget, although the good soul told us, how many times in the day, in public and in private, these devotions are made, but fancy that the morning service in the chapel takes place at too early an hour for most easy travellers. We did not fail to attend in the evening, when likewise is a general muster of the seven hundred, minus the absent and sick, and the sight is not a little curious and striking to a stranger. The chapel is a very big whitewashed place of worship, sup- ported by half-a-dozen columns on either side, over each of which stands the statue of an Apostle, with his emblem of martyrdom. S88 LITTLE TRAVELS Nobody was as yet at the distant altar, which was too far off to see very distinctly ; but I could perceive two statues over it, one of which (St. Laurence, no doubt) was leaning upon a huge gUt gridiron that the sun lighted up in a blaze — a painful but not a romantic instrument of death. A couple of old ladies in white hoods were tugging and swaying about at two bell-ropes that came down into the middle of the church, and at least five hundred others in white veils were seated all round about us in mute contemplation until the service began, looking very solemn, and white, and ghastly, like an army of tombstones by moonlight. The service commenced as the clock finished striking seven: the organ pealed out, a very cracked and old one, and presently some weak old voice from the choir overhead quavered out a canticle ; which done, a thin old voice of a priest at the altar far off (and which had now become quite gloomy in the sunset) chanted feebly another part of the service ; then the nuns warbled once more overhead ; and it was curious to hear, in the intervals of the most lugubrious chants, how the organ went off with some extremely cheerful military or profane air. At one time was a march, at another a quick tune ; which ceasing, the old nuns began again, and so sang until the service was ended. In the midst of it one of the white-veiled sisters approached us with a very mysterious air, and put down her white veil close to our ears and whispered. Were we doing anything wrong, I wondered? Were they come to that part of the service where heretics and infidels ought to quit the church? What have you to ask, sacred white-veiled maid 1 All she said was, "Deux centimes pour les suisses,'' which sum was paid ; and presently the old ladies, rising from their chairs one by one, came in face of the altar, where they knelt down and said a short prayer ; then, rising, unpinned their veils, and folded them up all exactly in the same folds and fashion, and laid them square like napkins on their heads, and tucked up their long black outer dresses and trudged oft" to their convents. The novices wear black veils, under one of which I saw a young, sad, handsome face ; it was the only thing in the establish- ment that was the least romantic or gloomy : and, for the sake of any reader of a sentimental turn, let us hope that the poor soul has been crossed in love, and that over some soul-stirring tragedy that black curtain has fallen. Ghent has, I believe, been called a vulgar Venice. It contains dirty canals and old houses that must satisfy the most eager antiquary, though the buildings are not quite in so good preserva- tion as others that may be seen in the Netherlands. The com- GHENT 289 mercial bustle of the place seems considerable, and it contains more beershops than any city I ever saw. These beershops seem the only amusement of the inhabitants, until, at least, the theatre shall be built, of which the elevation is now complete, a very handsome and extensive pile. There are beershops in the cellars of the houses, which are frequented, it is to be presumed, by the lower sort ; there are beershops at the barriers, where the citizens and their families repair ; and beershops in the town, glaring with gas, with long gauze blinds, however, to hide what I hear is a rather questionable reputation. Our inn, the " Hotel of the Post," a spacious and comfortable residence, is on a little place planted round with trees, and that seems to be the Palais Koyal of the town. Three clubs, which look from without to be very comfortable, ornament this square with their gas-lamps. Here stands, too, the theatre that is to be ; there is a caf^, and on evenings a military band plays the very worst music I ever remember to have heard. I went out to-night to take a quiet walk upon this place, and the horrid brazen discord of these trumpeters sent me half mad. I went to the caf^ for refuge, passing on the way a subterraneous beershop, where men and women were drinking to the sweet music of a cracked barrel-organ. They take in a couple of French papers at this caf^ and the same number of Belgian journals. You may imagine how well the latter are informed, when you hear that the battle of Boulogne, fought by the immortal Louis Napoleon, was not known here until some gentlemen out of Norfolk brought the news from London, and until it had travelled to Paris, and from Paris to Brussels. For a whole hour, I could not get a newspaper at the caf^. The horrible brass band in the meantime had quitted the place, and now, to amuse the Ghent citizens, a couple of Kttle boys came to the caf^ and set up a small concert : one played ill on the guitar, but sang, very sweetly, plaintive French ballads; the other was the comic singer; he carried about with him a queer, long, damp- looking, mouldy white hat, with no brim. "Ecoutez," said the waiter to me, " il va" faire I'Anglais ; c'est trfes-drolc ! " The little rogue mounted his immense brimless hat, and thrusting his thumbs into the armholes of his waistcoat, began to faire I'Anglais, with a song ifl'wliicir swearing was the principal joke. We all laughed at this, and indeed the little rascal seemed to have a good deal of humour. How they hate us, these foreigners, in Belgium as much as in France ! What lies they tell of us ; how gladly they would see us humiliated ! Honest folks at home over their port-wine say, " Ay, ay, and very good reason they have too. National vanity, sir, wounded — we have beaten them so often." My dear sir, there is G T 290 LITTLE TRAVELS not a greater error in the world than this. They hate you because you are stupid, hard to please, and intolerably insolent and air- giving. I walked with an Englishman yesterday, who asked the way to a street of which he pronounced the name very badly to a little Flemish boy : the Flemish boy did not answer ; and there was my Englishman quite in a rage, shrieking in the child's ear as if he must answer. He seemed to think that it was the duty of "the snob," as he called him, to obey the gentleman. This is why we are hated — for pride. In our free country a tradesman, a lacquey, or a waiter will submit to almost any given insult from a gentleman : in these benighted lands one man is as good as another ; and pray God it may soon be so with us ! Of all European people, which is the nation that has the most haughtiness, the strongest prejudices, the greatest reserve, the greatest dulness? I say an Englishman of the genteel classes. An honest groom jokes and hobs-and-nobs and makes his way with the kitchen-maids, for there is good social nature in the man ; his master dare not unbend. Look at him, how he scowls at you on your entering an inn-room ; think how you scowl yourself to meet his scowl. To-day, as we were walking and staring about the place, a worthy old gentleman in a carriage, seeing a pair of strangers, took off his hat and bowed very gravely with his old powdered head out of the window: I am sorry to say that our first impulse was