liiiiiiiliiliiiiti. l>it!>J!i!!li t!4l' ' I 4mm I ililii iitil iTi ■'4ni illlllP' IlllllliP-'''' ii>i'^ i ijiiiiiii DUKE UNIVERSITY LIBRARY Treasure %oom UToFIk Digitized by tine Internet Arciiive in 2010 witii funding from Duke University Libraries littp://www.arcliive.org/details/gliostlycolloquieOOtown GHOSTLY COLLOQUIES. BY THE AUTHOR OF 'LETTERS FROM ROME," "CLOUDS AND SUNSHINE," ETC- NEW YORK: D. APPLETON AND COMPANY, 846 & 348 BROADWAY, M. DCCC.lv I. Entered, according to Act of CongreiS, In the year 1855, by D. APPLETON & COMPANY, In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United States for the Southern District of New York. XSVOPlh CONTENTS »-•-• PAQB Cadmts — Columbus 5 Sophocles — Gk at 26 Salvatoe Kosa — Bteox 47 HoETENsnjs — Beokfoed 69 Jason — Raleigh , 90 Tacitus — Gibbon 113 Apicius — Vatel 137 SeJANUS — RiCHAED III 160 -Maecus Beutus — John Adams 183 Peaxiteleb — Canota 205 Peteonius — D'Obsay 225 Geemanicus — RiENzi 247 c:: r;, -i <~ -^ tLM^.i'Jll^X. A3 GHOSTLY COLLOQUIES. CADMUS— COLUMBUS. [SCENE— CEYSTAL PALACE.] Cad. Well, brother, here we are again, at the place from which we started ; right under this beautiful dome, and vis-a-vis to your own statue. And now, my dear friend, do tell me ; of all this world of wonders, what one object has most im- pressed you ? or have you, like myself, been so dazzled and bewildered, that you cannot answer the question ? Col. Not at all ; not at all. I reply at once, and emphatically, the submarine telegraph. Cad. Ah? Col. Yes ; this last development of the great invention is, to me, the crowning triumph here. The more I think of it, of the labors that are in store for it, and of the momeutous results to hu- o *^- -i- -^ No ; but in an apartment communicating with them ; a noble room, erected by Trajan ex- pressly for their accommodation. Before that time, our chambers were on Mount Aventine, not far from Pollio's library. Our new quarters were every way worthy, both of the donor and of the temple to which they were annexed. Our great hall of conference was a princely affair ; it was worth a journey to Rome, to see the magnificent bas-reliefs that surrounded its walls. Gib. Ah ! what may the subjects have been ? Tac. They illustrated prominent events in the lives of our historians. The series commenced with Herodotus reciting his works at the Olympic TACITUS — GIBBON. 131 Games, and ended with your humble servant pro- nouncing his funeral discourse over the great Vir- ginius Rufus. This compliment, brother, I assure you, was most gratifying to me. In niches above the sculptures were busts of the writers thus com- memorated. Behind the chair of the President, was a statue of Thucydides, a copy of the famous one in the library of Pisistratus, at Athens ; and another of Cato the Elder, the founder of our Society. Ah, how vividly can I recall the scene here, when I was last present in the body ! I mean the anniversary that I was telling you about, on occasion of the completion of our third cen- tury. The princely hall itself ; the beautiful per- spective formed by the receding domes and columns of the library, as seen through the portal ; the faint murmurs of the fountains ; the imposing group of noble and learned men, enlivened as it was, on this occasion, by the presence of some of the lovehest women of Eome ; the laurel-crowned busts and statues around ; the blended grace and dignity with which the Emperor presided ; the solemn invocation to the Gods, so impressively given by the arch-flam en ; and to crown all, the inimitably brilliant discourse of brother Pliny, delivered as no other in Rome could deliver it ; 132 TACITUS — GIBBON. altogether, it was one of the grandest pictures I ever beheld, Oib. It must have been a magnificent celebra- tion, indeed ! Tac. {After a pause.) And this is the con- summation of it all, this miserable aggregation of rubbish 1 Well, well, well 1 Gib, What was the subject of the discourse, brother ? Perhaps some parts of it may yet live in your memory. Tac. Oh, no, no ; its outlines and general spirit, however, I remember distinctly. We were expecting something quite different ; to wit, a history of the Society itself, with portraits of some of its more • illustrious members, which, perhaps, would have been more appropriate ; but we had, instead, a theme far broader and more philoso- phical. He began by defining the nature and uses of history. He then dwelt upon the qualifi- cations of the historian ; insisting, with great power, on a high moral tone, as the all-essential attribute ; he then portrayed, briefly but graphi- cally, the leading features of the great historical masters. From this he glided gracefully into a review of the progress of events since the acces- sion of Trajan, whose administration he set forth, TACITUS—GIBBON, 133 not in the frigid metaphors of court-adulation, but in the glowing words of true enthusiasm. Never were his Oriental triumphs, his wise laws, his in- numerable benefactions to art and letters, more happily described. ' First in war, first in peace, first in the hearts of his countrymen.' Never shall I forget the tone and manner in which these words were uttered, or the modest way in which the Emperor received them. Just before the peroration, the discourse took a more practical turn ; abounding (so we then thought) in ingeni- ous and valuable suggestions relating to the more facile multiplication of maps, medals, and records, and their more perfect preservation. Preservation, forsooth ! A precious commentary upon them, is it not, brother, this scene of ruin ! Ah dear, to think that I should have ever beheld a spectacle like this ; should have seen the very chamber where these glowing periods were delivered, a place to gather potherbs in ; have seen sheep scattered over the halls of these golden palaces ; and the all- glorious Forum itself, a rendezvous for swineherds ! Gib. It is most strange, certainly, that there should be so few evidences of those proud days around us. But, between ourselves, brother, I don't think that there has ever been a bona fide, 134 TACITUS — GIBBON. persevering searcli made for them. Thanks to the miserable bigots who misgovern Rome ! They will squander their thousands, at any moment, on some idle church mummery, or some miracle- working Madonna, or crucifix, but have not heart or pride enough to explore the footsteps of their forefathers. Who knows what precious memorials of the days you flourished in, may even now be slumbering beneath this vciy column on which we are sitting ? May not that very oration itself, which you so warmly eulogize, be among them, quietly waiting the coming of some sagacious an- tiquary ? Will it not again see the light of day ? Will it not again be read to the delight of bril- liant audiences ? Will it not, who knows, become a text-book in the Universities of future ages ? Tac. I hope so, indeed, for dear Pliny's sake. I do not know a spirit more worthy of such honors, or Avho would be more gratified at receiving them. But, bless me, how the wind howls through yonder cypresses ! That black cloud, too, rising in the west ; brother, there is a storm brewing, evidently. Come, let us leave this forlorn spot for quarters more genial. We have not much time to spare, by the way. I must not break ray appointment. Gib. Appointment ? TACITUS — GIBBON. 135 Tac. Yes ; I thought I mentioned it to you on our way hither, I have had the honor of a special invocation from brother Guizot. Gib. True, true ; I remember your speaking of it. Tac. Had I consulted my own feelings, I should have divided the day between London and Paris ; but you insisted so on visiting this dead-and-gone town, that — Gib. I am right sorry that I should have so deranged your plans. Tac. Well, well ; all's for the best, no doubt. But I must insist, in turn, on your accompanying me. I shall be proud to introduce you to the great philosophical historian. Gib. I shall be in the way, I fear. Tac. Not at all, not at all. You must know that he has just finished the first part of his His- tory of America, and has done me the honor to consult me about some passages in the introductory chapter. Meanwhile, we have a few moments at our disposal. Come, let's look about us a little. Gib. With all my heart. What say you to dropping in at the Pantheon ? Tac. Oh no, no ; that would only revive un- pleasant recollections. 136 TACITUS — GIBBON, Gih. Well, St. Peter's, then ? Tac. That would be far more agreeable, cer- tainly. Come, let's be off. Gih. At your service, brother. [Exeunt. APICIUS— VATEL. [SCENE— PALAIS EOTAL.] Ap. A superb picture this, brother. Vat. It is, indeed. Never did our garden look more brilliant or animated. And the entertain- ment, Apicius, candidly now, has it equalled your expectations ? Have I kept my word ? Ap. You have, an hundred fold. I have been most royally feasted, I assure you. Both the old familiar dishes, and the manifold novelties of the repast, have been alike delicious. I haven't had such a treat for ages. Vat. You are very polite. Ap. I mean what I say, and from the very bottom of my ghostly stomach, I thank you, for the experiences of this day. Vat. The cook has done well, certainly. Ap. Sicily never held a better. Vat. And Messieurs, Les Trois Freres — 138 APICIUS VATEL Ap. Jove bless them, say I ! The Horatii were fools to them. I ask yom- pardon, though, brother. I dida't mean to interrupt you. Vat Not at all. I was merely about to add, that they would give a proper development to his talents. An uneq[ual artist, Apicius, and one who has evidently not yet reached the zenith of his powers. Ap. Do you think so ? Vat. I certainly do. There were several little faults to-day, both in the way of excess and of omis- sion, that betrayed the immature master. On the other hand, I must say, there were some evidences of rare genius. That fricandeau was a chef- d'oeuvre. Ap. A perfect love. Vat. And the vol-au-vent. Ap. Capital, capital. Vat. The omelette Soufflee, too, though it might have been more delicately flavored, and was, perhaps, slightly wanting in ethereality, I consider, on the whole, a success. Ap. Fit for Venus herself. Vat. Those coquilles, on the contrary, were entirely without piquancy, or expression. Ap. Homer nodded there, certainly. APICIUS VATEL, 139 Vat. And as for the mayonnaise, it was abso- lutely scandalous ; so full of sharp points, and inharmonious combinations. A more wretchedly conceived and shabbily executed salad I never sat down to. I was terribly mortified. I saw at once that your critical palate had condemned it, though you were too kind to say so. Ap. True, brother, true. But oh, that dinde truffce ! Shade of VitelUus, what a flavor ! Think of that, Vatel, and be merciful. Vat. Very creditable, that, I confess. Ap. Besides, as to the matter of the mayon- naise, I think the lobster was more in fault than the artist. Vat. Vraiment ? Ap. Yes ; between ourselves, your modern lobsters are far, far inferior to those of my day. Vat. Those were superb specimens, too, in the window, as we entered. Ap. You wouldn't have said so, had you seen mine at Minturnae. And as to your oysters, I must say, I have been greatly disappointed in them. More miserable, little apologies, I have never seen. Vat. And yet great critics have thought other- wise, brother. 140 APICIUS — VATEL. A]). I can't help that. To me, they are en- tirel}' without merit ; with neither soul nor body ; neither giving nor appeasing appetite ; and, if those to-day were fair samples, utterly unworthy to enter into the composition of sauce or pate. And while I am finding fault, I may as well add, that in one other article, you moderns have fallen quite below my expectations. Vat Ah.? Ap. I refer to the bread department. Your loaves I find sadly wanting, both in variety of kinds, and of forms : no disrespect to these pctits pains, which are both light and sweet, but cer- tainly not models of beauty. Vat. Why, you surprise me. We Parisians are always bragging about our bread. Ap. I am sorry to hear it, for you are far below the antique mark in this regard. I speak author- itatively, brother, for I made this subject a pro- found study when in the body, both at home and in Sicily. Nay more, was I not the first to intro- duce the famous Milesian biscuits into Eome ? Did I not travel to Cappadocia, expressly to find out the mystery of those renowned hot rolls of theirs ? Vat. I know it, great father of cheesecakes, I know it. Your dictum on this point is conclusive. APICIUS VATEL. 141 Ap. As much so as your own on the merits of an entremet, or that of your namesake on a ques- tion of international law. Vat. True, true ; a clever ghost that. Ap. But with these exceptions, brother, I say again, tliis entertainment far, fur surpasses any thing that was ever devised by the cooks or ca- terers of my era. In itself and its appointments, in the wonderful variety of its contents, the or- derly service of the courses, the silent, intelligent ministrations of the attendants, the beauty and convenience of the vessels, and the implements of war (if I may so call them), in every respect, in- deed, it is a model. I repeat it ; Lucullus never reclined at one approaching to it ; Heliogabalus would have given half his empire to have assisted at it. To say nothing of this pleasant little salon, these mirrors that thus multiply our enjoyments, these comfortable couches, and above all, the bril- liant spectacle which these windows command ; these porticoes and glittering shops, these flowers and fountains, these well-dressed women, these gay uniforms, these scattered groups of sippers of coffee, and students of newspapers ; a picture, Vatel, as much more lively, and animated, and brilliant than any thing Rome could show in my 142 VPICIUS — VATEL. (lay, as the dinner itself exceeds the performances of our antique kitchens. Vat. Indeed, brother ? Such an endorsement, from such a critic, is most delightful. (Aside.) Con- found those dominoes, how they rattle ! Ap. I must say, however, that keeping this sitting posture so long I have found somewhat embarrassing. I should have felt more at home, too, I confess, in my chaplet and slippers. Vat. I am really very sorry. Why didn't you say so at first ? Ap. Not at all, not at all. But especially, brother, did I miss the customary flute solo, when that capon was so ably disintegrated by the garQon. Not a French fashion, I suppose. Vat. Not that I ever heard of. Ap. But jvhy speak of these things ? Spots on the sun, spots on the sun. Vat. And the coffee, brother, it has not dis- appointed you ? Ap. Most fragrant, most exhilarating : a divine invention. And oh, that eau-de-vie de Dantzick ! The very shower in which Zeus descended unto Danae. Roses and violets, how delicious ! Vat. A valuable addition to our cordials. I prefer the maraschino myself APICIUS VATEL. 143 Ap. Not bad ; the pennyroyal was a little too obvious in it, however, for my taste. , Vat. It might have been improved, certainly. But, Apicius, were you really in earnest, in giving such a marked and emphatic preference as you did, to our wines, over those of your day ? Ap. I was. You have placed clarets before me to-day, which it entered not into the hearts of our most illustrious bibbers to conceive ; clarets so limpid, lustrous, light, and delicate, that I was completely taken by surprise ; compared with which, our choicest Setine, that pet drink, you know, of our Emperors', was crude and common- place, while the ordinary Ca3cuban and Falernian of our cellars were the veriest sloe-juice, alongside of them. Vat. You amaze me ; nor can I, 1 confess, reconcile such a statement with the enthusiastic accounts of some of your poets and historians. Ap. 1 know it, I know it ; sheer exaggera- tions, I)rother. I assure you (and I have studied this subject well), that there was hardly such a thing as a decent goblet of vin-de-pays to be found in all Rome, even in Lucullus's time. There was some tolerable Greek wine imported, it is true, though I never greatly fancied the Greek wines, 144 AI'ICIUS VATEL. myself, the South side Cretan always oxeepted ; but our native specimens were alike ill-grown and ill-cured. Indeed, it was a common sayin,<:j in my day (you may have heard of it, perhaps), that the very first time that four different wines were ever seen on a Koman table, was at a public dinner, given by Julius Csesar, on occasion of his third purchase of (I beg your pardon, election to, I should have said) the Consulship. Does not that fact speak volumes ? No, no, this great depart- ment of epicurism was never fairly investigated, till Augustus took the reins. Under him, and his successor, my imperial master, we tons vivans entered ujion it with true enthusiasm, and with what I had hitherto thought a scientific acumen. I myself have had the credit of giving some valu- able suggestions concerning it ; but, Vatel, after what I have seen, and smelt, and tasted this day, I am constrained to confess that we were mere babies alongside of you moderns. Vat. Well, I can the more readily believe you, brother, when I see the wonderful improvements in our French wines, since I flourished. By the way, I was glad to see that you relished the Champagne. Ap. I did, indeed. It was no great novelty APICIUS VATEL. 