to burst out laughing — it seemed so supremely ridiculous that a stranger should notice and welcome another. As for the notion that foreigners hate us because we have beaten them so often, my dear sir, this is the greatest error in the world : well-educated Frenchmen do not believe that we have beaten them. A man was once ready to call me out in Paris because I said that we had beaten the French in Spain ; and here before me is a French paper, with a London correspondent discoursing about Louis Buona- parte and his jackass expedition to Boulogne. " He was received at Eglintoun, it is true," says the correspondent, "but what do you think was the reason ? Because the English nobility were anxious to revenge upon his person (with some coups de lance) the checks which the ' grand homme ' his uncle had inflicted on them in Spain." This opinion is so general among the French, that they would laugh at you with scornful incredulity if you ventured to assert any other. Foy's history of the Spanish War does not, unluckily, go far enough. I have read a French history which hardly mentions the war in Spain, and calls the battle of Salamanca a French victory. You know how the other day, and in the teeth of all evidence, the French swore to their victory of Toulouse : and so it is with the rest ; and you may set it down as pretty certain, 1st, That only a BRUGES 291 few people know the real state of things in France, as to the matter in dispute between us ; 2nd, That those who do, keep the truth to themselves, and so it is as if it had never been. These Belgians have caught up, and quite naturally, the French tone. We are perfide Albion with them still. Here is the Ghent paper, which declares that it is beyond a doubt that Louis Napoleon was sent by the English and Lord Palmerston ; and though it states in another part of the journal (from English authority) that the Prince had never seen Lord Palmerston, yet the lie will remain uppermost — the people and the editor will believe it to the end of time. . . . See to what a digression yonder httle fellow in the tall hat has given rise ! Let us make his picture, and have done with him. I could not understand, in my walks about this place, which is certainly pictraesque enough, and contains extraordinary charms in the shape of old gables, quaint spires, and broad shining canals — I could not at first comprehend why, for all this, the town was especi- ally disagreeable to me, and have only just hit on the reason why. Sweetest Juliana, you will never guess it : it is simply this, that I have not seen a single decent-looking woman in the whole place ; they all look ugly, with coarse mouths, vulgar figures, mean mer- cantile faces ; and so the traveller walking among them finds the pleasure of his walk excessively damped, and the impressions made upon him disagreeable. In the Academy there are no pictures of merit ; but sometimes a second-rate picture is as pleasing as the best, and one may pass an hour here very pleasantly. There is a room appropriated to Belgian artists, of which I never saw the like : they are, like all the rest of the things in this country, miserable imitations of the French school — great nude Venuses, and Junos a la David, with the drawing left out. BRUGES THE change fi:om vulgar Ghent, with its ugly women and coarse bustle, to this qmet, old, half-deserted, cleanly Bruges was very pleasant. I have seen old men at Versailles, with shabby coats and pigtails, sunning themselves on the benches in the walls ; they had seen better days, to be sure, but they were gentle- men still : and so we found, this morning, old dowager Bruges basking in the pleasant August sun, and looking, if not prosperous. 292 LITTLE TRAVELS at least cheerful and well bred. It is the quaintest and prettiest of all the quaint and pretty towns I have seen. A painter might spend months here, and wander from church to church, and admire old towers and pinnacles, tall gables, bright canals, and pretty little patches of green garden and moss-grown wall, that reflect in the clear quiet water. Before the inn window is a garden, from which in the early morning issues a most wonderful odour of stocks and wallflowers; next comes a road with trees of admirable green; numbers of little children are playing in this road (the place is so clean that they may roll in it all day without soiling their pinafores), and on the other side of the trees are little old-fashioned, dumpy, whitewashed, red-tiled houses. A poorer landscape to draw never was known, nor a pleasanter to see — the children especially, who are inordinately fat and rosy. Let it be remembered, too, that here we are out of the country of ugly women : the expression of the face is almost uniformly gentle and pleasing, and the figures of the women, wrapped in long black monk-like cloaks and hoods, very picturesque. No wonder there are so many children : the " Guide- book " (omniscient Mr. Murray !) says there are fifteen thousand paupers in the town, and we know how such multiply. How the deuce do their children look so fat and rosy ? By eating dirt-pies, I suppose. I saw a couple making a very nice savoury one, and another employed in gravely sticking strips of stick betwixt the pebbles at the house door, and so making for herself a stately garden. The men and women don't seem to have much more to do. There are a couple of tall chimneys at either suburb of the town, where no doubt manufactories are at work, but within the walls everybody seems decently idle. We have been, of course, abroad to visit the lions. The tower in the Grand Place is very fine, and the bricks of which it is built do not yield a whit in colour to the best stone. The great building round this tower is very like the pictures of the Ducal Palace at Venice ; and there is a long market area, with columns down the middle, from which hung shreds of rather lean-looking meat, that would do wonders under the hands of Cattermole or Haghe. lu the tower there is a chime of bells that keep ringing perpetually. They not only play tunes of themselves, and every quarter of an hour, but an individual performs selections from popular operas on them at certain periods of the morning, afternoon, and evening. I have heard to-day " Suoni la Tromba," " Son Vergin vezzosa," from the " Puritani," and other airs, and very badly they were played too ; for such a great monster as a tower-bell cannot be expected to imitate Madame Grisi or even Signer Lablache. Other churches indulge in the same amusement, so that one may come here and BRUGES 293 live in melody all day or night, like the young woman in Moore's " Lalla Rookh." In the matter of art, the chief attractions of Bruges are the pictures of Hemling, that are to be seen in the churches, the hospital, and the picture-gallery of the place. There are no more pictures of Rubens to be seen, and, indeed, in the course of a fortnight, one has had quite enough of the great man and his magnificent swaggering canvases. What a difference is here with simple Hemling and the extraordinary creations of his pencil ! The hospital is particularly rich in them ; and the legend there is that the painter, who had served Charles the Bold in his war against the Swiss, and his last battle and defeat, wandered back wounded and penniless to Bruges, and here found cure and shelter. This hospital is a noble and curious sight. The great hall is almost as it was in the twelfth century ; it is spanned by Saxon arches, and lighted by a multiplicity of Gothic windows of all sizes ; it is very lofty, clean, and perfectly well ventilated ; a screen runs across the middle of the room, to divide the male from the female patients, and we were taken to examine each ward where the poor people seemed happier than possibly they would have been in health and starvation without it. Great yellow blankets were on the iron beds, the linen was scrupulously clean, glittering pewter jugs and goblets stood by the side of each patient, and they were provided with godly books (to judge from the binding), in which several were reading at leisure. Honest old comfortable nuns, in queer dresses of blue, black, white, and flannel, were bustling through the room attending to the wants of the sick. I saw about a dozen of these kind women's faces : one was young — all were healthy and cheerful. One came with bare blue arms and a great pile of linen from an outhouse — such a grange as Cedric the Saxon might have given to a guest for the night. A couple were m a laboratory, a tall bright clean room, five hundred years old at least. "We saw you were not very religious," said one of the old ladies with a red wrinkled good-humoured face, " by your behaviour yesterday in chapel." And yet we did not laugh and talk as we used at college, but were profoundly affected by the scene that we saw there. It was a fgte-day : a mass of Mozart was sung in the evening — not well sung, and yet so exquisitely tender and melodious, that it brought tears into our eyes. There were not above twenty people in the church : all, save three or four, were women in long black cloaks. I took them for nuns at first. They were, however, the common people of the town, very poor indeed, doubtless, for the priest's box that was brought round was not added to by most of them, and their contributions were 294. LITTLE TRAVELS but two-cent pieces, — five of these go to a penny ; but we know the value of such, and can tell the exact worth of a poor woman s mite ! The box-bearer did not seem at first willing to accept our donation — we were strangers and heretics ; however, I held out my hand, and he came perforce as it were. Indeed it had only a franc in it : but que voidez vous ? I had been drinking a bottle of Rhine wine that day, and how was I to afford more 1 The Rhine wine is dear in this country, and costs four francs a bottle. WeU the service proceeded. Twenty poor women, two English- men, four ragged beggars cowering on the steps ; and there was the priest at the altar, in a great robe of gold and damask, two little boys in white surplices serving him, holding his robe as he rose and bowed, and tlie money-gatherer swinging his censer, and filling the little chapel with smoke. The music pealed with wonderful sweet- ness ; you could see the prim white heads of the nuns in their gallery. The evening light streamed down upon old statues of saints and carved brown stalls, and lighted up the head of the golden-haired Magdalen in a picture of the entombment of Christ. Over the gallery, and, as it were, a kind protectress to the poor below, stood the statue of the Virgin. Ill WATERLOO IT is, my dear, the happy privilege of your sex in England to quit the dinner-table after the wine-bottles have once or twice gone round it, and you are thereby saved (though, to be sure, I can't tell what the ladies do upstairs) — you are saved two or three hours' excessive dulness, which the men are obliged to go through. I ask any gentleman who reads this — the letters to my Juliana being written with an eye to publication — to remember especially how many times, how many hundred times, how many thousand times, in his hearing, the battle of Waterloo has been discussed after dinner, and to call to mind how cruelly he has been bored by the discussion. " Ah, it was lucky for us that the Prussians came up ! " says one little gentleman, looking particularly wise and ominous. " Hang the Prussians ! " (or, perhaps, something stronger " the Prussians!") says a stout old major on half-pay. "We beat the French without them, sir, as beaten them we always have ! We were thundering down the hill of BeUe Alliance, sir, at the backs of WATERLOO 295 them, and the French were crying ' Sauve qui pent ' long before the Prussians ever touched them ! " And so the battle opens, and for many mortal hours, amid rounds of claret, rages over and over again. I thought to myself, considering the above things, what a fine thing it will be in after-days to say that I have been to Brussels and never seen the field of Waterloo ; indeed, that I am such a phUosopher as not to care a fig about the battle — nay, to regret, rather, that when Napoleon came back, the British Government had not spared their men and left him alone. But this pitch of philosophy was unattainable. This morning, after having seen the Park, the fashionable boulevard, the pictures, the caf& — having sipped, I say, the sweets of every flower that grows in this paradise of Brussels, quite weary of the place, we mounted on a Namur diligence, and jingled oif at four miles an hour for Waterloo. The road is very neat and agreeable : the Forest of Soignies here and there interposes pleasantly to give your vehicle a shade ; tlie country, as usual, is vastly fertile and well cultivated. A fanner and the conducteur were my companions in the imperial, and could I have understood their conversation, my dear, you should have had certainly a report of it. The jargon which they talked was, indeed, most queer and puzzling — French, I believe, strangely hashed up and pronounced, for here and there one could catch a few words of it. Now and anon, however, they condescended to speak in the purest French they could muster ; and, indeed, nothing is more curious than to hear the French of the country. You can't under- stand why all the people insist upon speaking it so badly. I asked the conductor if he had been at the battle ; he burst out laughing, like a philosopher as he was, and said, " Pas si bete." I asked the farmer whether his contributions were lighter now than in King William's time, and lighter than those in the time of the Emperor ] He vowed that in war-time he had not more to pay than in time of peace (and this strange fact is vouched for by every person of every nation), and being asked wherefore the King of Holland had been ousted from his throne, replied at once, "Parce que c'^tait un voleur : " for which accusation I believe there is some show of reason, his Majesty having laid hands on much Belgian property before the lamented outbreak which cost him his crown. A vast deal of laughing and roaring passed between these two worthy people and the postillion, whom they called " Baron," and I thought no doubt that this talk was one of the many jokes that my companions were in the habit of making. But not so : the postillion was an actual baron, the bearer of an ancient name, the descendant of gallant gentlemen. Good heavens ! what would Mrs. Trollope say to see his Lordship here'! His father the old baron had dissipated the 296 LITTLE TEAVELS family fortune, and here was this young nobleman, at about five- and-forty, compelled to bestride a clattering Flemish stallion, and bump over dusty pavements at the rate of five miles an hour. But see the beauty of high blood : with what a calm grace the man of family accommodates himself to fortune. Far from being cast down, his Lordship met his fate like a man : he swore and laughed the whole of the journey, and as we changed horses condescended to partake of half-a-pint of Louvain beer, to which the farmer treated him — indeed the worthy rustic treated me to a glass too. Much delight and instruction have I had in the course of the journey from my guide, philosopher, and fiiend, the author