145 to me, however. We had abundance of sweet, sparkling wines, in my day. To be sure, that thimbleful that you cut out of the heart of that frozen bottle, was divine. A bright idea that, brother ; brighter never entered the lovely head of Hebe herself. Vat. Rather a wicked whim, though. I was a little ashamed of it, afterwards, I confess. But the chambertin, brother ; you found that a rich, fruity wine, did you not ? Ap. An able-bodied liquor, truly. The Eo- manee, though, for my money. Vat. That was a hit. Ap. Corpo di Baccho, what a bouquet ! And then the pleasant way in which it was served ; its air of repose in that wicker cradle, the affectionate veneration with which the gargon regarded it, the paternal tenderness with which he handled it, and his evident deHght when you pronounced that emphatic eulogy ; altogether, brother, it formed a scene truly impressive. Oh, dear, how I should love to take a dozen of it with me ! It would hardly stand the sky-voyage, though, I fear. Vat. No, it's a poor traveller. I have never tasted any out of France, worth drinking ; or coffee either, as to that matter, While I think 7 146 APICIUS — VATEL. of it, brother, you rather neglected those choco- late ices. Ap. Not at all ; a new and most agree- able sensation to me. A wonderful fabric that, Vatel. Vat. One of our most interesting specialites. I was quite surprised to find so much talent, ca- pital, and labor embarked in it. Ap. Quite a novelty, too, on earth ; is it not? Vat. In this form, certainly. You noticed that copy of the Pantheon, in the Rue Viviennc, as we passed ? Ap. I did, and was much edified by it. I had seen occasional jelly-versions of our own Pantheon, on Roman supper-tables, but nothing comparable to this. Vat. The first chocolate church on record, I believe. It impressed me vastly, I must say ; and, indeed, just before meeting you, I had had quite a talk with the proprietor concerning it ; a very civil person, who showed me all the beautiful and ingenious machinery employed in the manufacture. It seems that he had, before this, nearly completed a miniature edition of the Madeleine, in the same material ; l)ut, unluckily, some naughty children AilCIUS VATEL. 147 fell upon it, one afternoon, during his absence, and before he returned, had quite devoured the entire western front. A^. Ah? Vat. Yes, the sacrilegious young wretches ! Ap. But, holloa, what are you about, brother ? Vat Merely pocketing my portion of the sugar. Those other two lumps are yours. Ap. Thank you, thank you. Beautiful things they are, too. Bless me, how they sparkle ! No- thing during our feast has more impressed me, Vatel, than tliis superb product of your modern ingenuity. Do tell me, how is it made ? Are there not many, and tedious, and expensive pro- cesses implied in such a result ? Vat. Neither many nor costly. The history of the sugar manufacture is most curious and in- structive, however, and one I have reflected a good deal upon ; but were I to undertake to do the theme justice, brother, we should have to forego our Opera to-night. Ap. That would never do. Vat. I will give you some documents upon the subject, though, before we leave the planet, that will tell you all about it. Ap. I shall be greatly obliged to you. There 148 APICIUS — VATEL. wore several other points, too, more especially rel.'iting to the dessert, on which I greatly need illumination. By the way, speaking of the des- sert, how is it, brother, that you had never a syllable of praise to give to that charming Ger- trude Russe ? Vat Grertrude Russe ? Charlotte, Charlotte Russe, if you please. Ap. I ask your pardon ; Charlotte Russe, Do you know, I thought that a very, very deUcious dish ? Vat. A well-balanced effort. It might have been fresher, however. Of course, you had it at your Roman restaurants ? Ap. Our Roman restaurants ? Bah ! Didn't I tell you, brother, that we had nothing worthy of the name ? No reputable dish or guest was ever seen in one ; vile, vile holes, I assure you. Vat. And the Carte ? Ap. Nothing, nothing of the sort on any table. Our dishes, as I said before, were an- nounced viva voce, and the more distinguished ones, with musical accompaniments. Vat. True, true. Who gave the best dinners in Rome, in your day, brother ? I mean next to yourself, of course. APICIUS — VATEL. 149 Ap. Well, on the whole, Sejanus. At one time, he had the greatest cook of the age ; had he kept him, I have no doubt he would have eventually secured the imperial purple. In an evil hour they quarrelled, the artist left for other kitchens, the dinners fell, and down went the favorite. Next to him, Macer gave the most sump- tuous entertainments ; a miserable old wretch, by the way, and about three quarters crazy. You may have heard of him. Vat. I have not had that pleasure. Ajy. He at times indulged in some of the most extraordinary caprices, in the way of dinners, that were ever heard of. Why, do you know, Vatel, that he actually served up an entire elephant once to his guests ? Vat. Mon Dieu ! Boned, of course. Ap. Not a bit of it ; in its bones ; roasted to a turn, too, and stuffed with chestnuts. Vat. You amaze me. What a dish to carve ! Ap. Well, not so difficult as you might ima- gine. It rose through the floor, you must know, to the sound of music, gayly dressed from trunk to tail, in roses, ribbons, and evergreens ; when fairly in its place, the master-cook gave the signal, whereupon a score of youthful carvers leaped upon 150 APICIUS — VATEL. the creature, and the work of disintegration be- gan, the band discoursing lively strains the while ; the bones having been previously secured from falling, by some ingenious contrivance of the archimagirus. The process over, the animal de- scended in the same stately way in which he rose. Vat. And you really found the creature pala- table ? Ap. Well, to say truth, the sauce piquante which accompanied it, was so exceedingly pungent and savory, that it was hard to tell. One might have eaten one's grandsire with it, without repug- nance. Vat. What a monstrous whim, to be sure ! Ap. He was continually doing things just as extravagant. I supposed you had heard of him ; the same who used to syringe his lettuces with mead, and moisten his cauhflowers with Massic. They even accused him, at one time, of throwing babies into his fish ponds. Vat. The villain ! Ap. He, who began life, a barber's boy, and who lived to occupy the finest palace on the Coelian ; where he died at last of suftbcation, by a pheasant bone. Vat. He ought to have been choked in a very APICIUS VATEL, 151 flifFereiit way, the wretch 1 Ah, those were rotten, rotteu times, brother. Ap. Yes, the less said about them the better. To return to the Carte a manger; I repeat it, bro- ther, no such document as this was ever dreamed of by our epicures. Wonderful, wonderful work 1 The more I look at it, Vatel, the more I study it, the more and more am I lost in admiration and delight. Vat. A clever compilation. Ap. Such binding, too ! What charming vig- nettes ! What an orderly distribution of topics ! What sweet, fanciful epithets, too, for the master- pieces ! Oh dear, never till now was the belly- god truly worshipped ! What a service ! What a ritual ! Ah, why couldn't I have been born in this century ? Well, well ! Vat. Brother, brother, don't get excited. {Of- fers him his box.) Ap. Thanks, thanks. By Jove, how delicious 1 One don't get a pinch of snuff like that in every planet. Well, well, as I was about to say, it would be strange, ray friend, if you couldn't get up a better dinner than I ever did. When I think how mind has marched since my time, how all thi-ee kingdoms have been overrun, what innu- 152 APICIUS VATEL, merable precious secrets have been coaxed or forced out of old Alma Mater ; and above all, of tlie great fact, that you have twice as large a planet to fill your larders and your casters from as I had, I should be surprised, indeed, if the cuisine had not advanced pari passu with all the other good things. Vat. Still, you achieved some great successes in your time. Ap. We did, we did. But ah, what's this, that somebody has written on the title-page here ? Sacred to the memory of Brillat-Savarin. Who the deuce was he, pray ? Vat. Is it possible you have never met him ? Why, he is our great oracle in all culinary matters, and has written on the divine art, most divinely. If you leave Paris without a copy of the Physio- logie du Gout, I shall never forgive you. By the way, Apicius, there is a treatise on this subject, with your name appended to it. Do, for heaven's sake, relieve my mind at once, by disclaiming all connection with it. Ap. I do. I have seen the trash you refer to. It is an aiTant forgery. I did leave behind me some notes on pastry, however, and special in- structions concerning them in my will ; but whe- ther my executors obeyed them or not, I have APICIUS — VATEL. 153 never been able to find out. You may possibly have stumbled over a stray copy, brother. Vat. Alas, no ! They are lost, I fear, for ever. I am delighted, though, to hear you disavow the other performance, for it is, indeed, most unmiti- gated rubbish ; the very opposite, in all respects, of brother Savarin's work ; which, for philosophi- cal arrangement, judicious reflections, purity of style, and piquancy of anecdotes, cannot be sur- passed. Those preliminary aphorisms of his are positively delicious. Ap. Indeed ? I must have a copy, by all means. But surely, of all our innumerable gas- tronomic treatises, to say nothing of those of our Greek brethren, a good many must have descended to posterity. How is it, Vatel ? Vat. No, no, no : quite the reverse, I assure you. Pretty much all we know about your clas- sical dinners, comes through brother Atheneeus. His delightful work, thank heaven, is safe. Ap. He speaks pretty freely of me in it, I am told. Vat. Somewhat so, yet with evident admira- tion. A charming book, Apicius ; full of pleasant gossip and piquant poetry. It was my favorite Sunday reading, here below. Ap. I dare say. Ah well, it's easy to theo- 154 APICIUS — VATEL. rize and prattle about these matters ; but to create, to execute, there's the rub. You never told me, by the way, who was the artist par ex- cellence of the day. Vat. The ruling cook on earth, this moment, they tell me, is Soyer. Ajo. Soyer ? Vat. The same. His first name I am not so sure of; Achille, or Hercule, I forget which. Something heroic, at all events, as it ought to be. I have seen one or two of his performances, and was really charmed. A true artist. Others may have surpassed him in fertility of invention, or in brilliancy of imagination ; but for general excel- lence, and broad, comprehensive views, he is enti- tled to all praise. He is, moreover, as his work entitled Thoughts on the Products of Perigordj abundantly proves, a diligent, conscientious stu- dent. Yes, a great, a reliable master ; or as your old poet so prettily expresses it, " An honest, genuine cook, Who from his childhood long has learnt the art, And knows its great eftects, and has its rules Deep buried in his mind." I was pleased to hear, by the way, that the Em- peror has just sent him the Grand Cross of the APICIUS — VATEL. 155 legion of honor, as a recognition of his great ser- vices to humanity. Ap. Oh, how I should love to sit under his ministry ! Where is he officiating now ? Vat. He is at present ruling the roast in London. He is now executing, they tell me, a series of diplomatic dinners, which will, no doubt, soon bring the Eastern question to a satisfactory solution. Ap. Ah brother, I shall have to ask you for another pinch of that transcendent snuff of yours. Vat. With the greatest pleasure. Ap. What a treat, what a treat ! Do tell us, Vatel, where is the next best place (out of France, I mean) to go to for a dinner ? How do you think I would like the English cooking ? Vat. Not over well. Ap. The Dutch cuisine, they tell me — Vat. Bah, bah, bah ! Give Holland the widest berth possible. Ap. Indeed ! Italy, perhaps ? Vat. There are stray artists in Italy, certainly, of true genius ; mostly of Gallic descent, however. I have seen divine cooking in Milan ; but, my friend, the times are quite too much out of joint there, either for faithful roasting, or tranquil eat- 156 APlCIUS — VATEL, ing. If you really intend taking another terres- trial dinner before you go, I should say, take it, by all means, in Vienna. You'll be sure of find- ing fair soups there, capital wines, and downright genius in the pudding department. Ap. I did think somewhat of taking a peep at, and meal in America, before my departure. What say you ? Vat. Oh, don't throw away your appetite in that style. Ap. Why, is there nothing fit to eat there ? Vat. I don't say that. There are too many of my countrymen there, not to have taught them something. Still, the national genius don't incline that way. Nature, indeed, has been most liberal towards them, in the way of game, fish, and fruits. Especially has she endowed their coasts with oysters that are, indeed, worthy of the attention of an Apicius. (A. boivs.) But they are only beginning to avail themselves of her munificence. I have heard, it is true, of certain dishes, as pre- pared by the aged colored female cooks of the country, that reveal a pretty talent. Fame re- ports favorably of their stewed terrapins, and fricasseed chickens. As a general thing, however, the art is in its infancy there. Both cooking and APICIUS — VATEL. 157 eating, I am told, are alike hasty, ill-considered, and tumultuous. Ap. Indeed ! Vat. Yes ; and besides that, there's altogether too much democracy below stairs, there, for great culinary effects, A sad want of discipline, I hear. Ap. You don't approve of democracy, then, in kitchens ? Vat. No more than I do on shipboard. Prompt and unqualified obedience to the edicts of the chef is the first great law of the kitchen. There can be no laurels won without it. Of course, we must have beside the clear head, the tranquil mind, the ample purse, and the sufficient buttery ; but above all, I repeat it, absolute, absolute sway. Ap. Sound doctrine, and succinctly stated. I shall not dine in America, But how is it with the South Pacific and African cuisines ? Is there nothing there deserving an epicure's attention ? Vat. Cela depend. If you have a penchant for a bit of half-cooked missionary, or the leg of a cold slave or so, you can doubtless be accommo- dated. Whale en salmi is the favorite national dish at the islands, I believe. You'll find it a great delicacy, no doubt. Ap. Thank you, thank you. 158 APICIUS — VATEL. Vat. But why not let well enough alone ? If you are bound to stay another day on earth, stick to our worthy hosts, and be happy. I wish to heaven I could stay with you. Ap. Why can't you ? Vat. It is out of the question. I have a grand birthday banquet to prepare to-morrow, for a select party, in the Star Valeria ; one which will require all my thought and skill. I must be far away from here, by sunrise. But come, brother, if we are going to take our little promenade in the garden, before the Opera, it's high time we were in motion. Ap. Let's see ; what did you say the Opera was ? Vat. The Prophete. Viardot-Garcia is sub- lime in it. The ballet, too, is superb. I'll show you some pantomimic eflfects, to-night, Apicius, that will astonish you. Ap. Don't be too sure of that. I was a con- temporary of Bathyllus, remember. Vat. Yes, yes. A very great artist, certainly ; but there's a female dancer in this piece, who in beauty of limb, lustre of eye, and grace of style, is absolutely divine. All Paris is at her feet, I assure you. APICIUS — VATEL. 159 Aj). Indeed ! I shall be delighted to see her. And now for our promenade. Vnf: A lions done. TFJfrMinf SEJANUS— RICHARD III. [SCENE— WESTMINSTER ABBEY.] Rich. Here we are, here we are : one of the last places on earth I would willingly have come to. Sej. Oh well, if it is so very irksome to you, let's be ojS' forthwith. Rich. Not at all, not at all. Now you are here, make the most of it. Come, put your feet and eyes in motion. Sej. But why so peremptory ? Is it strange that I should feel some little curiosity about the scenes of your earthly villanies ? Besides, didn't I show you all over Rome, without grumbling ? Rich. You're right. I ask your pardon. But, bustle, bustle ; we've no time to lose. One little hour more, and then — S^'. We must return to our torments. Even so ; well, well, well 1 SEJANUS RICHARD III. 161 Mich. Pshaw, no whining, brother ; be your- self. Well, how do you like the looks of things here ? Very different from your Koman temples, isn't it ? Sej. It is, indeed ; most commanding, though, most beautiful. Rich. By St. Paul, I hardly know the place myself, they have made such changes here. Sej. How admirably those columns are dis- posed ! What graceful arches, too ! What a superb roof ! This is really charming. Rich. A clever piece of work, certainly. Sej. Such a goodly congregation of statues, too ! Rich. Quite a mob of them. We've no time to make their acquaintance, though. Pretty fel- lows, are they not ? And accurate likenesses, no doubt. No flattery here, oh no, nor falsehood. Not a lie carved on any of these pedestals, nor beneath any of these profiles. Gospel truth, gos- pel truth, every syllable. Ha, ha, ha ! Sej. {Aside.) How bitter he is to-da,y ! Well, well, brother, say what you will, this is a right princely assemblage, and 'twas a noble thought, that of convening it. For all your sarcasms, you would be right glad of a niche here, and an honor- able mention ; you know you would. 