of " Murray'.s Handbook." He has gathered together, indeed, a store of information, and must, to make his single volume, have gutted many hundreds of guide-books. How the Continental ciceroni must hate him, whoever he is ! Every English party I saw had this infallible red book in their hands, and gained a vast deal of historical and general information from it. Thus I heard, in confidence, many remarkable anecdotes of Charles V., the Duke of Alva, Count Egmont, all of which I Iiad before perceived, with much satisfaction, not only in the " Handbook," but even in other works. The Laureate is among the English poets evidently the great favourite of our guide : the choice does honour to his head and heart. A man must have a very strong bent for poetry, indeed, who carries Southey's works in his portmanteau, and quotes them in proper time and occasion. Of course at Waterloo a spirit like our guide's cannot fail to be deeply moved, and to turn to his favourite poet for sympathy. Hark how the laureated bard sings about the tombstones at Waterloo : — " That temple to our hearts was hallow'd now, For m.iny a wounded Briton there was laid, With such for help as time might then allow, From the fresh carnage of tlio field conveyed. And they whom human succour could not save, Here, in its precincts, found a hasty grave. And here, on marble tablets, set on high, In English lines by foreign workmen traced, The names familiar to an English eye, Their brethren here the fit memorial placed ; Whose unadorned inscriptions briefly tell Their gallant comrades' rank, and where they fell. The stateliest monument of human pride, Enriched with all magnificence of art, To honour chieftains who in victory died Would wake no stronger feeling in the heart Than tbe^e plain tablets by the soldier's hand Raised to his comrades in a foreign land." WATERLOO 297 There are lines for you ! wonderful for justice, rich in thought and novel ideas. The passage concerning their gallant comrades' rank should be specially remarked. There indeed they lie, sure enough : the Honourable Colonel This of the Guards, Captain That of the Hussars, Major So-and-so of the Dragoons, brave men and good, who did their duty by their country on that day, and died in the performance of it. Amen. But I confess fairly that, in looking at these tablets, I felt very much disappointed at not seeing the names of the men as well as the officers. Are they to be counted for nought ? A few more inches of marble to each monument would have given space for all the names of the men ; and the men of that day were the winners of the battle. We have a right to be as grateful individually to any given private as to any given officer : their duties were very much the same. Why should the country reserve its gratitude for the genteel occupiers of the Army List, and forget the gallant fellows whose humble names were written in the regimental books ? In reading of the Wellington wars, and the conduct of the men engaged iu them, I don't know whether to respect them or to wonder at them most. They have death, wounds, and poverty in contemplation ; in possession, poverty, hard labour, hard fare, and small thanks. If they do wrong, they are handed over to the inevitable provost-marshal ; if they are heroes, heroes they may be, but they remain privates still, handling the old brown Bess, starving on the old twopence a day. They grow grey in battle and victory, and after thirty years of bloody service, a young gentleman of fifteen, fresh from a preparatory school, who can scarcely read, and came but yesterday with a pinafore in to papa's dessert — such a young gentleman, I say, arrives in a spick-and-span red coat, and calmly takes the command over our veteran, who obeys him as if God and nature had ordained that so throughout time it should be. That privates should obey, and that they should be smartly punished if they disobey, this one can understand very well. But to say obey for ever and ever — to say that Private John Styles is, by some physical disproportion, hopelessly inferior to Cornet Snooks — to say th&t Snooks shall have honours, epaulets, and a marble tablet if he dies, and that Styles shall fight his fight, and have his twopence a day, and when shot down shall be shovelled into a hole with other Styleses, and so forgotten ; and to think that we had in the course of the last war some 400,000 of these Styleses, and some 10,000, say, of the Snooks sort— Styles being by nature exactly as honest, clever, and brave as Snooks — and to think that the 400,000 should bear this, is the wonder ! Suppose Snooks makes a speech. " Look at these Frenchmen, 298 LITTLE TRAVELS British soldiers," says he, "and remember who they are. Two-and- twenty years since they hurled their King from his throne and mur- dered him " (groans). " They flung out of their country their ancient and famous nobility — they published the audacious doctrine of equality — they made a cadet of artillery, a beggarly lawyer's son, into a,n Em- peror, and took ignoramuses from the ranks — drummers and privates, by Jove ! — of whom they made kings, generals, and marshals ! Is this to be borne?" (Cries of " No ! no ! ") "Upon them, my boys [down with these godless revolutionists, and rally round the British lion! ' So saying. Ensign Snooks (whose flag, which he can't carry, is held by a huge grizzly colour-sergeant) draws a little sword, and pipes out a feeble huzza. The men of his company, roaring curses at the Frenchmen, prepare to receive and repel a thundering charge of French cuirassiers. The men fight, and Snooks is knighted be- cause the men fought so well. But live or die, win or lose, what do they get ] English glory is too genteel to meddle with those humble fellows. She does not condescend to ask the names of the poor devils whom she kills in her service. Why was not every private man's name written upon the stones in Waterloo Church as well as every officer's? Five hundred pounds to the stone-cutters would have served to carve the whole catalogue, and paid the poor compliment of recognition to men who died in doing their duty. If the officers deserved a stone, the men did. But come, let us away and drop a tear over the Marquis of Anglesey's leg ! As for Waterloo, has it not been talked of enough after dinner ? Here are some oats that were plucked before Hougoumont, where grow not only oats, but flourishing crops of grape-shot, bayonets, and legion-of-honour crosses, in amazing profusion. Well, though I made a vow not to talk about Waterloo either here or after dinner, there is one little secret admission that one must make after seeing it. Let an Englishman go and see that field, and he never forgets it. The sight is an event in his life ; and though it has been seen by millions of peaceable gents — grocers from Bond Street, meek attorneys from Chancery Lane, and timid tailors from Piccadilly — I will wager that there "is not one of them but feels a glow as he looks at the place, and remembers that he, too, is an Englishman. It is a wrong, egotistical, savage, unchristian feeling, and that's the truth of it. A man of peace has no right to be dazzled by that red-coated glory, and to intoxicate his vanity with those remem- brances of carnage and triumph. The same sentence which tells us that on earth there ought to be peace and good-will amongst men, tells us to whom Glory belongs. THE BOOK OF SNOBS ADVERTISEMENT THE genus " Snob " formed the subject of the earliest of Mr. Thackeray's studies of character. When he was an under- graduate of Cambridge, in 1829, there appeared an unpre- tending little weekly periodical entitled " The Snob : a Literary and Scientific Journal," not " conducted by members of the University,'' to which Mr. Thackeray was a contributor ; and it probably owed its name and existence to him. Each number contained only six pages, of a small octavo size, printed on tinted paper of different colours, green, pink, and yellow ; and, as if to complete the eccen- tricity of tlie periodical, its price w^as twopence-halfpenny. "The Snob" had but a short life, only eleven numbers having been published; the first being dated April 9, 1829, and the last, June 18, of the same year. In those contributions which appear to have been wiitten by Mr. Thackeray, indications are discernible of the fine satiric humour with which he ridiculed vulgarity and pretension in " The Book of Snobs.'' But as the Publishers believe that the Author would not himself have wished such fugitive papers, hastily thrown off in sport for his own amusement, at an early period of his life, to be repub- lished, none of them have been included in this volume. THE BOOK OF SNOBS BY ONE OF THEMSELVES PREFATORY REMARKS [7%e necessity of a Work on Snobs, demonstrated from History, and proved by felicitous illustrations : — / am, the individual destined to write that work — My vocation is annownced in terms of great eloquence — I show that the world has been gradually pre- paring itself for the work arul the man — Snobs are to be studied like other objects of Natwral Science, and are a part of the Beauti- fvl (with a large B) — They pervade all classes — Affecting instance of Colonel SnobleyJ\ WE have all read a statement (the authenticity of which I take leave to doubt entirely, for upon what calculations I should like to know is it founded?) — we have all, I say, been favoured by perusing a remark, that when the times and necessities of the world call for a Man, that individual is found. Thus at the French Revolution (which the reader will be pleased to have introduced so early), when it was requisite to administer a corrective dose to the nation, Robespierre was found ; a most foul and nauseous dose indeed, and swallowed eagerly by the patient, greatly to the latter's ultimate advantage : thus, when it became necessary to kick John Bull out of America, Mr. Washington stepped forward, and performed that job to satisfaction : thus, when the Earl of Aldborough was unwell, Professor HoUoway appeared with his pills, and cured his lordship, as per advertisement, &c. &c. Numberless instances might be adduced to show that wlien a nation is in great want, the relief is at hand; just as in the Pantomime (that microcosm), where when Clown wants anything — a warming-pan, a pump-handle, a goose, or a lady's tippet — a fellow comes saunter- ing out from behind the side-scenes with the very article in question. 304 THE BOOK OF SNOBS Again, when men commence an undertaking, they always iire prepared to show that the absolute necessities of the world demanded its completion. — Say it is a railroad : the directors begin by stating that " A more intimate commmiication between Bathershins and Derrynane Beg is necessary for the advancement of civilisation, and demanded by the multitudinous acclamations of the great Irish people." Or suppose it is a newspaper : the prospectus states that " At a time when the Chiu-ch is in danger, threatened from without by savage fanaticism and miscreant unbelief, and undermined from within by dangerous Jesuitism, and suicidal Schism, a Want has been universally felt— a suffering people has looked abroad — for an Ecclesiastical Champion and Guardian. A body of Prelates and Gentlemen have therefore stepped forward in this our hour of danger, and determined on establishing the Beadle newspaper," &o. &c. One or other of these points at least is incontrovertible ; the public wants a thing, therefore it is supplied with it ; or the public is supplied with a thing, therefore it wants it. I have long gone about with a conviction on my mind that I had a work to do — a Work, if you like, with a great W ; a Purpose to fulfil ; a chasm to leap into, like Ourtius, horse and foot ; a Great Social Evil to Discover and to Kemedy. That Conviction Has Pur- sued me for Years. It has Dogged me in the Busy Street ; Seated Itself By Me in The Lonely Study ; Jogged My Elbow as it Lifted the Wine-cup at The Festive Board ; Pursued me through the Maze of Rotten Row ; Followed me in Far Lands. On Brighton's Shingly Beach, or Margate's Sand, the Voice Outpiped the Roaring of the Sea; it Nestles in my Night-cap, and It Whispers, "Wake, Slum- berer, thy Work Is Not Yet Done." Last Year, By Moonlight, in the Colosseum, the Little Sedulous Voice Came To Me and Said, " Smith or Jones " (The Writer's Name is Neither Here nor There), " Smith or Jones, my fine fellow, this is all very well, but you ought to be at home writing your great work on SNOBS." When a man has this sort of vocation it is all nonsense attempt- ing to elude it. He must speak out to the nations; he must unbimm himself, as Jeames would say, or choke and die. "Mark to yourself," I have often mentally exclaimed to your humble servant, " the gradual, way in which you have been prepared for, and are now led by an irresistible necessity to enter upon your great labour. First, the World was made : then, as a matter of course. Snobs; they existed for years and years, and were no more known than America. But presently,— mgrens patebat tellus, — the people became darkly aware that there was such a race. Not above five-and-twenty years since, a name, an expressive monosyllable, arose to designate that race. That name has spread PEEFATORY REMARKS 305 over England like railroads subsequently ; Snobs are known and recognised throughout an Empire on -which I am given to under- stand the Sun never sets. Pwnch appears at the ripe season, to chronicle their history : and the individual comes forth to write that history in Punch* I have (and for this gift I congratulate myself with a Deep and Abiding Thankfulness) an eye for a Snob. If the Truthful is the Beautiful, it is Beautiful to study even the Snobbish ; to track Snobs through history, as certain little dogs in Hampshire hunt out truffles ; to sink shafts in society and come upon rich veins of Snob-ore. Snobbishness is like Death in a quotation from Horace, which I hope you never have heard, "beating with equal foot at poor men's doors, and kicking at the gates of Emperors." It is a great mistake to judge of Snobs lightly, and think they exist among the lower classes merely. An immense percentage of Snobs, I believe, is to be found in every rank of this mortal life. You must not judge hastily or vulgarly of Snobs : to do so shows that you are yourself a Snob. I myself have been taken for one. When I was taking the waters at Bagnigge Wells, and living at the " Imperial Hotel " there, there used to sit opposite me at breakfast, for a short time, a Snob so insufferable that I felt I should never get any benefit of the waters so long as he remained. His name was Lieutenant-Colonel Snobley, of a certain dragoon regiment. He wore japanned boots and moustaches : he lisped, drawled, and left the " r's " out of his words : he was always flourishing about, and smoothing his lacquered whiskers with a huge flaming bandanna, that filled the room -with an odour of musk so stifling that I determined to do battle with that Snob, and that either he or I should quit the Inn. I first began harm- less conversations with him ; frightening him exceedingly, for he did not know what to do when so attacked, and had never the slightest notion that anybody would take such a liberty with