162 SEJANUS RICHARD III. Rich. Bah ! Don't be so absurd. Marry come up, Sejanus, are you turning penitent, all at once, in your spiritual old age, and preacher, too ? Dr. Sejanus ! Ha, ha, ha ; that is a good one. Sej. I am no penitent, my friend ; and as to sermons, there is surely no lack of them in the stones around us. I must say, though, that I tliink that diabolical chuckle of yours not altoge- ther in the best taste, in a place like this. Rich. You think so, do you ? Ha, ha, ha ! Come, come, ghost, none of your nonsense. But what the deuce are you lingering over, there ? Sej. A most superb bas-relief. Rich. What about, pray ? Sej. It is the representation of a shipwreck ; and done with wonderful spirit. Let's see ; in whose honor is it ? Sir, Sir — I can't make it out. Do come and spell this word, brother, if you please. Rich. Where is it ? Where is it ? (reads.) Sir Cloudesely Shovell. Shovell ? Phoebus, what a name ! What's all this ? Rear- Admiral of Great Britain — long and faithful services — lost off the rocks of Scilly. Why here's at least an acre of it. Catch me ploughing through all those hard words, and long adjectives ! Come, come. SEJANUS — RICHARD III. 163 don't waste your time oq such rigmarole as this ! But, by Jove, there's a pleasant-looking old gen- tleman, yonder. Can you make out the name, Sejanus, at this distance ? Sej. What, that seated figure, in a brown study ? Let's see ; Isaac — Isaac — W-a-t — Watts, if I read it right. Bich. Watts, Watts, Watts.? Surely, that name is familiar to me. Watts ? Oh, true, true ; I remember ; one of the worthy divines that I stood between, in the gallery, when I showed myseK to the Lord Mayor and Aldermen ; ha, ha, ha ! Sej. {Aside.) That infernal laugh again ! Rich. Some pious descendant of his, I dare say. That was a capital joke, to be sure ! And the way in which that fat-witted old fellow of a Mayor swallowed the bait, it was too ridiculous. My powers of face-keeping were never taxed so severely before or since. A precious brace of bishops, truly ! Sej. A very different person this, I should say ; so far, at least, as I can decipher the inscription. But, by heavens, what a magnificent monument ! Rich. Ah, what are you gaping over now, pray ? Sej. Here, to the left. Don't you see ? A lovely creature, truly ! Who is it ? Mrs. — Mrs. — 164 SEJANUS RICHARD III. Rich. Nightingale, Nightingale. Sej. Ah yes. Isn't she charming ? I declare, that side face reminds me very much of Livia's ; far more sweetness of expression, though. Surely you admire that figure, brother ? Rich. So, so. That's her fool of a husband, I suppose, that's trj'ing to keep off the dart of Old Dry-bones, yonder. Exquisite idea ! He's the gem of the group. Sej. Oh well, sneer away, sneer away. You are in an unusually savage humor to-day, Richard. Rich. And you in a most lackadaisical one. What has come over you ? But ah, here we are, now, in a part of the church really worth looking at. There's a choir for you ! Isn't it fine ? Sej. It is, indeed. Rich. Great alterations, though, since my day. All that finery in the lantern is quite new to me. That altar-piece, too, has a wonderfully fresh look ; and yet it accords entirely with my recollections. That mosaic pavement, though, I'll swear to that. Sej. Ah! RieJi. Yes, Sejanus, that is the identical pave- ment on which I knelt at my coronation. Sej. Indeed ! Rich. The same, 'Tis now almost four centu- SEJANUS RICHARD III. 165 ries since, and yet how vividly can I recall tlie scene. Jesu ! how the old archbishop rattled off the coronation-oath ! I don't wonder he was a little nervous. My poor silly Anne, too, she cried and shook like an aspen, all through the service. I was not altogether easy, myself, I must say, nor ventured to look about me much. I did catch Buckingham's eye once, though. God's chickens, what an awfully solemn face the rascal had made up for the occasion ! There was a great abun- dance of demure priests in attendance, 1 remem- ber ; ay, and of good stout halberdiers within call, to secure us against interruption. Catesby, the varlet, had looked well to that business. There have been more brilliant spectacles within these walls, certainly. But, considering that we had only one day's notice, brother, it was not badly done. Quite a respectable show on the whole, in the way both of banners and costumes. Ah, how glad I was to have the farce over ! You had no occasion, I believe, for any such ridiculous display yourself; eh, Sejanus .^ Sej. Alas, no ! Rich. Well, you needn't be so downhearted about it. It wasn't your fault, my ghost. You tried your best, Satan knows. 166 SKJANUS RICHARD III. Sej. Tried my best ? Rich. Ay, truly, and showed a deal of clever- ness. But the Emperor was too deep for you ; ha, ha, ha ! Sej, Well, you needn't laugh over it, thus savagely. If you had had a Tiberius to deal with, you might have come off second best your- self. Rich. Not I, i'faith. Sej. Ah, you don't know him, you don't know him. Rich. I beg yonr pardon. I know the ghost as well as you do ; one of the shrewdest, deepest fiends, I grant you, in all our dominions ; but he wouldn't have gulled me in that way ; not he ; neither in nor out of the body. No, no, Sejanus, that last move of yours was a sad blunder. Had you, instead of snapping at that bait of the tri- buneship, which you ought to have suspected at once as a mere trick, from the very fact that the letter in question was entrusted to your notorious enemy ; had you, I say, left Rome with a few trusty followers, the very moment you heard of Macro's arrival, and made straight for Capreas, you might have secured the diadem. Sej. Oh, no, no ; you talk very learnedly about SEJANUS KICHARD III. 167 this matter, Richard ; but how, in Pluto's name, could I have left Rome at that time ? Rich. Pshaw ! The idea that he who wielded the heaviest purse in the realm, could not have bought his way through those gates, unquestioned ! I repeat it ; you should have gone straight to Capreae, made good your landing in the night, hoodwinked the guards on duty, which you might easily have done by some plausible story or other, and so have pierced the tyrant to the heart, yes, in his very bed. Sej. A likely project, truly, when every road was lined with spies, and the island itself sur- rounded with them ! Such a scheme would have been sheer madness, Bich. On the contrary, had it been conducted with proper spirit and caution, I have no doubt it would have been crowned with success ; ay, or ever your absence from Rome had been fairly suspected. And if so, can there be any question that the Praetorian guards would have installed you in the vacant chair, with acclamations ? Nay, had the attempt failed, would not its very boldness and brilliancy have for ever vindicated your fame, in the eyes of every true soldier ? But to act as you did; to fall plump into the net with your 168 SEJAXUS RICHARD 111. eyes open ; through the instruiiieiitality, too, of such a third-rate scoundrel as Macro ; to be jeered at in the open Senate by your very tools ; to be accused, deposed, condemned, sentenced, butchered, all in one little hour, and that by your own sheer mismanagement ; I lose all patience, when I think of it. Sej. I played my cards badly, I must confess. Well, well, what signifies it now ? Why revive the past ? You would have shown more spirit, you think, in my position, and more sagacity. Be it so, be it so. After all, what does it amount to ? You gained the bauble, for which you sold your soul, and I did not — Rich. But was fooled out of it by more cun- ning cut-throats ; ha, ha, ha ! Sej. Enjoy your joke, my friend, enjoy your joke. And yet, I think I had the best of it, after all. I would not have changed places with you, if I could. Bich. Of course not, of course not. Sej. Come, come, Richard, I know your history quite as well as you know mine, and can enlarge upon it quite as rhetorically. Precious little comfort or profit did your crown bring you, my friend. SEJANUS RICHARD III. 169 Rich. You think so, do you ? Sej. Ay ; nor do I believe a more tumultuous, wretched reign is to be found in all earth's annals. You needn't stare so. I know all about you. And, indeed, 'twas but yesterday that Macbeth was rehearsing to me your miserable story. Rich. Poor devil ! He favored you with my biography, did he ? By the way, Sejanus, why did he refuse to come with us to-day ? What was it he said, in reply to your invitation ? Sej. Well, he muttered so, that I could hardly make out his answer. He seemed to think, how- ever, that bad as he was, he was altogether too good company for you. Rich. He be hanged, the whining fool ! What did he say about me, though, eh ? Sej. He called you all sorts of hard names, you may be sure, and drew a most graphic picture of all your villanies and murders, both before and after your coronation. Rich. Ah ? You found it vastly amusing, no doubt. Sej. And after all, said he, what did he gain by it ? After wading to the throne, through the blood of his kinsmen, what one solid comfort did 8 •170 SEJANUS RICHARD III. he find there ? Did he ever taste a meal in peace from that hour ? Did not the curses of his sub- jects pursue him by day, and hideous dreams torment him by night ? And after a few brief years of turmoil and bloodshed, was not that same bauble, for which he bartered his eternal jewel, plucked from his brows on the battle-field (as mine was), after he had been pierced to the heart, by the very man whom of all others he most feared and hated, and withal afiected to despise ? Was not his wretched, misshapen carcass treated with scorn by his own soldiers ? flung ignominiously across the back of a mule, and finally hid away in a dark corner of some country church, whilst the rabble were jeering and cursing outside ? Bicli. Indeed ! Brother M. seems to have gone into all the particulars. Sej. But was it not so ? JRich. His statement is substantially correct, I must say. My funeral was by no means regal, hardly respectable, indeed, in its appointments. And yet, Sejanus, I was a lucky dog, compared with yourself, in this regard. I did have some sort of a resting-place for my remains, some sort of a burial service read over me, and was not SEJANUS — RICHARD III. 171 chopped into mince-meat by my fellow-townsmen ; eh, my boy ? Come, come, don't frown so ; no oifence meant. But what else had om' sentimental Macbeth to say on the occasion ? Sej. Well, he kept on moralizing, for some time, in his usual lachrymose vein, and concluded by remarking, " Well, well, Sejanus, after all, I can't help pitying the dog at times, for between ourselves, notwithstanding his affected bluster and bravado, I do not believe there is a more wretched spirit in all the realms of darkness." Rich. I am vastly obliged to him for his sym- pathy, ha, ha, ha ! But holloa, what, in old Nick's name, are they doing in yon organ loft ? Sej. Hush, hush ! By Jove, what a superb instrument ! Bich. Curse their voluntaries, say I. Sej. Not in our line, exactly, to be sure. Glorious, though, isn't it ? Ah, voices, too ? Bless me, what a cluster of young choristers ! Some rehearsal, I suppose. What sweet voices ! There's harmony for you ! Rich. Oh, confound their caterwauling ! Come, come, our time grows precious. There are other chapels here, which I suppose you will insist on being shown through. 172 SEJANUS RICHARD 111. SeJ. If agreeable to you, certainly. Bich. Come on, then, come on. Ah, here's a familiar spot to me. How dilapidated, though ! SeJ. Whose shrine is this, pray ? Hick. Ha, ha, ha ! Why, whose should it be, but that of our sainted brother Edward ? The only one of us all, I believe, who ever suffered canonization. Edward the Confessor ; that law- loving, priest-ridden imbecile ; the last of the Saxons, forsooth ! You must have heard of him. SeJ. Not that I remember. But what a splendid ruin ! Hich, It was a magnificent thing in my day. Time and thieves seem to have made sad havoc with it. SeJ. Exquisite, exquisite — but ah, what Latin epitaph is this, alongside of it ? Not remarkably elegant, by the way. Bich. That tells you all about the manifold virtues of Edith, his Queen. A good, quiet sort of a body, they say, and a needlewoman of de- cided genius. Ah, Sejanus, we are in choice com- pany here. See you yon pale wench, lying in state on her bed of stone ? That's Queen Eleanor, wife of our glorious Edward ; old Ned Longshanks, as we used to call him. There was a princely SEJANUS — RICHARD III. 173 fellow for you, and a fighter after Mars's own heart ! Coriolanus would have found his match there, let me tell you. Ah, why couldn't / have liad such a reign ? Well, well ! Sej. And where may his tomb be ? mdi. Here, to the right ; snug lodgings, are they not ? And yonder hangs his good old iron sword. Sej. Ah ? What a formidable weapon ! Rich. And his trusty shield by its side. Here's another, too, of the same princely stamp ; our fifth Harry. Sej. Ah, where, where ? Rich. In this sumptuous tomb behind you ; Harry of Monmouth. You know his history, then ? Sej. Oh yes, I have heard speak of him, more than once. Rather a wild youth, was he not ? Rich. A hard chicken, truly ; sadly given to sack, and to purse-cutting ; he and his fat friend. Had he lived, though, the chicken would have ripened into the most glorious old cock that ever sat upon a throne. Poor lad, he had but a short time to fight in ; long enough, though, to flutter the Frenchmen at Agincourt. Glory enough, 174 SEJANUS — RICHARD III. that, for one ghost. But what have they done with his pretty Queen, I wonder ? I don't see her monument. Sej. He found time to marry, then ? Ricli. Yes, and the handsomest woman of her day, Catherine of France. A most oflf-hand, characteristic courtship it was, too. Sej. Somewhat in your own style, I suppose ; but what outlandish piece of furniture is this, pray ? More suited to a kitchen than a chapel, I should say. Rich. What, that chair.? Speak respectfully of that relic, if you please. That chair, Sejanus, is the very one I sat in, at my coronation. Sej. Indeed ? Rich. Even so ; and many a crowned head before me. Yes, two centuries before my day, was it brought here in triumph, by that brave king Edward, of whom I was speaking to you just now, as a memorial of his victories in Scot- land. Sej. And this other ? Rich. That's a stranger to me. Sej. Neither of them has any superfluous beauty to boast of, I must say ; {sits.) nor com- fort either, as to that matter. SEJANUS RICHARD III, 175 Rich. You would have preferred a seat in a Roman one, no doubt. Sej. Come, come, Eichard, don't revive that subject, I beseech of you. By the way, you never told me the meaning of all these bas-reliefs round us. What quaint old things they are ! Rich. Pshaw ! We can't stop to study out all that trash. Sej. Trash ? I beg your pardon ; some of these figures are full of spirit and expression. What are they intended to illustrate ? Rich. Oh, nothing that would interest you, Se- janus ; a parcel of absurd legends, hatched in the brains of lazy priests, and referring to the adven- tures and miracles of our sainted brother, yonder. Come, come, reserve your eye-sight for something a little more respectable. Sej. As you will. But, by Jove, what magnificent chapel is this, that we are ap- proaching ? Rich. Magnificent, indeed ! Ki^omething since my time, evidently. Sej. What superb gates ! Rich. Take care, take care, ghost ; here's another step, here. {They enter Henry VII.'s chapel.) 176 SEJANUS — RICHARD III. Sej. Ah, this surpasses all. Heavens, what a coup d'oeil! One hardly knows where to begin, in this wilderness of splendors. It would take a month, at least, to make out that ceiling, crowded as it is with images. Ah, more of those superb columns ; such capitals, too ! And above all, this wood-work ; what exquisite, exquisite carving ! I never saw any thing like it on earth, before. A right royal mausoleum, truly ! Talk of the splendors of our capital, forsooth ! Hich. You seem pleased, brother. SeJ. I am indeed delighted. But do tell us ; where are we, and in whose honor is all this mag- nificence ? Those old banners, too, above our heads, those battered shields and helmets, these quaint armorial devices, what do they all signify ? Emblems and trophies, no doubt, of glorious, hard- fought fields ; but when, where, with whom ? Can you not explain, brother ? Hich. (Aside.) Out ui)on this untimely curi- osity of his ! I might have expected as much, though. SeJ. This princely monument, too ; what royal pair have we here, reposing in these rich robes, on this sumptuous tomb, beneath this dainty canopy ? These statues, too, these crowned and twisted 8EJANUS RICHARD III. 177 roses, what do they tyjjify ? Ah, why do you start thus ? Bich. (Aside.) Oh, curse him, curse him, curse him ! SeJ. Why, what is the matter ? Wherefore do you frown and mutter so ? Ah yes, I see, I see. How could I have been so indiscreet ? I ask ten thousand pardons, Richard. I would not willingly have wounded your feelings, I'm sure. Come, let's be off at once. Bich. Poh, poh, not at all. 'Twas a mere passing twinge. I'm myself again. A right princely tomb, Sejanus, as you say : a little too much ornament about it for my taste ; still, very creditable to the artist. Flattering like- nesses, though ; especially that of Elizabeth. Proud thing, she never looked half so well as this. SeJ. Here's a queer device, though, in the corner ; a crown, surrounded by shrubbery. How do you interpret that, Richard ? Itich. Some fling at me, no doubt ; a weak invention of the sculptor. SeJ. Ah, there's no end to the splendid tombs here. But what majestic creature is that, I won- der, to the left of us ? . 8* 178 SEJANUS — RICHARD III. Rich. Queen Bess, I'll swear to it, though I neve I- yet laid eyes on her. Am I not right ? Sej. You are. Rich. And with all her trinkets on. There's a dainty dish of worms' meat for you, eh, Se- janus ? Sej. Fie, fie, Richard, don't be so sarcastic. Do let me read this glorious inscription. What a list of virtues and exploits we have here ! Noble, noble woman ! Rich. A prettily varnished narrative, I dare say. But what the devil does this mean ? Is it possible that those vile brats have been removed hither ? Sejanus, Sejanus. SeJ. Well, what is it ? (Aside.) Bless me, how furious he looks ! Rich. Translate that epitaph, if you please. SeJ. Which do you mean ? Rich. In the corner here. SeJ. (After reading if.) If you insist, certainly. You are pretty roughly handled in it, though. Rich. Out with it, out with it. (Sejanus translates the lines.) And is it possible that that vile profligate, Charles, has presumed to insult me in this open and scandalous manner ? Their per- Jidious uncle, Richard, the usurper. So, so ; he SEJANUS — KICHARD III. 179 shall hear from me, for this, depend upon it. And you, Sejanus, curse your impertinent curi- osity, that has subjected me to such vexations. Let us leave this vile place forthwith. Sej. Certainly, certainly. I meant no harm, I assure you. Bich. Pshaw ! No apologies ; come away, come away. Sej. Not quite so fast, though. I can't keep up with you. Where, the old boy, is he hurrying me to, I wonder ? Holloa, here's a fine group of figures. What part of the church may this be ? Kichard, Eichard, do stop a moment, my brain is in a complete whirl. Where are we ? Rich. I'll be hanged if I can tell myself. Just ask that old fellow with the umbrella, yonder. Well, well, what does he say, what does he say ? Sej. Not over civil, certainly. A grunt, a stare, and the two words, Poets' Corner, were all I could get out of him, Bich. Poets' Corner? Oh yes, yes, I re- member ; the very spot that Kit Marlowe was growling to me about the other day. He seemed to take it very hard, that his ugly phiz was not among the rest here. A precious nest of them, truly ! 