him as to speak first : then I handed him the paper : then, as he would take no notice of these advances, I used to look him in the face steadily and — and use my fork in the light of a toothpick. After two mornings of this practice, he could bear it no longer, and fairly quitted the place. Should the Colonel see this, will he remember the Gent who asked him if he thought Publicoaler was a fine writer, and drove him from the Hotel with a four-pronged fork 1 * These papers wpre originally published in that popular periodical. CHAPTER I THE SNOB PLAYFULLY DEALT WITH THERE are relative and positive Snobs. I mean by positive, such persons as are Snobs everywhere, in all companies, from morning tiU night, from youth to the grave, being by Nature endowed with Snobbishness ; and others who are Snobs only in certain circumstances and relations of life. For instance : I once knew a man who committed before me an act as atrocious as that which I have indicated in the last chapter as performed by me for the inirpose of disgusting Colonel Snobley ; viz., the using the fork in the guise of a toothpick. I once, I say, knew a man who, dining in my company at the " Europa Coffee- house " (opposite the Grand Opera, and, as everybody knows, the only decent place for dining at Naples), ate peas with the assistance of his knife. He was a person with whose society I was greatly pleased at first — indeed, we had met in the crater of Mount Vesuvius, and were subsequently robbed and held to ransom by brigands in Calabria, which is nothing to the purpose — a man of great powers, excellent heart, and varied information ; but I had never before seen him with a dish of peas, and his conduct in regard to them caused me the deepest pain. After having seen him thus publicly comport himself, but one course was open to me — to cut his acquaintance. I commissioned a mutual friend (the Honourable Poly Anthus) to break the matter to this gentleman as delicately as possible, and to say that painful circumstances — in nowise aflfecting Mr. Marrowfat's honour, or my esteem for him — had occurred, which obliged me to forego my intimacy with him ; and accordingly we met, and gave each other the cut direct that night at the Duchess of Monte Fiasco's ball. Everybody at Naples remarked the separation of the Damon and Pythias — indeed. Marrowfat had saved my life more than once — but, as an English gentleman, what was I to do ? My dear friend was, in this instance, the Snob relative. It is not snobbish of persons of rank of any other nation to employ their knife in the manner alluded to. I have seen Monte Fiasco clean his trencher with his knife and every Principe in company doing like- THE SNOB PLAYFULLY DEALT WITH 307 wise. I have seen, at the hospitable board of H.I.H. the Grand Duchess Stephanie of Baden — (who, if these humble lines should come imder her Imperial eyes, is besought to remember graciously the most devoted of her servants)- — I have seen, I say, the Heredi- tary Princess of Potztausend-Donnerwetter (that serenely-beautiful woman) use her knife in lieu of a fork or spoon ; I have seen her almost swallow it, by Jove ! like Eamo Samee, the Indian juggler. And did I blench ? Did my estimation for the Princess diminish 1 No, lovely Amalia ! One of the truest passions that ever was in- spired by woman was raised in this bosom by that lady. Beautiful one ! long long may the knife carry food to those lips ! the reddest and loveliest in the world ! The cause of my quarrel with Marrowfat I never breathed to mortal soul for four years. We met in the halls of the aristocracy — our friends and relatives. We jostled each other in the dance or at the board ; but the estrangement continued, and seemed irrevocable, until the fourth of June, last year. We met at Sir George GoUoper's. We were placed, he on the right, your humble servant on the left, of the admirable Lady G. Peas formed part of the banquet — ducks and green peas. I trembled as I saw Marrowfat helped, and turned away sickening, lest I should behold the weapon darting down his horrid jaws. What was my astonishment, what my delight, when I saw him use his fork like any other Christian ! He did not administer the cold steel once. Old times rushed back upon me — the remembrance of old services — his rescuing me from the brigands — his gallant conduct in the aifair with the Countess Dei Spinachi — his lending me the £1700. I almost burst into tears with joy — my voice trembled with emotion. " George, my boy ! " I exclaimed ; " George Marrowfat, my dear fellow ! a glass of wine ! " Blushing — deeply moved — almost as tremulous as I was myself, George answered, " Frank, shall it be Hock or Madeira ? " I could have hugged him to my heart but for the presence of the company. Little did Lady GoUoper know what was the cause of the emotion which sent the duckling I was carving into her Ladyship's pink satin lap. The most good-natured of women pardoned the error, and the butler removed the bird. We have been the closest friends ever since, nor, of course, has George repeated his odious habit. He acquired it at a country school, where they cultivated peas and only used two-pronged forks, and it was only by living on the Continent, where the usage of the four-prong is general, that he lost the horrible custom. In this point — and in this only- — I confess myself a member of the Silver-Fork School ; and if this Me bvit induce one of my readers. 308 THE BOOK OF SNOBS to pause, to examine in his own mind solemnly, and ask, " Do I or do I not eat peas with a knife 1 " — to see the ruin which may fall upon himself by continuing the practice, or his family by beholding the example, these lines will not have been written in vain. And now, whatever other authors may be, I iJatter myself, it will be allowed that /, at least, am a moral man. By the way, as some readers are dull of comprehension, I may as well say what the moral of this history is. , The moral is this — Society having ordained certain customs, men are bound to obey the law of society, and conform to its harmless orders. If I should go to the British and Foreign Institute (and Heaven forbid I should go under any pretext or in any costume whatever) — if I should go to one of the tea-parties in a dressing-gown and sKppers, and not in the usual attire of a gentleman, viz., pumps, a gold waistcoat, a crush hat, a sham frill, and a white choker — I should be insulting society, and eating peas with my knife. Let the porters of the Institute hustle out the individual who shitll so offend. Such an offender is, as regards society, a most emphatical and refractory Snob. It has its code and police as well as govern- ments, and he must conform who would profit by the decrees set forth for their common comfort. I am naturally averse to egotism, and hate self-laudation con- sumedly ; but I can't help relating here a circumstance illustrative of the point in question, in which I must think I acted with con- siderable prudence. Being at Constantinople a few years since — (on a delicate mission), — the Russians were playing a double game, between our- selves, and it became necessary on our part to employ an extra negotiator — Leckerbiss Pasha of Roumelia, then Chief Galeongee of the Porte, gave a diplomatic banquet at his summer palace at Bujukdere. I was on the left of the Galeongee, and the Russian agent. Count de Diddloff, on his dexter side. Diddloff is a dandy who would die of a rose in aromatic pain : he had tried to have me assassinated three times in the course of the negotiation ; but of course we were friends in public, and saluted each other in the