180 SEJANUS RICHARD III. Sej. All ! There he is, there he is. Rich. Why, what's the matter ? Sej. The bard of bards, the greatest soul that ever dwelt in flesh. Isn't he a glorious looking fellow ? I wouldn't have missed seeing him for worlds. What are you scowling about, Kichard ? Is this the way in which you receive your divine countryman ? Rich. Bah, bah, bah ! {Aside.) Of all the ghosts in the universe, the very last I ever wish to lay eyes on. Sej. How's that, how's that ? Rich. {Aside.) But for him, and his vile plays, I might have been almost forgotten, by this time ; or, at least, have slumbered quietly in the pages of dull historians. As to that impertinent epitaph in yonder chapel, it would in time have crumbled into dust ; but now am I doomed to an ignominy, as lasting as it is world-wide ; yes, insulted, howled at, cursed nightly in the play-houses of all lands ; made a perfect bugbear of ; a bye-word for all that is treacherous and bloody, the earth over. No doubt I shall be caricatured and massacred, this very night, in at least a score of barns, on this very island. Well, well, well, why grumble about it .'' 'Tis but a part of the price we villains must SEJANUS RICHARD 111. 181 pay for our misdeeds ; some starveling poet is sure to overtake us, some creature whose very existence we would have ignored in the body, and with a few strokes of his pen, consigns us to im- mortal infamy. Sej. What are you soliloquizing about so grimly ? Rich. Oh, nothing, nothing. {Clock strikes.) 1 am really sorry, Sejanus, to tear you away from such agreeable company, but that monitor tells us that our hour is up, and we must hence, hence to our tortures. Sej. Not yet, not yet, surely. I compared chronometers with Beelzebub the very moment we left, and we agreed to a hair. We have full ten earthly minutes yet at our disposal. And while I think of it, Richard, do grant me one little favor more. Rich. What is it, what is it ? Sej. Just fly over with me to St. Paul's. I must have one passing glance, before I go, at the interior of that majestic dome, and at the monu- ments beneath it. Rich. Oh, pshaw ! You have had enough of tombs for one visit. Sej. Come, come, do be obhging. I shall pro- 182 SEJANUS — RIAIaRD III, bably never trouble you with another such request again. Rich. Well, well, I'll humor you. This way, this way. [Exeunt. MAKCUS BRUTUS— JOHN ADAMS. [SCENE— BUNKER HILL.] Bru. Well, brother, the hour of our departure is approaching. Let me again express to you the admiration and delight with which this visit has been attended. I have but one cause of regret, indeed ; that we may not longer protract it, and that I must leave so much unseen. I should have liked, I confess, to have flown over to the Pacific, and called at your new possessions there ; to have traced that iron road that is to unite the two oceans ; to have explored those famous mines that are destined to work such a revolution in earthly affairs ; those coasts, that are so soon to be the centre of a world-wide commerce. It would have gratified me, also, to have remained longer at your seat of government, and to have watched its workings. Need I tell you, too, how reluctantly I turned my back on Niagara, and its majestic music ? Well, well, let mo be thankful for what 184 MARCUS BRUTUS — JOHN ADAMS. I have seen, and reserve these other privileges for some future visit. Ad. 1 am right glad, Marcus, that you feel so well paid for your trouble. Bru. A thousand fold. Great as my expecta- tions were, glowing as your accounts were, the reality far outstrips them all. I had no conception whatever of the extent and the resources of the Republic. And as to your Constitution, brother, beautiful and lucid as have been the explanations of it, so often made to me by brothers Jay, and Madison, and Marshall ; graphic as have been the narratives of our dear brother Hamilton, concern- ing its formation, and the debates, toils, perils, that accompanied it ; yet, when I come to see the glorious instrument itself in operation, I feel as if the half had not been told me. I confess I am lost in wonder, alike at the colossal scale on which it is constructed, the beauty and solidity of the workmanship, the promptness, economy and ease, with which it performs its labors, and emphati- cally, with the divine strength which it manifests in every part. Every other system of earthly gov- ernment, that I have ever heard or read of, seems to me most bungling and inefficient in compari- son. All honor and praise to its illustrious MARCUS BRUTUS — JOHN ADAMS, 185 founders, and to you, my dear friend, as one of the master builders. Ad. Tlianks, thanks, Marcus ; such a tribute, Croiu so true a patriot, is most grateful to my feelings, I assure you. Bru. I speak warmly, brother, for I feel deeply. Oh, why could I not have had such co-laborers, have achieved a similar success for our poor Rome ? Ad. We tried our best, certainly; nor have any reason to be ashamed of our work, so far. Bi'u. I was about to add, brother, that the experiences of the last day or two have been es- pecially delightful to me ; our visit to your own homestead ; (may the graces and the virtues ever, as now, adorn and bless it !) our pilgrimage to Plymouth, and Concord, and Lexington, and other holy spots in your annals ; our meditations at Marshfield ; our charming sojourn at Old Harvard, with brother Walker ; the innumerable objects of interest that you have shown and explained to me in this beautiful city beneath us, the institutions dedicated to commerce, science, art, charity, many of them perfect novelties to me, both in concep- tion and execution ; I say again, the instruction and pleasure I have derived from all these things, 186 MARCUS BRUTUS — JOHN ADAMS. I can neither exaggerate nor forget : especially, under the guidance of such a cicerone. I fear I have somewhat taxed your patience, though, at times, with my many and minute inquiries. Ad. Not at all, not at all. On the contrary, I have been quite as much interested as yourself in our visit ; especially the Boston part of it. I cannot tell you how surprised I have been at the improvements that have taken place here, in the little quarter of a centuiy that has elapsed since my departure from earth ; or how infinitely more brilliant, varied and animated, this very picture at our feet has become. I find far more and finer ships in our harbor ; superb steamers, too, from our own, and from foreign ports ; wonderful in- ventions and triumphs of genius, in yonder Navy Yard ; stately houses, in our immediate neighbor- hood, not one of which was standing in my day. Then the introduction of these Cochituate waters, a noble enterprise : I cannot turn my head, indeed, without seeing new churcli-s and factories, and turnpikes and villas, and gardens ; long lines of dwellings, and docks and warehouses, filled with the merchandise of all chmes; and then, the amazing multipUcation, in these few years, of objects of utihty and elegance, in all the shops we have visited ! MARCUS BRUTUS — JOHN ADAMS. 187 Bru. Wonderful, wonderful ! By the way, brother, not the least consi^icuous and interesting among them, was that magnificent copy of your own works, as edited by your kinsman, Mehercule, what loould the clerk have said had he known who it was that was asking about them ! Ad. A. gratifying circumstance that, Marcus. But, above all, my friend, these magical wires, threading all these streets, charged with their mysterious messages ; and these hardly less won- derful railways that we see radiating in all direc- tions, with their huge depots, and their enormous trains of passengers and merchandise, coming and going continually. Ah, there we have the steam whistle again. So far from being wearied with this scene, every moment reveals some new feature in it. I shall turn my back upon it quite as re- luctantly as yourself, I assure you. Bru. Well may you, well may you. Most fortunate of mortals, and of spirits ! Ah, how different was my earthly career from yours, bro- ther ! What a contrast ! Only look at it for a moment. I died, by my own hand, on the field of battle, ere I had reached the maturity of my powers ; died full of grief and bitterness ; feeling that the glorious cause for which I had made such 188 MARCUS BRUTUS — JOHN ADAMS. struggles and sacrifices, was irredeemably lost ; that, with me, perished all the hopes of the Ee- public, and that never more would Eome's streets be trod by freemen. Even as I lay gasping in the last agonies, what sad visions passed before me ; what images of coming horrors ; what forms of bloodstained kings, in long and dismal pro- cession ; and at its close him whom I had slain, pointing at them, and beckoning with a triumphant scorn upon his ghastly features. Oh, the anguish of that moment ! I will not attempt to describe it. And now I return to Rome, after the lapse of ages, and I find all these gloomy forebodings ful- filled, an hundred-fold ; I find every where the traces of these same imperial, ay, and papal wretches (with some few honorable exceptions, brother, in either roll), and of the misery and ruin that have followed in their train. I find a scene of desolation and decay, alike in the cha- racter and fortunes of my countrymen, as universal as humiliating ; and no ray of hope to relieve the picture. You, brother, died in peace, full of years and honors, surrounded by loving and revering kin- dred ; died after seeing your efforts for freedom crowned with success unparalleled, and the wildest visions that your youth painted of your country's MARCUS BRUTUS JOHN ADAMS. 189 prosperity, grow pale and dim before the magni- ficent reality ; died after having received the high- est offices a grateful people could bestow, and after seeing them transferred to your illustrious son ; died on the very anniversary of the republic that you founded ; nay, on the very day of jubilee itself, at the very moment when thousands were pronouncing your eulogy, or invoking God's bless- ing upon you, in all the churches of the land. And now, you revisit, with me, the scene of your earthly labors, and find already, in five and twenty little years, every where, a growth and a prosperity, far before your most sanguine expectations ; find a future of inconceivable power and glory in store for your America. I say again, brother, look at these two pictures, and mark the bitter contrast between our destinies. Ad. Too true, Marcus, too true. Bru. Yes, brother ; clearly as I now understand the causes of this difference ; readily as I can re- concile them to the divine wisdom and goodness, I yet cannot help exclaiming at times, in the bitterness of my heart. Why were these things so ? Why was it, that of two patriots, alike truthful, earnest, fervent — alike fortified by the teachings of reason and experience, yet the career 190 MARCUS BRUTUS — JOHN ADAMS. of one should have been rewarded with such a crown of glory, while the other was doomed, at almost every step, to encounter disappointment and disaster ? Ad. But, brother, will this contrast of des- tinies hold good unto the end ? Will this vision of power and glory to come, ever be realized in America ? On the contrary, were I to revisit this spot with you, twenty centuries hence, might I not find a picture here, as sad as that which hath lately so grieved your spirit at Rome ? May not the course of this nation have been run, long ere that time, — this happy family of states have been broken up and destroyed, — the very land itself laid waste by barbarian hordes ? Who shall say ? Who shall say ? A sad thought, certainly, that this dear city that I now gaze on with such joy and pride, may, long ere that day, have become as silent and desolate as Nineveh herself; that this beautiful bay, alive with industry, that sends daily forth its winged representatives to every port of earth, may, ere then, have shared the fate of Tyre, or Carthage ; this holy hill have become another Palatine in its sorrows ; this monument itself, in whose pleasant shade we are now stand- ing, the loftiest ever reared by mortals to valor MARCUS BRUTUS JOHN ADAMS. 191 and patriotism, if not overthrown, at least, over- looldug a scene of desolation, its foundations buried in weeds, the very path leading to it beset by brigands, prowling for the lives of such adven- turous travellers as may fondly seek to explore its site. Extravagant as this j^icture seems, Marcus, who knows but what this same destiny is in store for our poor land ? Bru. Not so, not so ; or if America's death- hour must come at last, not in twenty centuries, brother, no, nor in fifty : a hundred ages, at least, of glorious life are before her ; a career, as utterly without precedent in human annals, as has been hitherto every circumstance of her origin and progress. Who shall presume to paint that future, to body forth the wonders it is to witness ; the multiform triumphs of industry, the peaceful vic- tories of art and science, the fair cities now slum- bering in the womb of time, and the smiling fields that are to environ them ? I am not the poet, or the prophet, brother, to dwell upon a theme like this. Your own Webster, indeed, might fitly have declaimed upon it ; your own Homer, yet unborn, will sing its praises worthily in the coming ages. But I feel, that for no less a consummation were Jill these mighty preparations made, that we see 192 MAKCUS BRUTUS JOHN ADAMS. around us, and in the past. For no less an end were these majestic valleys rolled out, these mineral treasures stored away, these noble rivers set in motion, these inland seas whose borders already sparkle with shining cities. For no less an end than this, came forth the Mayflower and her holy band of Pilgrims, who, with prayers and hymns, planted these colonies ; for no less an end was summoned that immortal First Congress in which you, brother, played a part so illustrious ; no consummation less magnificent, could worthily crown the labors of a Washington. Ad. God grant that it may prove so ! But, my dear Marcus, while you have been thus lavish of your eulogies, and of these brilliant anticipa- tions, not a word has escaped your lips, during our visit, in the way of rebuke or warning. And yet, you, like myself, must have seen many things to annoy and grieve you. Nay, I have caught you once or twice frowning, in spite of yourself Come, brother, let us compare notes on these points, for one little moment, before we take our flight. Bru. I confess, my pleasure has been, at times, somewhat marred by certan disagi-eeable occur- rences ; but as your guest, I hardly thought it courteous to — MARCUS BRUTUS JOHN ADAMS. 193 Ad. Why not ? Why not ? Speak out, my dear friend, speak out. £ru. Well, with your leave, I will glance very briefly at one or two topics of annoyance. On the momentous and painful subject of slavery, bro- ther, I have nothing to say, except to express my confidence, that it is not destined to imperil your blessed Union, but that the disease will, in God's good time, be safely eradicated from the body politic. Ad. No doubt, no doubt ; that is, if we deal with it as wise physicians, not as mountebanks ; as brethren, not as fanatics. But I must not in- terrupt you. B7'u. One thing, then, that has especially dis- appointed, nay, grieved me, has been our visit to Mount Vernon. I was really shocked to see such an air of neglect and decay there, such an absence of appropriate embellishments, such a paucity of visitors, and those apparently so apathetic, and above all, a mausoleum so insignificant and taste- less. Why, brother, I can hardly recall one, on our Appian, so utterly without claims to regard. I expected to find a most stately monument there, rich in inscriptions and bas-reliefs ; at least, some image in bronze or marble, worthy of the illus^ 9 194 MARCUS BRUTUS — JOHN ADAMS. trious patriot. I took it for granted, that this sacred spot was in the possession of the Govern- ment, and that they had long ago summoned the highest genius of the land, in every walk of art, to go thither, and fitly to perpetuate such virtues and achievements. I looked for shrines, to which pilgrims might resort on festal days in high pro- cession ; chapels, where patriotism might put up appropriate vows and prayers ; the pleasant music of fountains, too, and whispering groves, whose grateful shade might invite the wanderings of the statesman and the scholar : but no, not one of these tributes did I find there, and I repeat it, I was both amazed and grieved at such evidences of national indifference, nay, ingratitude. Pardon my plainness. Ad. Not at all, not at all : every word you have uttered is just, and such neglect is utterly disgraceful to the nation. Bru. Another thing that I was right sorry to see, was while we were at Washington ; I refer to the undignified behavior of some of your members of Congress, and more particularly, those of the lower house. They seemed to me to have no fit appreciation of their responsibilities, or of the lofty character of the trusts reposed in them. One rep- MARCUS BRUTUS JOHN ADAMS. 195 resentative, indeed, was guilty of an outrage, which, to say truth, I hardly dare mention to you. Ad. Ah, what was it, what was it ? Bru. Will you believe me, when I tell you that in the midst of that most interesting debate on the subject of your Foreign Relations, of which • we heard a portion, the person in question actually drew from the folds of his tunic, a huge uncouth- looking object, which he straightway proceeded to cut into slices, and devour ? Yes, brother, on the very floor of the house. I was perfectly thunderstruck. Ad. 1 saw it, I saw it. The wretch you speak of, actually consumed the greater part of a Bo- logna sausage. I was inexpressibly disgusted, brother ; and what mortified me most of all was, that the house quietly submitted to the affront, instead of ordering the sergeant-at-arms to expel the offender forthwith. Bru. I never witnessed a thing of the kind before, I must say, in this or any other world. Our Eoman Senate, in its worst days, would not, for a moment, have tolerated such a violation of decorum. Ad. Well, well, it must have been done in 196 MARCUS BRUTUS JOHN ADAMS. some sudden fit of lunacy, to which this poor mortal is, doubtless, subject ; and so no notice was taken of the affair. Else should I tremble for the Republic, indeed. Bru. There were other members, too, who seemed to me most uncouth creatures, alike in their costume, manners, and language. Several were actually sitting with their feet upon theii; desks, talking loudly, reading letters and papers, paying no attention whatever to the public busi- ness, or respect to the presiding officer. Many of them, moreover, were incessantly ejecting from their mouths, streams of a certain black unsavory looking liquid (what, I know not), in all directions ; not even sparing the beautiful pillars of the hall from their assaults. These perpetual showers, I must confess, ajipeared to me a most unfit accom- paniment to the solemn duties of law-givers. Ad. Yes, indeed, and a most vile, pernicious habit. This, my dear friend, as well as the other abominations to which you have alluded, were, I need not tell you, utterly unknown to our First Congress. I have been exceedingly annoyed by them, and have at times, drawn most unfavorable omens from them. Thank heaven, though, these ojBfenders are, after all, a very small minority, in MAKCUS BRUTUS — JOHN ADAMS, 197 either house, and as brother Winthrop told us, are daily diminishing in numbers. Bru. While I think of it, brother, your Su- preme Court also disappointed me. I speak not of the Judges, but of the Hall of Judgment itself. You may consider it an old-fashioned Roman prejudice ; but I certainly expected to find a far more spacious and stately chamber, fitly adorned with allegoiical figures, and the images of the illustrious dead ; more circumstances of dig- nity and awe, accompanying the administration of justice ; yes, a far more rigorous attention to cos- tume and ceremonial. Am I right, or not ? Ad. Perfectly so ; the idea of hiding away the most august tribunal of earth, in such a barn of a place as that ; it is alike niggardly and dis- graceful to us. Bru. While I am finding fault, brother, let me add, that your capitol itself, with all its showy outside, seemed to me to be wanting in majesty and repose, and the objects of art, in and about it, with few exceptions, to be unworthy of the place they occupied, and the events they illustrated. The whole town, indeed, lacked that picturesque- ness and impressiveness, that my imagination (un- reasonably, no doubt) had ascribed to it. And as 198 MARCUS BRUTUS — JOHN ADAMS, to its society, brother, I must again plead guilty to great disappointment. Our visit at the Presi- dent's was, on the whole, far from gratifying to me. Not but what we found some charming mor- tals there, men and women of grace and culture ; but far, far more rude, and selfish, and turbulent ones. There was, indeed, throughout the enter- tainment, a lack of ease, and elegance, and dis- cipline, that quite shocked my antique notions of propriety. I speak plainly, you see. Ad. And justly. Bru. But, brother, that which has most struck me, after all, during our visit, has been the almost entire absence, throughout the land, of historical monuments, and of the images of the illustrious heroes and fathers of the republic. I have been utterly surprised to see so few of them, either in your dwellings, churches, halls of learning and of legislation, or in the public squares and gardens of your cities. I can recall but one colossal sta- tue, indeed, worthy of the name, at the seat of government itself (a grand one, truly, and which our own Forum might have been proud of) ; but one, at Baltimore ; but one (of our excellent bro- ther Penn) at the thriving Philadelphia ; not one, in the gay and opulent New York ; and strange MARCUS BRUTUS — JOHN ADAMS. 199 to say, only one here in your own classic Boston, and that not out under the sky, where the children of men may gaze freely upon it. To think that in all this mighty nation, and that, too, after more than a half century has elapsed since his depar- ture, there is not a single equestrian statue of the Pater Patriae to be found ! Why is this, brother ? Why has one not been erected, long ago, in that beautiful Common ? Why are you not there, with all the honors, and your illustrious kinsmen and compeers ? James Otis, too, the lion-hearted orator, of whom you were speaking to me, the other day, with such enthusiasm ; why are not the boys playing, this very afternoon, about his pe- destal ? Ad. Why not, indeed ? Ah, Marcus, the true answers to these questions reflect but little credit on the nation. There is no excuse whatever for such negligence — such ingratitude. Time, money, materials, artists, heroes, are abundant enough, Heaven knows ; but, alas ! that true love of art, which can alone call into being, and multiply such images, abides not in the hearts of the people. They are quite too much taken up with things material and useful to find room for the spiritual and beautiful. Even the merchant-princes of this 200 MARCUS BRUTUS JOHN ADAMS dear old patriot-haunted city, good men and true though they be, full of generous and noble im- pulses, are yet quite too little impressible by works of genius, too little recognize their divine meaning and mission. To all other claims upon their purses will they respond more liberally than to those of Art. This very monument, brother, could it speak, would confirm my assertion. Its secret history is any tiling but pleasant to dwell upon ; so many delays and heart-burnings, and sneers of the ilHberal, and vain appeals to patriotic feeling were there, between corner-stone and cap- stone. "So Brother Webster was telling me but recently. Bru. I am sorry to hear it. As a work of art, however, brother, I must say it has disappointed me greatly. Ad. Ah, how so ? Bru. Well, it seems to me sadly wanting, both in elegance and in expression. Ad. A plain shaft, truly. By the way, Mar- cus, did you hear that flij)pant criticism upon it at the very moment that we alighted here, evi- dently by a mortal of Britannic extraction ? Why, the varlet actually mistook it, he said, for a shot- tower, or the chimney of some factory. MARCUS BRUTUS— JOHN ADAMS. 201 Bru. There is too much foundation for the sneer, certainly. Ad. And yet this very plainness and massive- ness were thought at the time, I remember, best to typify the unadorned, solid virtues of those whom it commemorates. Bru. Still, brother, there might have been some little light shed upon its history, I think, by word, or image. Ad. Yes ; but does not every school-boy be- tween the seas know that history by heart ? Your own speech over Caesar is not more familiar to them. Bru. Strangers do not, however. Besides, the obelisk does not harmonize, to my eye, with the superb picture around it. And if so now, how much more glaring will the contrast be, when a few more centuries will have added a thousand- fold to the beauty and brilliancy of the scene. Ad. Well, well, the men of those days must put up another here, that will better accord with the genius of the place. Bru. They will, undoubtedly ; and a master- work of Art it will be, too. Still, my dear friend, I would not be understood as speaking disrespect- fully of a monument, so associated with words of 9* 202 MARCUS BRUTUS — JOHN ADAMS. power and wisdom, as this is. The most delight- ful and exciting part of our visit I have never mentioned to you, after all. Ad. Ah.^ Bru. I mean the perusal of those magnificent discourses which you got for me yesterday at Brother Ticknor's. Do you know I was bending over them all night, so intensely interested was I. I refer not merely to those especially illustrative of this spot, but to the majestic Plymouth dis- course ; and, grandest of them all, to that oration in honor of yourself, and your brother-patriot. Most fortunate of men, as in all things else, so in having such a eulogist ! I know not where to find its equal in our own, or modern times. Cer- tainly nothing approaching to it was ever heard in the Athenian Agora, or in our own Forum. Ad. I think so. Some, though, would call this very extravagant praise, brother. Bru. Posterity will sanction it, depend upon it, and will pronounce that, for grasp of thought, universality of sympathy, orderly arrangement of topics, clearness of exposition, freedom from all affectation of brilliancy or originality, — but, above all, for fervent, outgushing patriotism, and glorious MAECUS BRUTUS — JOHN ADAMS. 203 outbursts of passion, the orations of Daniel Web- ster stand alone in earthly eloquence. Ad. I believe it ; I believe it. Brother Fox, by the way, expressed himself to me on this sub- ject the other day, in almost the same language ; Brother Calhoun, likewise, notwithstanding his earthly prejudices and jealousies. But, Marcus, the sun is fast approaching the horizon. Bru. True, true ; and I must not delay my flight another moment. Ad. Are your engagements so very pressing then ? Bru. They are, indeed. Early to-morrow I have my report to present. Ad. Ah, yes. You were on the point of tell- ing me about it when that beautiful meteor dis- tracted our attention. Bru. The matter is simply this. The people of the two hemispheres of the star where I now reside have long had an unpleasant quarrel on their hands. Ad. Some boundary business, I suppose. Bru. The same ; and they have done me the honor of making me umpire between them. An arduous task, brother, but of course there was no declining it. The papers are all ready at last, 204 MARCUS BRUTUS — JOHN ADAMS, however, and to-morrow I am to read my decision before the Commissioners of the respective parties. I have worked pretty faithfully in the matter, I assure you, and, indeed, was right glad to have a few days' recreation with you before finally settling the controversy. But come, brother, I should like very much to read to you some passages from the Report in question, and have your opinion concern- ing them ; that is, if compatible with your other stellar arrangements. Ad. With all my heart. I should love to see the document. I am curious, too, to know how far you have applied the doctrines of earthly inter- national law to the points in discussion. Bru. You will be surprised to see how freely I have used them. And yet, why surprised ? Are not equity and good sense the same things now that they have been, time out of mind, the uni- verse over ? Ad. True, true. Bru. But come, let's be off. You have no ob- jections, I suppose, to stopping a few moments at Arcturus. I have a message to deliver to Brother Cassius. Ad. Certainly not ; at your service. [Exeunt. PRAXITELES— CANOVA. [SCENE— VATICAN.] Can. A nice little collection, isn't it, brother ? Prax. Superb, superb ! I begin to grow weary, though, I must say. Pray, how many more miles of it are there ? Can. Well, we are nearly through the sculp- tures ; and then, my dear boy, I have got some of the divinest pictures to show you that ever mortal or immortal eyes feasted on. But we have the day before us, and so let's take things coolly. Ah, here we are at the cabinet of the Apollo. Come, what say you to sitting down quietly before his godship for a few moments ? We might be in worse company, I assure you. Prax. Right willingly. [They enttr the cabinet. Prax. Heavens and earth ! Can. Why, what's the matter ? 2D6 PRAXITELES — CANOVA. Prax. Is it possible ? Can I be so deceived ? Surely — Can.' (Aside.) What excites him so, I wonder ? Prax. And in such wonderful preservation, too ! The same, the very same, by Jove ! Can. Why, brother, what has put you in such a fever all of a sudden ? Prax. Oh nothing, nothing. I have only run against an old acquaintance here ; that's all. Can. What, do you mean to say that — Prax. I mean to say that yonder divinity is my own workmanship. Can. Body of Bacchus, you don't tell me so ! Oh, how delighted I am to hear it. Come to my arms, my dear ghost ! come to my arms ! Bravo, bravo, bravo ! P7'ax (Disengaging himself.) This is really very gratifying, Canova ; though it took me a lit- tle by surprise, I confess. Can. Ah, Praxiteles, if you only knew what we moderns thought of this same statue — Prax. Indeed ? Can. Yes, truly. Only one other stone on earth has ever created such a furore among the children of men, and that we always supposed was PRAXITELES — CANOVA. 207 yours ; but now, to claim this other masterpiece — but are you quite sure there is no mistake here ? Prax. None whatever, my friend. And now that I look at it again, I can recall all the partic- ulars of its history. Can. Ah, do tell us ; do tell us. Prax. Yes, though more than twenty centuries have gone to their graves since then. Can. But where was this ? Prax. And yet it looks as fresh as if it had left my studio but yesterday. Can. You don't answer me, brother. Prax. I beg ten thousand pardons. At Athena — at Athens, of course. Can. Yes ; but when, where ? Who ordered it, and how was it received by your brother-artists ? A\id, above all, what did you charge the lucky dog of a purchaser ? A round sum, I warrant you. Prax. It was not purchased by an individual, but was ordered expressly by the citizens of Tene- dos, as one of the ornaments of the portico of their famous temple. It was well received, certainly, even by the fastidious Athenians. Lysippus him- self, I remember, though never very partial to my perfonnances, had a good word to say for it. One circumstance connected with it I shall never forget. 208 PRAXITELES — CANOVA, Can. Ah, what was that ? Prax. Alexander the Great looked in at my studio the very day before it was shipped for its place of destination, and complimented me right warmly on the occasion, I hardly dare tell you the number of talents he offered me for it, or his regret when he found that it was already bespoken. Can. No wonder. Frax. He had no eyes, indeed, for any thing else ; though the Phryne herself was standing right alongside of it. Ah dear, how vividly the scene rises before me ! I had not been in a very amiable mood, all the morning, I remember, and, to confess the truth, had thrown my mallet at the head of a saucy student, hardly a moment before the prince entered. After long gazing in silence upon the statue, he suddenly burst forth in his impetuous way, with a long passage from Homer's hymn to the god. Admirably recited it was, too. Can. An eccentric person, was he not ? Prax. Very, very ! After finishing the poetry, he shook me most warmly by the hand ; and on discovering that the work was not for sale, he in- sisted on a copy, at my earliest leisure ; and with- out looking at any thing else in the studio, retired PRAXITELES — CANOVA. 209 as abruptly as he entered. We have never met since. Can. You sent him the copy, of course, Prax. No ; it was never executed, either by myself, or by my son, Cephissodorus ; though I gave him positive instructions so to do on my death-bed. But really, Canova, it is unspeakably gratifying to me to find the work in such admira- ble preservation, and, as you have intimated, still in such high favor with the critics. Can. It is, indeed. As I said before, your Venus alone has more admirers ; though I myself wouldn't exchange it for a hundred such goddesses. And so the glory of our Museum has found an owner, at last ; and thus does Fame, as ever, ren- der justice, however tardily, unto her children ! Ah, Praxiteles ! accustomed as you are to admira- tion, even your ghostly head would be turned a little, I fear, were you to know how many thou- sand fine things are continually said about this statue ; how many brilliant verses, in all tongues, have been written upon it ; how many lovely women have been bewitched by it ; how many vol- umes of criticisms and conjectures learned anti- quaries have devoted to it. 210 PRAXITELES — CANOVA. Prax. Is it possible ? Pray, how came it here ? I should like to trace its history, I confess. Can. Well, there is no very satisfactory infor- mation on the jDoint. The most commonly received story is, that om- good king Nero, while travelling in Greece, some eighteen hundred years since, saw the piece in question, with several other capo- d'opere of your school, and was so charmed with them, that he took possession forthwith, without ever stopping to inquire into prices or ownerships, and had them transferred to his villa at Antium. At all events, your god was dug up there, about four centuries ago, and received with great enthu- siasm on his re-appearahce ; and if the honest truth were told, has probably far more idolaters to- day than ever he had. But for more minute par- ticulars, Praxiteles, allow me to refer you to our dear brother Winckelmann. Prax. Indeed ! I have heard of the ghost, but have not yet had the pleasure of meeting him. And so one monarch basely stole what another vainly sought to purchase. But where may this Antium have been ? Can. Antium ? Why, you surely know the place. For a long time one of the most charming towns upon our seaboard, and the pet residence of PKAXITELES CANOVA. 