most cordial and charming manner. The Galeongee is — or was, alas ! for a bowstring has done for him — a stanch supporter of the old school of Turkish politics. We dined with our fingers, and had flaps of bread for plates ; the only innovation he admitted was the use of European liquors, in which he indulged with great gusto. He was an enormous eater. Amongst the dishes a very large one was placed before him of a lamb dressed in its wool, stuffed with prunes, garlic, assafcetida, capsicums, and other condiments the most abominable mixture that ever mortal THE SNOB PLAYFULLY DEALT WITH 309 smelt or tasted. The Galeongee ate of this hugely ; and, pursuing the Eastern fashion, insisted on helping his friends right and left, and when he came to a particularly spicy morsel, would push it with his own hands into his guests' very mouths. I never shall forget the look of poor DiddloflF, when his Excel- lency, rolling up a large quantity of this into a ball, and exclaiming, " Buk Buk " (it is very good), administered the horrible bolus to Diddloff. The Eussian's eyes rolled dreadfully as he received it : he swallowed it with a grimace that I thought must precede a convul- sion, and, seizing a bottle next him, which he thought was Sauterne, but which turned out to be French brandy, he drank off nearly a pint before he knew his error. It finished him : he was carried away from the dining-room almost dead, and laid out to cool in a summer-house on the Bosphorus. When it came to my turn, I took down the condiment with a smile, said " Bismillah," licked my lips with easy gratification, and when the next dish was served, made up a ball myself so dexterously, and popped it down the old Galeongee's mouth with so much grace, that his heart was won. Eussia was put out of court at once, and the Treaty of Kabobanople was signed. As for Diddloff, all was over with him : he was recalled to St. Petersburg, and Sir Eoderick Murchison saw him, under the No. 3967, working in the Ural mines. The moral of this tale, I need not say, is, that there are many disagreeable things in society which you are bound to take down, and to do so with a smiling face. CHAPTER II THE SNOB ROYAL LONG since, at the commencement of the reign of her present Gracious Majesty, it chanced " on a fair summer evening," as ■^ Mr. James would say, that three or four young cavaliers were drinking a cup of wine after dinner at the hostelry called the " King's Arms," kept by Mistress Anderson, in the Royal village of Kensing- ton. 'Twas a balmy evening, and the wayfarers looked out on a cheerful scene. The tall elms of the ancient gardens were in full leaf, and countless chariots of the nobility of England whirled by to the neighbouring palace, where princely Sussex (whose income latterly only allowed him to give tea-parties) entertained his Royal niece at a State banquet. When the caroches of the nobles had set down their owners at the banquet-hall, their varlets and servitors came to quaff a flagon of nut-brown ale in the " King's Arms " gardens hard by. We watched these fellows from our lattice. By Saint Boniface, 'twas a rare sight ! The tulips in Mynheer Van Dunck's gardens were not more gorgeous than the liveries of these pie-coated retainers. All the flowers of the field bloomed in their ruifled bosoms, all the hues of the rainbow gleamed in their plush breeches, and the long-caned ones walked up and down the garden with that charming solemnity, that delightful quivering swagger of the calves, which has always had a frantic fascination for us. The walk was not wide enough for them as the shoulder-knots strutted up and down it in canary, and crimson, and light blue. Suddenly, in the midst of their pride, a little bell was rung, a side door opened, and (after setting down their Royal Mistress) her Majesty's own crimson footmen, with epaulets and black plushes, came in. It was pitiable to see the other poor Johns slink off at this arrival ! Not one of the honest private Plushes could stand up before the Royal Flunkeys. They left the walk : they sneaked into dark holes and drank their beer in silence. The Royal Plush kept pos- session of the garden until the Royal Plush dinner was announced, when it retired, and we heard from the pavilion where they dined, THE SNOB ROYAL 311 conservative cheers, and speeches, and Kentish fires. The other Flunkeys we never saw more. My dear Flunkeys, so absurdly conceited at one moment and so abject at the next, are but the types of their masters in this world. He who meomly admires mean things is a Snob — perhaps that is a safe definition of the character. And this is why I have, with the utmost respect, ventured to place the Snob Royal at the head of my list, causing all others to give way before him, as the Flunkeys before the Royal representa- tive in Kensington Gardens. To say of such and such a Gracious Sovereign that he is a Snob, is but to say that his Majesty is a man. Kings, too, are men and Snobs. In a country where Snobs are in the majority, a prime one, surely, cannot be unfit to govern. With us they have succeeded to admiration. For instance, James I. was a Snob, and a Scotch Snob, than which the world contains no more offensive creature. He appears to have had not one of the good qualities of a man — neither courage, nor generosity, nor honesty, nor brains ; but read what the great Divines and Doctors of England said about him ! Charles II., his grandson, was a rogue, but not a Snob; whilst Louis XIV., his old squaretoes of a contemporary, — the great worshipper of Bigwiggery — has always struck me as a most undoubted and Royal Snob. I will not, however, take instances from our own country of Royal Snobs, but refer to a neighbouring kingdom, that of Brentford — and its monarch, the late great and lamented Gorgius IV. With the same humility with which the footmen at the " King's Arms " gave way before the Plush Royal, the aristocracy of the Brentford nation bent down and truckled before Gorgius, and proclaimed him the first gentleman in Europe. And it's a wonder to think what is the gentlefolks' opinion of a gentleman, when they gave Gorgius such a title. What is it to be a gentleman 1 It is to be honest, to be gentle, to be generous, to be brave, to be wise, and, possessing all these qualities, to exercise them in the most graceful outward manner. Ought a gentleman to be a loyal son, a true husband, and honest father? Ought his life to be decent — his bills to be paid — his tastes to be high and elegant — his aims in life lofty and noble? In a word, ought not the Biography of a First Gentleman in Europe to be of such a nature that it might be read in Young Ladies' Schools with advantage, and studied with profit in the Seminaries of Young Gentlemen t I put this question to all instructors of youth — to Mrs. Ellis and the Women of England ; to all school- masters, from Doctor Hawtrey down to Mr. Squeers. I conjure up S12 THE BOOK OF SNOBS before me an awful tribunal of youth and innocence, attended by its venerable instructors (like the ten thousand red-cheeked charity- children in Saint Paul's), sitting in judgment, and Gorgius pleading his cause in the midst. Out of Court, out of Court, fat old Florizel! Beadles, turn out that bloated pimple-faced man ! If Corpus must have a statue in the new Palace which the Brentford nation is building, it ought to be set up in the Flunkeys' Hall. He should be represented cutting out a coat, in which art he is said to have excelled. He also invented Maraschino punch, a shoe-buckle (this was in the vigour of his youth, and the prime force of his inven- tion), and a Chinese pavilion, the