211 many emperors. Of late centuries, to be sure, it has been a mere heap of rubbish ; beneath which, my friend, this beautiful creation of yours lay for- gotten for ages. But now, thank heaven, the god has come forth again to taste his own glorious sun- light, and to gladden us all with his presence. Prax. A strange history, certainly. Can. All these marble brethren about us, could they speak, would have as strange ones to teU. Prax. No doubt. But, Canova, where are all the modern works ? Surely these magnificent halls are not entirely devoted to us ancients ? Can. They are, indeed, with one slight excep- tion. Prax. What exception ? Can. Well, you must know that that dear old soul, Pius VII., during whose pontificate I had my studio in the metropolis, took quite a fancy to me, and to my performances. Prax. I can readily believe that, brother. Can. And in consideration of my long and faithful services in the cause of art (so he was pleased to express himself), ordered certain pieces of mine to be bought, and bestowed upon them the unprecedented honor of a place in this other- 212 PRAXITELES — CANOVA. wise purely classical collection. I hardly deserved Buch a compliment, but was very much gratified by it, I confess. Frax. Indeed ; where are they — where are they ? Can. In a cabinet hard by ; but really, Praxi- teles, I hardly dare venture to show them to so illustrious Frax. Poh, poh ! I insist upon seeing them. Can. As you will, brother. This way, if you jjlease. {They enter the cabinet of the Perseus.) Frax. Bravo, bravissimo ! Can. Ah, that's very polite in you, Praxiteles ; but I am fully aware, my friend, of the wide gulf between us. Frax. Pshaw ! don't talk so. An admirable figure, truly ; full of life, and grace, and expres- sion. You ought to be proud of it, indeed ! These Wrestlers, too, are they yours ? Can. They are. Frax. Capital — capital ! The idea of apolo- gizing for such works as these ! Why, my friend, they would have drawn crowds about them at Delphi, or at Olympia. That's not our Parian marble, by the way .'* PRAXITELES — CANOVA. 213 Can. No ; that comes from Carrara : an in- ferior article, certainly. Prax. Still, a very pretty quality of stone. Cam. But, Praxiteles, you must not consider these my chefs-d'ceuvres, thus honored as they are by his Holiness. Ah, no ! I should have been far more pleased to have shown you my Dancers, and my Graces, and my Magdalene ; or even my Pauline, far inferior, as she must needs be, to your glorious Phryne, Prax. I am not so sure of that. But I should dearly love to see the works you speak of Are they in Rome at present ? Can. Only the Pauline. The rest are scattered far and wide. But, brother, you never told me what you considered your own master-pieces. Pray, had you any other studio than that at Athens ? Prax. Oh, yes ; I had another at Corinth, and a most delightfully situated one at Sicyou, not for from that of Lysippus. My principal one, however, was at Tarentum, where I spent the latter half of my life, and where, with my two sons, I executed some of my most important works. Can. Asking pardon for the inquiry, Praxi- teles, were you long in the flesh ? 214 PRAXITELES — CANOVA. Prax. Threescore years to a day. Not a long life, brother, but quite a busy oij^. At one time, I had nearly forty students under me. Can. Is it possible ? You must have turned out a deal of work. Prax. Yes, indeed. Not a town in Greece was there of any consequence, or island in the jEgean, but what had some god, or goddess, of mine in it. Then we were overrun with orders at home, and from Sicily. My Hours and Graces were called for continually, I remember ; not to speak of several complete sets of the Muses. At one time we had no less than half a dozen Colossi under our supervision in as many seaports. Can. Dio mio ! Prax. Then our historical monuments were not few, and some of them very massive and elabo- rate ; to say nothing of thousands of sarcophagi, and urns and busts without number. Can. You didn't confine yourself to statues, then ? Prax. No, indeed ! Our relief-work was the larerest, and most lucrative branch of our labors ; friezes, pediments, votive tablets, fancy-pieces of all sorts and dimensions ; yes, league after league of sacred and triumphal processions. As I 8»ifl PRAXITELES — CANOVA. 215 before, there was not a temple or palace in Greece worth speaking of but what had something in it, or on it, from my studios. Can. You amaze me. I used to think myself somewhat of a worker here below, but nothing, nothing compared to this. And is it possible, that, of all this world of beauty and majesty, only some half a dozen representatives have descended to us ; and of these, not one, till to-day, satisfactorily au- thenticated ! Still, my dear friend, you have not answered my question. Which one of these mul- tiform works of yours did you set most store by ? Which had most of your heart and soul impressed upon it ? Prax. Well, let me see. There was a group of Cupid and Psyche, which I executed for a dear Athenian friend, that I confess I was quite proud of It cost me a world of thought, I know, at the time, and of all my performances, seemed to me best to express my ideas of the beautiful. I allude more particularly to the head of the Psyche. That, and a group of Sappho and Phaon, were de- cidedly my favorites. Can. And what became of that ? Prax. It was sent to Miletus. But my most popular work was the Cnidian Venus. It made 216 PRAXITELES — CAKOVA. quite a sensation in its day. By the way, is that one of the half dozen fortunate survivors that you were speaking of just now ? Can. There seems to be some doubt on that point. There is a sad wreck of a statue in the Lou- vre, with a divine beauty still lingering over it, that our Parisian brethren call by that name ; while, on the other hand, some of our Florentine friends (as I think, most unreasonably) persist in giving it to your Venus de'Medici. For myself, Praxi- teles, I fear the dear goddess is for ever lost to earth ; most probably, shattered to fragments, ages since. She may possibly, though, like your Apollo, be slumbering in some unexplored villa in the neighborhood ; for that she was stolen and brought hither by some one or other of our deified emperors, I have no doubt. But brother, as I said before, I am perfectly amazed at the extent and variety of your labors. As an interpreter of the beautiful, your fame is, indeed, world-wide ; but I had no idea that you had done such wonders in the heroic style. Did you work much in bronze ? Prax. Not much ; nor, indeed, in the heroic. That department was far more worthily filled by Lysippus. I made an Aratus. to be sure, for the PRAXITELES CANOVxV. 217 Sic3^onians, which was well received ; and a colossal Epaminondas for the Thebans, which some indis- creet admirers used to speak of in the same breath with Phidias's Themistocles. Decidedly the most gratifying occurrence in my professional career was an invitation from the Athenians to restore a Peri- cles of his. Can. Ah ! Prax. Yes. It had long been one of the orna- ments of the Lyceum, but the citizens seemed to think that it did not occupy a sufficiently con- spicuous position. Owing to the carelessness of the workmen, who were accordingly employed in moving it to a more eligible one, it had a bad faU, and was seriously injured. I need not tell you with what fear and trembling I entered upon my task, or of the little satisfaction it gave me when finished. Yes, I may as well own it, Canova, I did sacrifice altogether too much to the Graces. My heroes, the best of them, had quite too effemi- nate an air. My attempts at the subhme were seldom very successful. The poorest thing I ever did was a Hercules in Repose. That work, I most sincerely trust, is no longer extant. Can. I have never heard of it. By the way, did you paint many of your statues ? 10 218 PRAXITELES — CANOVA, Prax. Oh yes, to please customers ; never wil- lingly, however : never any of my best efforts. Like the rest of my brethren, I was compelled at times to sacrifice my own ideas to national preju- dices, or to the whims of individuals. Some of my goddesses had rosy cheeks, and glass eyes in their heads, and golden ornaments around their necks. I always looked upon it as an abomination, how- ever. Can. How was it with your Apollo ? Did any paint or jewelry ever profane that divine image ? Prax. Never, never ! Can. I am delighted to hear you say so. You must know that there has been an attempt here in town lately to revive the wax-work style of sculp- ture ; in a quarter, too, where I should least have expected it, Prax. Indeed ! Can. Yes ; and by a former favorite pupil of mine, for whose talents I have the highest respect. I am very sorry to see him in this false position. Prax. So am I, I have no faith in such inno- vations. Let each Muse attend to her own proper duties. Surely the domain of each is broad and fair enough to labor in, without wantonly invading PRAXITELES — CANOVA. 219 that of her neighbor. But, brother, isn't it time to be in motion again ? Can. One little question, while I think of it, Praxiteles. What was your last performance on earth ? Prax. Well, strange to say, I was making a design for an urn, which was to have held the ashes of a friend of mine, but in which, as it turned out, my own were deposited. Can. That is curious ; and what is equally so, a somewhat similar accident befell me. Prax. Ah ! how so ? Where are your ashes, brother ? Can. My bones repose just where I wished them to be, in my native village, alongside of my excellent mother's ; but my heart is in far more sumptuous quarters, — namely, in the very monu- ment (and, though I say it, Praxiteles, a most magnificent one) which I designed in honor of my illustrious brother-artist, Titian. Prax. A strange coincidence, certainly. But the sun is getting low, brother. Can. True ; and we want a good light for the Transfiguration. Ah, Praxiteles, now look out for a feast. While we cheerfully accord the palm to 220 PRAXITELES CANOVA. you classical lads, in the department of sculpture, we defy you to show pictures with us. Prax. I have heard great things of your paint- ings. I have never met with Apelles' equal, though, thus far, I must say. Can. Well, well, we shall see. But stop a moment. Prax. Ah, what's the matter ? Can. I was thinking how we should best dis- pose of our time, for the rest of the day. Let's see ; we shall, of course, have to postpone the Cartoons, and the Stanze, and the Loggie, to some other visit. We had better go at once, then, and take a good look at the Transfiguration, and the St. Jerome ; after which, we will stop for a little minute, at the head of the southern staircase, to pay our respects to the beautiful face of dear brother Raphael ; and then, if you say so, we will fly over to the Piazza di Spagna, and refresh our- selves with a strawberry ice, and a half hour's re- pose, and still have time enough to look in at brother Crawford's, and one or two other studios. Would this be agreeable to you, Praxiteles ? Prax. Perfectly so. Can. I confess, I should like to have your opinion of brother C.'s Washington Monument. PRAXITELES — CANOVA. 221 I had a cursory glance at it, the other day, and it really seemed to me to be a performance worthy of the very best days of Greek art. To be sure, it is rather more in brother Pbidias's walk, than yours ; but there are a great many bright things there, besides, in clay, plaster, and marble, and among them, some most lovely children. His Children in the Wood, I am sure, you'll be charmed with. Prax. I dare say. But what is the subject, gad or frolicsome ? Can. I'll tell you the story as we go along. If you don't pronounce it one of the most delicious bits of pathos ever put in marble, I shall be dis- appointed. After that, we'U look in upon brother Gibson for a moment. He always has something good at his fingers' ends. And then, perhaps, we will call on sister Hosmer. Prax. And so you have women-sculj^tors in town, have you ? Can. Well, she is the only one, I believe, at present. Prax. An Italian, I suppose. Can. No, an American, and a right bright lit- tle body, I'm told ; full of enthusiasm, full of talent. They tell me, moreover, that she has been 222 PRAXITELES — CANOVA. lately putting a Morning Star in stone, that is, in- deed, a shining light. I am quite anxious to see it. And so you had no lady-carvers in Greece, in your day, Praxiteles ? Prax. I beg your pardon. There were at least half a dozen of celebrity, when I was in ths body. Ah, dear ! Can. Why, what makes you sigh so ? Prax. I was thinking, Canova, of a dear little daughter of mine, who, had she remained on earth, would have been very illustrious in that way. Poor child ! she never saw her seventh birth-day. You will hardly beUeve me, brother, when I tell you that, at the age of four, she executed, in lard, an admirable statue of a favorite kitten of hers. Oh, how her mother went on about it ! Can. That's not so very strange, though. I myself, at four, carved a very fair lion, in butter. Prax. The deuce you did ! Can. Yes, and lono; before that, had modelled a capital mud-lobster. Ah ! how well I remember the circumstance, and the bewildered look of the old nurse, who, with uphfted palm, was in the very act of administering chastisement to the naughty child, that ivould persist in playing in the dirt, when this wonderful performance caught her eye. PRAXITELES — CANOVA. 223 Dio mio, how she grinned ! You don't remember your first attempt, do you, Praxiteles ? Prax. I do not, indeed. But come, come, brother, we are wasting daylight. We have got to be here again, to-night, you know, with our torches. Can. True, to meet brothers Flaxman and Thorwaldsen. You know them both, of course. Prax. Flaxman I know, and love. The Dane I have not yet seen. Can. You'll be pleased with him, depend upon it. A right royal ghost and sculptor he is. The world, it is true, was rather slow to find him out, at first ; but he is now, by common consent, placed at the head of us moderns. Prax. You surprise me ; I thought you occu- pied that position. Can. Ah, no, no, no ! To be sure, there was a time when I should have hated to acknowledge as much ; but, thank heaven, I have long since out- grown all such pitiful jealousies. Yes, Praxiteles, his is a far deeper, and more thoughtful nature than mine, and his foncy a far more fruitful one. There is, moreover, a loftiness and purity in some of his works, quite without parallel, I think, in teiTCstrial art. 224 PRAXITELES CANOVA. Prax. Indeed, I shall be most proud to meet him. Between ourselves, too, I am rather curious to hear brother Flaxman's criticism on the Apollo. Can. Yes, but you mustn't betray the author- ship. Prax. Trust me for that. But come, Canova, we have not another moment to lose. Pray, where are these same wonderful pictures, that you were bragging about so ? Can. This way, brother, this way. [Exeunt. PETRONIUS— D'ORSAY, [SCENE— METROPOLITAN HALL.] lyOr. Well, PetroniuSj how have you been pleased with the concert ? Fet. Delighted, dehghted ! D'Or. A superb orchestra, is it not ? Pet. It is, indeed ; and the leader the most magnificent individual I've seen for many a day. Pray, what countryman is he ? D'07\ A compatriot of mine ; quite a celebrity in his way, and an undoubted original ; perhaps the rarest combination of the enthusiast and the impostor now extant on earth ; sublimely vulgar, inexhaustibly impudent, delightfully good-natured, and, withal, a person of brilliant abilities. I con- fess, I admire the creature amazingly. How ad- mirably, by the way, he conducted his forces through the mazes of that charming Prima Donna 10* 226 PETRONius — d'orsay. waltz ! You seemed to enjoy that piece vastly, brother. Pet. Indeed, I did ! Such a complete dedica- tion of the whole man — hands, feet, arms, legs, head, and baton, to the task before him, was de- lightful to behold. The air itself, too, was most agreeable. D'Or. A sweet melody, and one that is making its way rapidly all over the globe. But what did you think of that symphony from Beethooven ? Glorious ! was it not ? Pet. Well, so far as I could follow it, I was gratified. Recollect, brother, that this was the first time I ever heard it ; besides that, many of the instruments were perfect novelties to me. The andante movement I enjoyed exceedingly. D'Or. Admirably rendered ; and the allegro, still finer. You, of course, noticed the way in which that air was transferred from the violins to the violas, and so down to the double-basses ? Pet. I did ; the effect was quite startling. Such a twanging of strings I never heard before, on or off the earth. D'Or. An eflect, to be sure, which the com- poser never contemplated ; still, the transition was most gracefully done, while the execution itself PETRONIUS — d'orsay. 227 was the most surprising exhibition of musical gym- nastics I ever witnessed. But the American Quad- rille, Petronius, what say you to that ? Between ourselves, brother, I thought you seemed a little bewildered, not to say alarmed, towards the close of that piece. Pet Well, to be candid, I was somewhat so. What with the sudden uprising of the audience, the deafening yells and cheers in all quarters, the waving of hats, slapping of rattans against the panels, poking of umbrellas, and what not, I was quite taken aback, I confess. And then those shoutings behind the scenes, and those tremendous and mysterious hangings and poundings, by way of finale ! Is it strange. Count, that I was a little agitated ? Dio mio, what a performance ! D'Or. An extraordinary musical hash^ cer- tainly. Not a very savory one to me, I must say. None of our national airs in either hemis- phere are very feHcitous efforts ; but as to Yankee Doodle, I have no patience with it. Had the com- poser's object been to disgust and appal the enemy, well and good ; but the idea of cheering on one's fellow-soldiers to victory, by such a villanous com- bination of sounds — bah, bah. How a great nation 228 PETRONius — d'orsay. could have adopted it for a moment, is to me amazing. Pet. And yet, what a hold it seems to have on the popular heart ! D'Or. So it appears. Pet. I actually thought the soles of my next neighbor's boots would have given way, so vehe- mently did he express his enthusiasm. It was a great relief to me, I assure you, when they struck up the Katydid Polka. D'Or. Ah yes — a queer thing that ; somewhat apart, perhaps, from the mission of music, this stepping aside to imitate beasts and insects ; very cleverly done, nevertheless. Pet. I liked the piece, I must say. As to the imitation, not having the pleasure of the insect's acquaintance, it was of course thrown away upon me. The audience were tickled with it, evidently, D'Or. I see by the programme, that the Cricket Mazurka, and the Mosquito Quick-Step are in ac- tive preparation. But, Petronius, the Christmas Symphony ; candidly now, what sort of an impres- sion did that make upon you ? Pet. What, the Santa Claus ? D'Or. The same. Pet. Well, I hardly know how to answer yon. PETRONIUS — d'orsay. 229 As I said before^ so many of the instruments and musical effects were entire strangers to me, that I was quite taken by surprise. The opening solo on the trumpet I remember with great satisfaction ; and several of the passages for the flute and the hautboy, were positively delicious. The Synopsis bewildered me somewhat, I must say ; as did the most unexpected introduction of those penny-drums and trumpets. On the whole, I was highly grati- fied, and withal, considerably mystified. D'Or. My dear fellow, that was no time to puz- zle over the Synopsis. You should have trans- lated for yourself, as you went along. Afterwards, at your leisure, you might have compared your own version with the explanations of the composer ; and I have no doubt, you would have been surprised at the resemblance between the two. Fet. Very likely. As it was, I had a double translation before me, first of the music into Latin, and then of the Latin into English. D'Or. No joke, that ; you certainly earned all the pleasure you got. Pet. But how did you like the Symphony, yourself ? D'Or. Exceedingly. It is a novelty, certainly, in the musical world, violating, as it does, without 230 PETRONIUS — D'oRSAY. scruple, all the old-fashioned rules for making Sym- phonies ; rules, in my humble opinion, far more venerable than rational. As a piece of musical painting, I was charmed with it ; full of fine touches, and dramatic effects. The episode of the perishing traveller was finely conceived, and the in- terpretation of it by the orchestra, admirable, in- deed. I never heard such playing on earth, before. I should have preferred the non-introduction of the toy-trumj)ets, I confess ; and a somewhat less close imitation of nature, in some passages ; but with all its eccentricities and blemishes, and its too scornful violation of the conventionalities of the art, I liked it amazingly, and should have been proud to have been the author of it. But the gem of the even- ing, after all, brother, was that Solo by Bottesini. I am sure you must have been charmed with it. Pet. I was alike delighted and astounded. What lightning-like rapidity of movement ! What a range of notes ! What infinite variety of ex- pression ! D'Or. Those passages in harmonics were divine. How he contrives to extract such ethereal sounds from such a monster of an instrument, is to me in- conceivable. Pet. There's magic in it, depend upon it. He PETRONItrS — D*ORSAY. 231 })Ositivel y makes a human being of the instrument ; makes it sigh, sob, groan, howl, sing, laugh, exult. D'Ot. Yes, and as you say, with what amazing rapidity and precision does he sweep along, from those deep thunder-tones, up' to the veriest peep of the sparrow. Fet. I hardly know which to admire most, the genius that could have devised such a piece of workmanship, or that which extracts from it such startling effects. D'Or. But, brother, they are about closing the gates. It is high time for us to be sauntering down towards the Astor House, Pet. True, true. Bless me, what a fine night ! How Jupiter sparkles ! One wouldn't think, to look at him, that they were suffering so from drought, there. D'Or. No, indeed. But to resume our criti- cism. Do tell us, what would Nero have said to such a performance as brother Bottesini's ? Would it not have created an immense sensation at the Palatine ? Pet. Unquestionably. D'Oi\ How would the Emperor probably have received the artist ? Pet. Ah, that's a harder question to answer. 232 PETRONius— d'obsay. You know what a capricious wretch he was. If in a good humor he would, no doubt, have over- loaded him with compliments and presents ; per- haps, have decreed him divine honors, and a statue of gold in some pet temple ; if, in a peevish, jealous one, he would most likely have interrupted the performer in the midst of his solo, with an order to have him thrown from the Tarpeian Kock, and his instrument after him ; or, perhaps, have had him strangled before his eyes, with his own bow-string. Just such a whimsical villain was he. You smile, Count. D'Or. Oh, nothing ; an idle thought. It merely occurred to me, that our modern public was just about as whimsical in its patronage of art, though certainly not so cruel as this imperial friend and murderer of yours. But was Nero really a man of decided musical talents ? Pet. Oh, yes, yes ! Give Cerberus his due. Sanguinary monster that he was, utterly neglectful as he was of all the true interests of Rome, he yet developed a very pretty musical gift, and made some valuable improvements in the instruments of his day ; more especially in the way of musical clocks and water- organs. I can remember, even now, with great pleasure, some of the times played PETRONIUS — d'orsay. 233 by them, both in the Golden House, and in his pahice, at Antium. UOr. What sort of voice had he ? Pet. Well, a fair tenor, of no great compass, but agreeable quality. He accompanied himself very skilfully, both on harp and guitar. He wrote, moreover, some capital songs. You have heard many of them, I dare say. D'Or. Not that I am aware of Ptt. Indeed ! You surprise me ; for, odious as the wretch was, his melodies were great favor- ites, and deservedly so, all over the empire. Is it possible that there are none of them extant ? UOr. Not a note, not a note. Why, do you know, Petronius, that, of all your Greek and Roman music, hardly a baker's dozen of notes sur- vive, and those we are utterly at a loss to translate into any thing like melody ? Pet. Oh, you're joking ! D'Or. Not at all. Pet. What, do you really mean to say that there is none of Pindar's music extant ? D'Or. I do. Pet. Nor the delicious songs of Sappho ? D'Or. Alas, not a solitary strain. Pet. Nor the melodies of Sonhocles ? 234 PETRONIUS — d'orsay, D'Or. Not one, not one ! No, nor of all your glorious creations, or those of Greece, whether in the way of military, religious, or dramatic music, have we a fragment worth speaking of. Pet. Heavens and earth ! This is fame with a vengeance ! Are you really in earnest. Count ? D'Or. I am, indeed. 'Tis a fact, alike sad and inexplicable ; and a theme of never-ending regret to the scholar and the poet. What would we not give, indeed, to recall the strains that cheered on the victors at Marathon ; or the solemn chants that accompanied the Panathenaic procession ; or the bewitching melodies that held myriads spell- bound in your theatres ; or the glorious outbursts that made vocal the woods of Olympia and Delphi ? But they have all utterly perished. As I said just now, the sole representatives of all your antique music are a few paltry clusters of notes, the mean- ing and value of which we are utterly at a loss to determine. All attempts, hitherto, to make melo- dies out of them have resulted in most lugubrious and repulsive combinations of sounds, which every ear of taste peremptorily rejects as misinterpre- tations. Oh dear, how I should love to hear a genuine old hymn, or love-song of your time ! Come, my dear fellow, do favor us with a specimen PETRONIUS — d'orsay. 235 or two. A single tune well turned by you would shed more light on this subject than whole tons of mystic German tomes. So strike up, if you please. Let's have a taste of Nero's compositions, or, bet- ter still, a verse or two from iSappho. Pet. Oh no, Count, not here in the streets ; that would never do. I have no objections to sing for you when we reach our lodgings. D'Or. I shall be exceedingly obliged. Pet. But I must again exjjress my amazement, my friend, at what you tell me. Is it possible that not a single national air, or hynm, or choral ode of any sort, Greek or Koman, is to be heard to-day on earth ? D'Or. Even so. Pet. And of all our innumerable treatises on the science, there is not a single survivor ? D'Or. Nothing worthy of the name. Some Clitics even laugh at the idea of calling music a science in your day. Pet. Ridiculous ! D' 07\ You had, then, a thorough, well-digested system of musical composition ? Pet. Why, certainly. D'Or. And a regular series of scales and chords ? 236 PETRONius — d'orsay. Pet. We had. D'Or. And knew all about thorougli-base and counterpoint ? Pet. We did. D'07\ And had your fuguists and canon- wiiters ? Pet. Of course we had. Why multiply these idle questions, brother ? As if our musicians had not as thoroughly investigated the laws of sound, and our science did not rest on precisely the same mathematical basis as your own ! You moderns have certainly increased the number of our instru- ments, and have made some most desirable im- provements in the old ones, and have thereby added greatly to the executive force of your orches- tras, and to the variety of your musical effects ; but for a lucid explanation of the principles of the art, and a happy mode of illustrating them, I can conceive of nothing superior to some of the trea- tises that were popular in my day. To be sure, I was too indolent and ])leasure-seeking a man to study them as they deserved. But how, in the name of Heaven, they could have all perished thus from the face of the earth is incomprehensible. Are you sure, Count, of the fact ? or, if so, have they been faithfully hunted up ? Have you ex- PETRONIUS — d'orsay. 237 plored thoroughly all your old libraries ? Have you searched diligently among the old homesteads of the Muses ? Is it possible that neither Athens, nor Thebes, nor Corinth, nor Miletus, has ever re- warded the labors of the antiquarian with a solitary discovery ? D' Or. Never ; not a single stray melody, or instrument, or even scrap of an instruction-book, have we ever found. I know of but one exception ; a manuscript discovered at Herculaneum. Pet. Ah! D'Or. Yes ; but like all the other MSS. there excavated, it was scorched to tinder ; and after being unrolled with infinite pains and patience, turned out to be a most obscure and unsatisfactory production. Pet. Do you remember the author's name ? D'Or. One Philodemus, I think it was. Did you ever hear of him ? Pet. Never. UOr. By the way, Petronius, a bright thought strikes me. Pet. Ah, what is it ? UOr. Why can't you be induced now to post- pone your departure from the planet for a few days, and give us a short course of lectures on an- 238 PETRONius — d'orsay. cient music, with appropriate illustrations and accompaniments ? Pet What, I ? D'Or. Yes ; and at that same beautiful hall, which we have just left. You would positively be conferring a boon on the race. Apart from the pleasure and information given, you would inci- dentally destroy a huge mass of learned rubbish on the subject. What say you ? You would have brilliant and crowded houses, depend upon it. Pet. I doubt it. The mere curiosity of the thing might perhaps ensure one or two fair au- diences ; after that, empty benches would be the order of the evening. D'Or. Do you think so ? Pet. I do. I have seen enough already of these fidgety, novelty-loving Yankees, to know that when I reached the more difficult and thought- tasking part of my subject, they would leave me alone in my glory. Besides, my other planetary arrangements are such as to make the thing quite out of the question. D'Or. I am sorry to hear it. Pet. There is a still better reason for not listen- ing to your proposition. D'Or. What is that ? PETRONIUS — d'orsay, 239 Pet. My utter incompetency to the task. D'Or. Oh, don't say that. On the contrary, you would handle your theme in such an airy, playful, and engaging way, as to make the very iliyest part of it fascinating. Pet. You are very polite. Count ; but I assure you it is quite beyond my powers. D'Or. Indeed ? Why, I had an impression that you were a decided musical genius. Pet. Not at all — not at all ! It is true I had a most undeserved reputation in that, and other branches of art ; and while my little day of court- favor lasted, a most ridiculous importance was at- tached to my opinions in all matters of taste. D'Or. You were actually clothed, then, with those powers of arbitration, to which Tacitus al- ludes ? Pet. I was ; for awhile there was no appeal from my pronunciamento upon the merits of a tragedy, or the shape of a helmet, or the feshion of a goblet, or the qualities of a vintage. In short, I laid down the law on these points in the same positive, peremptory way as you yourself did, uiy dear Count, in your time, on the cut of a coat, the iio of a cravat, or the properties of an Arabian ; 240 PETRONIUS d'ORSAY. though with by no means the same })retensions to sit in the seat of judgment, D'Or. You flatter me, Petronius. Pet. Not at all ; nor am I insensible, brother, to your far higher claims on my admiration. I have heard of your poems, and pictures, and em- phatically, of your statuettes ; and, what is more, my friend, I don't intend to leave the planet until you have shown me some of them. D'Or. You will not find them worth detaining you. Speaking of Arabians, by the way, Nero was a good judge of horse-flesh, was he not ? Pet. Excellent ; he was, moreover, a charioteer of unquestioned talent. There was but one other man, indeed, in all Italy that could drive twenty- four in hand with him. D'Or. Twenty-four in hand ? You amaze me. I was a clever whip on earth myself, but never un- dertook a task like that. While I have the oppor- tunity, Petronius, do let me ask you, was it Nero or Claudius that you have showered such cutting sarcasms on, in your Satyricon ? The critics don't seem to be agreed on this point. Pet. Claudius, Claudius, to be sure. But is it possible. Count, that that abominable work is still extant ? I am right sorry to hear it. PETRONIUS D'oRBAY. 241 D'Or. Well, you ought to be ashamed of it on some accounts, certainly. Pet. I am, most heartily. Fie upon it ! Would that it had perished ages ago ! So wags the world ! To think that time should have de- stroyed all the most precious music of antiquity, and yet have allowed such a scandalous production to survive ! D'Or. Not altogether so, brother. We have only some fragments of the work. Pet. Confound them ! Is there no way of blotting them out of existence ? D'Or. I fear not. They are altogether too witty, and too nasty, for the children of men wil- lingly to lose sight of them. They will stand, I reckon, while the world stands ; and in many tongues. Pet. And to my eternal discredit. Well, well, I deserve it all ; I deserve it, for thus vilely pros- tituting my talents. D'Or. But don't be too severe on yourself, brother. For one, I confess that, with all its in- decencies, there are parts of your book which are to me positively delicious. Such exquisite fun ! such inimitable irony ! I speak more particularly of the French version, by the way, not being so n 242 PETRONius — d'orsat. familiar with the original. Your portraits, too, are so life-like ; your style so picturesque ! Pet. You are very kind, Count, D'Or. Not at all. Then, again, there are sketches of the insolence, vulgarity, bestiality of the nouveaux riches of your day, that are invalu- able to the student of ancient life and manners. Had your work perished, we moderns should have looked in vain for them elsewhere. Fet. Indeed ! D'Or. Even so. Pet. Infamous times those. Count. D'Or. True ; and you have shown up their in- famy most graphically : ay, both in prose and poetry. Those lines of yours on the Civil Wars are glorious ! Pet. I am glad you like them. I tried to make them good. D'Or. With signal success, too. There is nothing in all Virgil finer than some of the de- scriptive passages, or in Juvenal, than the satirical ones. Pet. Would to Heaven I had written nothing else. D'Or. Some of those verses towards the com- mencement, where you set forth the frightful PETRONius — d'orsay. 