most hideous building in the world. He could drive a four-in-hand very nearly as well as the Brighton coachman, could fence elegantly, and, it is said, played the fiddle well. And he smiled with such irresistible fascination, that persons who were introduced into his august presence became his victims, body and soul, as a rabbit becomes the prey of a great big boa-constrictor. I would wager that if Mr. Widdicomb were, by a revolu- tion, placed on the throne of Brentford, people would be equally fascinated by his irresistibly majestic smile, and tremble as they knelt down to kiss his hand. If he went to Dublin they would erect an obelisk on the spot where he first landed, as the Paddy- landers did when Gorgius visited them. We have all of us read with delight that story of the King's voyage to Haggisland, where his presence inspired such a fury of loyalty ; and where the most famous man of the country — the Baron of Bradwardine — coming on board the Royal yacht, and finding a glass out of which Gorgius had drunk, put it into his coat-pocket as an inestimable relic, and went ashore in his boat again. But the Baron sat down upon the glass and broke it, and cut his coat-tails very much ; and the in- estimable relic was lost to the world for ever. noble Bradwar- dine ! what old-world superstition could set you on your knees before such an idol as that? If you want to moralise upon the mutability of liuman affairs, go and see the figure of Gorgius in his real identical robes, at the waxwork. — Admittance one shilling. Children and flunkeys six- pence. Go, and pay sixpence. CHAPTER III THE INFLUENCE OF THE ARISTOCRACY ON SNOBS X AST Sunday week, being at church in this city, and the service I just ended, I heard two Snobs conversing about the Parson. •*— ' One was asking the other who the clergyman was "i " He is Mr. So-and-so," the second Snob answered, "domestic chaplain to the Earl of What-d'ye-call-'im." " Oli, is he?" said the first Snob, with a tone of indescribable satisfaction. — The Parson's orthodoxy and identity were at once settled in this Snob's mind. He knew no more about the Earl than about the Chaplain, but he took the latter's character upon the authority of the former ; and went home quite contented with his Reverence, like a little truckling Snob. This incident gave me more matter for reflection even than the sermon : and wonderment at the extent and prevalence of Lord- olatry in this country. What could it matter to Snob whether his Reverence were chaplain to his Lordship or not? What Peerage-worship there is all through this free country ! How wc are all imphcated in it, and more or less down on our knees. — And with regard to the great subject on hand, I think that the influence of the Peerage upon Snobbishness has been more remarkable than that of any other institution. The increase, encouragement, and maintenance of Snobs are among the "priceless services," as Lord John RusseU says, which we owe to the nobility. It can't be otherwise. A man becomes enormously rich, or he jobs successfully in the aid of a Minister, or he wins a great battle, or executes a treaty, or is a clever lawyer who makes a multitude of fees and ascends the bench ; and the country rewards him for ever with a gold coronet (with more or less balls or leaves) and a title, and a rank as legislator. "Your merits are so great," says the nation, " that your children shall be allowed to reign over' us, in a manner. It does not in the least matter that your eldest son be a fool : we think your services so remarkable, that he shall have the reversion of your honours when death vacates your noble shoes. If you are poor, we will give you such a sum of money as shall enable you and the eldest-bom of your race for ever to live in fat and splendour. It is our wish that there should be a race set apart in 314 THE BOOK OF SNOBS this happy country, who shall hold the first rank, have the first prizes and chances in all Government jobs and patronages. We cannot make all your dear children Peers — that would make Peerage common and crowd the House of Lords uncomfortably — but the young ones shall have everything a Government can give : they shall get the pick of all the places : they shall be Captains and Lieutenant-Colonels at nineteen, when hoary-headed old Lieutenants are spending thirty years at drill : they shall command ships at one-and-twenty, and veterans who fought before they were born. And as we are eminently a free people, and in order to encourage all men to do their duty, we say to any man of any rank — get enormously rich, make immense fees as a lawyer, or great speeches, or distinguish yourself and win battles — and you, even you, shall come into the privileged class, and your children shall reign naturally over ours." How can we help Snobbishness with such a prodigious national institution erected for its worship ? How can we help cringing to Lords ? Flesh and blood can't do otherwise. What man can with- stand this prodigious temptation? Inspired by what is called a noble emulation, some people grasp at honours and win them ; others, too weak or mean, blindly admire and grovel before those who have gained them ; others, not being able to acquire them, furiously hate, abuse, and envy. There are only a few bland and not-in-the-Ieast-conceited philosophers, who can behold the state of society, viz.. Toadyism, organised: — base Man-and-Mammon worship, instituted by command of law : — Snobbishness, in a word, perpetu- ated, — and mark the phenomenon calmly. And of these calm moralists, is there one, I wonder, whose heart would not throb with pleasure if he could be seen walking arm-in-arm with a couple of dukes down Pall MaU ? No ; it is impossible, in our condition of society, not to be sometimes a Snob. On one side it encourages the commoner to be snobbishly mean, and the noble to be snobbishly arrogant. When a noble marchioness writes in her travels about the hard necessity under which steam- boat travellers labour of being brought into contact " with all sorts and conditions of people " : implying that a fellowship with God's creatures is disagreeable to her Ladyship, who is their superior : — when, I say, the Marchioness of writes in this fashion, we must consider that out of her natural heart it would have been impossible for any woman to have had such a sentiment ; but that the habit of truckling and cringing, which all who surround her have adopted towards this beautiful and magnificent lady, — this proprietor of so many black and other diamonds, —has really induced her to believe that she is the superior of the world in general ; and INFLUENCE OF THE ARISTOOEACY 315 that people are not to associate with her except awfully at a dis- tance. I recollect being once at the city of Grand Cairo, through which a European Koyal Prince was passing India-wards. One night at the inn there was a great disturbance : a man had drowned himself in the well hard by : all the inhabitants of the hotel came bustling into the court, and amongst others your humble servant, who asked of a certain young man the reason of the disturbance. How was I to know that this young gent was a prince ? He had not his crown and sceptre on : he was dressed in a white jacket and felt hat : but he looked surprised at anybody speaking to him : answered an unintelligible monosyllable, and — beckoned Ms aide-de- camp to come and speak to me. It is our fault, not that of the great, that they should fancy themselves so far above us. If you will fling yourself under the wheels, Juggernaut will go over you, depend upon it : and if you and I, my dear friend, ha