243 prodigality and debauchery of the metropoUs, I re- member with especial pleasure. Let me see ; how do they read ? Ah yes, yes : — " Lo, more profusion : citron tables brought From Africa, enriched with golden stains ; Whole troops of slaves, bright purple tapestry, Making their owners beggars. Kound the board So mischievously precious, drowned in wine, Lie the imbruted revellers ; his arms The soldier leaves to rust, and banqueting Consumes the wealth wrung from a plundered world." These last lines, particularly, recall to me that brilliant picture I showed you on our way hither. Pet. What, the Decadence ? D'Or. The same. Pet. A magnificent composition. It is a com- pliment, indeed, to be named in the same breath with it. And yet, my dear Count, notwithstand- ing the- kindness of your criticisms, I must again express my bitter regret at having ever given the Satyricon to the world, and would most gladly an- nihilate it, if I could, this very hour. Do change the subject, if you love me. D'Or. With all my heart. But look out, brother, look out for that infernal omnibus. Con- 244 TETRONIUS — d'ORSAY. found these Jehus ! The idea of whirling round the corner of a crowded street in that fashion ! Pet. These varlets care neither for man nor ghost, evidently. But is there no punishment for such outrages ? Where are the guardians of the public peace ? UOr. Where, indeed ! Pet. How the ruffians howled, too, and blas- phemed round the doors of the hall ! D'Or. Most disgracefully. Pet. Such volleys of tobacco-juice, likewise ! I have got the marks of them here now, both on cloak and tunic. UOr. The beasts! Pet. That's not the worst of it. Do you know, brother, that several smart showers of this same perfumed liquid were falling in my neighborhood throughout the performance ; yes, even during the very choicest passages of the music ? D'Or. I noticed them, and was disgusted be- yond measure. In such a hall, too, and before ladies ! To think that such an abominable prac- tice should disgrace a whole nation thus ! Pet. It is not a local peculiarity, then ? D'Or. No, indeed ! The whole face of this fair land is stained by these pollutions. From PETRONIUS — d'orsay, 245 seaboard to seaboard, from Maine to California (so they tell me), it is one incessant shower, from morning till night. Not content with irrigating thus their fields and gardens, they fire away, without remorse, in every temple, theatre, and tribunal of the Union. The very statues of their Conscript Fathers are not safe from their assaults. Pet. Horrors ! D'Or. On the frontiers, in the absence of the opera, and other more legitimate excitements, we might excuse such things ; but here, in the very heart of the metropolis, and the very shrine of the Muses themselves, to be guilty of such indecen- cies ! Pet. It is, indeed, atrocious. But here we are, brother, at the Astor. What say you to a bit of supper ? D'Or. Agreed. To-morrow, you know, bright and early, we are to carry out the great object of our journey hither. Pet. We shall be at the Falls before sunrise, I hope. D'Or. Oh, easily. And then, brother, look out for wonders. Ay, and we shall hear music, too, of the Lord's own composing ; an orchestra, to which 246 PETRONius — d'orsay, even Brother Jullien's might be proud to play second fiddle. Pet. I should have preferred a visit there in summer, though, I must say. D'Or. I don't know about that. Some of my artistical brethren tell me that the winter views are altogether the finest. But, by Jove, it's past eleven ; let's in to supper. After which, Petro- nius, I shall not fail to claim the fulfilment of your promise, touching those antique songs. Pet. Eight willingly. Count ; and you, in turn, must favor me with an air or two from the Norma. D'Or. Certainly. The Semiramide is my fa- vorite, however. Pet. As you please. D'Or. Bien, aliens done. \Exeunt. GERMANICUS— RIENZI. [SCENE— COLOSSEUM.] Ger. Come, brother, let us leave this spot. I am heart-sick at beholding all this desolation, and long to fly back to my own happy star, and peace- ful labors. Bien. Yet a few moments more, Germanicus ; at least, till this beautiful sunset hath faded from the sky. Charming, charming ! Do you know, brother, that this ruin seems far more vast and majestic to me than it did when I last mused here ? These excavations and repairs have restored much of its original grandeur. How sweetly the light plays through these corridors, and gilds the shrubs that fringe these crumbling arches ! Ger. An impressive scene, brother, but a most sad one. I confess, I linger here right unwillingly. Our whole visit, indeed, has been to me most pain- ful ; nor would even your all-persuading eloquence, 248 GERMANICUS — RIENZI. my dear friend, prevail upon me soon to repeat it. Little, little have I seen in living, or in dead Rome, that I can recall with pleasure, either as a citizen, or as an immortal. Rie7i. I am sorry to hear you say so. Ger. And yet I must speak my honest feel- ings. This very pile is to me so haunted with images of horror that I quite lose all thought of its magnificence ; nay, even feel a sense of guilt in loi- tering here. Mien. A dreary history, truly ! Ger. A building set apart to wicked uses ; conceived in cruelty ; reared by wretched captives, amid the jeers of the rabble, and the blows of savage task-masters ; inaugurated by the wanton massacre of thousands of men and beasts ; its daily experience one of bloodshed and ruflSanism ! Rien. Too true, alas ! Ger. When I think of these things, of the in- numerable atrocities that have been perpetrated within these walls ; of the angry passions that have here been stimulated unto madness ; the fiendish shouts that have rung through these corridors ; the streams of innocent blood that have flowed here, — ought I not to be filled with dread and anguish ? Nay, I wonder that one stone hath been left stand- GERMANICUS— RIENZI. 249 ing on another ; that holy angels have not been sent, long ago, to sweep away this monument of iniquity from the earth. I am indignant that poets should sing the praises of such a ruin, and that artists, as we have seen them to-day, should set it forth on canvas, should make copies of it, forsooth, in precious marbles and mosaics, and that lovely women should wear upon their bosoms such a memento of human guilt and suffering. I feel as if Nature herself ought to recoil in horror from a spot so accursed, instead of illuminating it thus with her precious sunlight, clothing it with these graceful draperies, adorning it with these sweet flowers. Wicked and loathsome things alone should haunt it, baneful weeds alone should spring from its decay. Bien. You speak feelingly, brother. Ger. And its present histoiy, what is there in it that mortal or immortal can look upon with pleasure ? Nay, to what vile uses does it minister ! Of what pitiful and degrading mummeries is it the ■ scene ! Look at that cross in yonder arena, and the wretches that are grovelling at its feet. Kead the inscription that defaces it : " For every kiss here imprinted, ttoo hundred days of purgatorial pains are abated." What folly and madness 1 11* 250 GERMANICUS RIENZI, What an appeal to all that is selfish and abject in Immauity ! The idea that our Father in heaven will accepi the kissing of that dead wood as a substitute for duty done, temptation overcome 1 Monstrous blasphemy ! Rien. A most shameful perversion, certainly, of Christ's blessed teachings 1 But, Germanicus, I have been a little surprised, I confess, at the warmth of your language. You, who were bom and bred here, habituated from boyhood to the sanguinary spectacles of the amphitheatre ; a Ke- man general, too, who won so many bloody victo- ries, — who brought home so many captive princes ; you, the idol of your soldiers, whose shouts of en- thusiasm I can even now hear, in fancy, along the slopes of yonder Capitol — Ger. Ay, and to whom fire and sword were things familiar as his sandal ; pardon my inter- rupting you, brother, but is it possible, you would ask, that this Germanicus hath so completely for- gotten all the sentiments and prejudices of his earthly career, that he should talk thus, should be thus sensitive about the shedding of a little human blood, forsooth ? But why this surprise, brother ? Need I tell you that this glorious change has been wrought within me, and that the follies and errors of GERMANICUS EIENZI. 251 earth have long since faded away before the teachings of the life immortal ? Need I tell you how worth- less my earthly laurels now seem to me, how wicked my conquests, or what tears of anguish I have shed, for every drop of brother's blood that I e'er caused to flow ? Need I paint to you the joy I now feel in being the resident of a blessed star, where peace rules, where no voice or hand is ever raised in anger, no image of war defaces the beautiful landscape ? But even on earth, brother, I was no wanton lover of cruelty. These bloody sports of the amphitheatre were most loathsome and repulsive to me (I speak not of this place, of course, which was not in exist- ence in my day, though we had an amphitheatre, almost as vast and costly, in the Campus) ; nor was I present at them but once in my short life, and then a most unwilling spectator. No, Kienzi ; like yourself, I was, at heart, far more of the scholar than the soldier ; but too happy, when I could snatch a brief hour from the tumults of the camp, for my loved poets. Could I have had my way, I would have spent all my days a student at Athens, or, at least, have found some quiet nook among the Alban hills for myself and dear Agrip- pina, where I might have mused over the pages of TuUy, or read the heavens with Aratus. 'Twas 252 GERMANICUS — RIENZI. not so written in the book of Providence, and, as I now know, most wisely. Even as it was, brother, though, I found time for some few literary labors, as you are aware. Hien. Oh, yes. I have read your translations, my friend, with great interest, and should have dearly loved to have seen your comedies. Ger. Trifles, trifles ! You must pardon this egotism, Rienzi ; I should not have said so much, but for my wish to vindicate myself from the im- putation of bloodthirstiness. Bien. On the contrary, brother, it is I who should apologize for a remark so uncalled for, so thoughtless ; as if it were possible for a cruel or ungentle thought to have found shelter in the bosom of Germanicus ! Ah no, no ! your charac- ter is quite too well established in the eyes of men and angels for such an accusation to find favor. Your portrait, as painted by the great master of history, hath no such unlovely feature in it. On the contrary, it is all graciousness and sweetness. I do not believe there is a hero of earth more be- loved and lamented, this very hour, by the children of men. Never shall I forget the enthusiasm with which, a mere boy, I read the story of your career ; the tears I shed over that beautiful dying speech GERMANICUS — KIENZI. 253 of yours ; the thrill I felt at those songs and shouts of joy, that rang through all Rome's streets, at the mere rumor of your recovery : " Salva Homa, salva patria, Salvus est Germanicus ; " and in after life, when I used to meditate among these ruins, and plan glorious enterprises for my regenerated country, need I say how conspicuous your image ever was in my visions ? Ah, had you lived out your days, brother, who knows what gloiy would have encircled your name ; what happiness might have been in store for this devoted city ! Ger. My dear friend, I am touched to the heart to hear you talk thus. But let us resume our former subject. Candidly now, Rienzi, have you not felt quite as much sorrow and disappoint- ment as I have in this visit to our old home ? You have certainly looked sad more than once to-day. Speak out, brother, and freely. Jlien. I will. Let me see ; yes, it is just five centuries ago, this very hour, since I was here. How well I remember the evening ! My last, brother, on earth ! The very next day was I in- humanly, treacherously murdered by that mob that I had vainly endeavored to exalt into a nation. I had been unusually well and cheerful that morn- ing, I remember, and had received the ambassa- 264 GERMANICUS — KIENZI. dors from the neighboring cities with a lighter heart and freer speech than I had known for years. They had come expressly to congratulate me on the defeat of the barons, and the deliverance of Rome from the great freebooter of Provence. At the banquet, too, which followed the audience, 1 was positively joyous. Oh, how charmingly my sweet Nina did the honors on that day ! Never before had she seemed so beautiful, so bewitching to me ! I dined but sparingly, however, and soon came forth to wander here, and to relieve my mind from the crowd of thoughts that were fast pressing upon me. 'Twas just such another evening as this, brother ; the same lovely light in the west, — the same tranquil, desolate picture around us, — the same plaintive music that we now hear from yonder belfry. Long did I pace these corridors, lost in conflicting meditations. Notwithstanding all the difficulties of my position, the jealousy of the cardinals, the bitter hatred of the nobility, and the rebellious disposition of the people, murmuring at a most just and necessary tax, I still saw much to encourage and cheer me ; still confided in the glorious cause to which I was pledged, in my own conscious integrity, and persuasive eloquence ; still looked forward to the consummation of those re- GERMANICUS — RIENZl. 255 forms, over whicli I had so long been brooding ; the organization of a citizen soldiery ; the con- struction of a new parliament, based on a more equitable system of representation ; the inflexible administration of justice ; the diffusion of equal and wholesome laws ; and, above all, of the bless- ings of education. I need not repeat to you, brother, the innumerable projects, reasonable and chimerical, that occupied my thoughts. You will smile, when I tell you, that among them w^as the demolition of this very pile itself, and the erection on its ruins of a Free Academy, to which all the youth of Kome and of Italy might resort, and drink of the pure fountains of learning, without money and without price. Yes, Germanicus, I will own it, I still cherished the bright vision of a happy family of republics, and Eome their glorious centre ; still looked forward to a long term of faithful service to the State, and a peaceful depar- ture at last, amid the tears and plaudits of my countrymen. Little dreamt I that conspiracy was that very moment aiming at my life, and the arch- conspirator my own most trusted friend ; httle dreamt I that, ere another sun should set, I should be reviled and trampled on by the very men I 256 GERMANICUS — RIENZt. would have died to serve ; and the first dagger to reach my heart, that of the vile ingrate, who — Ge7\ One moment, brother ; let these mortals pass. Rien. Yes, let us step beneath this archway. Ger. What a lovely young creature ! Such an ingenuous countenance, too 1 That was evidently her lover that was with her. Did you notice the beautiful cluster of wild flowers that she had ? Rien. I did ; gathered, doubtless, from these very ruins. Oer. And what was it she said with that sweet voice of hers ? " And as soon as we return to New York, Charles, I shall press these violets be- ttveen the pages of that beautiful Shakspeare you gave me." Rien. You have reported her rightly, brother, I believe. Ger, Think of that, Kienzi ; young lovers from a land whose very existence was undreamed of, even in your day, gathering violets from the very spot where sat the imperial Titus in all his glory ! What a text for the preacher is here ! Ah, there they go, beneath yon northern portal. Happy things, what to them is this dead town, and all its GERMANICUS — RIENZI. 257 memories ! But now, my dear friend, resume your discourse, I beg of you. Bien. Well, I was merely about to answer your question, brother. On returning, then, to my loved Kome, after so long an interval, do I find thi& bright vision of mine any nearer fulfilment ? Do I find much to cheer me as patriot and philan- thropist, or, like yourself, do I behold far more to grieve and vex my spirit ? I must honestly say, the latter. Not that I would be blind to the im- provements here. Nay, this very spot hath lost something of its dreariness. As I said before, these excavations and restorations have revived somewhat of its original grandeur. Yon villa, too, that crowns the Palatine, the gardens and churches that dot the other hills around us, soften somewhat the sense of desolation. Above all, that magnifi- cent dome, outlined on yonder glowing sky, and the treasures of art that are sheltered beneath it, these are things, brother, not to be passed by in ungrateful silence. Yes, Germanicus, there have been mighty deeds done here in Art and Letters, since my little day on earth ; the glorious cause of learning, to which my beloved Petrarch gave such an impulse, has been crowned with precious tri- umphs ; triumphs that we have this day witnessed 258 GERMANICUS KIENZI. in stately libraries, and in the master-pieces that adorn all the palaces and churches of the metropo- lis. But, alas ! the genius that animated these mighty masters seems to have quite abandoned their descendants ; and of the great works of the present generation that we have admired, are not nearly all the productions of strangers among us ? Ge7\ Too true, brother. Bien. There are other improvements, too, not to be gainsayed. I find better built and quieter streets ; roads comparatively purged of brigands ; the comforts of life somewhat more diffused ; some useful and beautiful inventions, the benefits of which are within the reach of all. Nor have my ears been assailed by those cries of midnight vio- lence, those terrible street-feuds, that disgraced Eome in my time. The hand of charity, too, has not been idle ; though, alas, the subjects of her ministrations are as numerous as ever ! Oh, how pained I have been, brother, to behold such multi- tudes of beggars as have annoyed us at every turn and corner ; the halt, the maimed, the blind, the leprous, haunting every ruin, disfiguring every palace ! Nay, one can hardly say one's prayers in church for the importunities of these creatures. Ge7'. A piteous spectacle. Do you know, GERMANICUS — RIENZI. 259 Rienzi, that I have seen far more of these poor wretches to-day than in all my earthly experience before ? Bien. No doubt, no doubt. At the same time, it must be acknowledged that the charitable insti- tutions here are far more grand and costly, the modes of treatment far more wise and beneficial, than we could boast of But, admitting all these things, how much substantial cause for soitow re- mains ! Yes, in all the essentials of true national greatness, has not poor Rome as much to seek to- day, as when I vainly sought to do her service ? Look at her government — bankrupt alike in means and character ; dependent for the very breath it draws on the will of a foreign banker, and the bay- onets of foreign soldiers ; at her priesthood, power- less for aU good ends, yet as arrogant and intoler- ant at heart as if they still dictated terms to the sovereigns of earth ; holding fast to every old abuse and mummery, — setting their faces against all true progress ; their high priest, what a sor- rowful figure does he present ! Meanly recoiling from his own better nature, disavowing his own reforms, and preferring the protection of strangers to the love of his countrymen ; and now (unless rumor sadly belies him) quenching in the wine-cup 260 GERMANICUS — RIENZI. every latent aspiration of his heart ; fast sinking into the imbecile's grave, and to be remembered only as one of the least worthy of his line. And the people ; the poor, priest-ridden, tax-devoured people, what voice have they in the public coun- sels ? Where are the laws that should set forth their rights, the champions that should maintain them ? Nay, have you not seen yourself, Ger- manicus, that it is treason to speak aloud my name in the streets of Eome ? Every expression of a sentiment for freedom, every suggestion of a mea- sure for the relief of the masses, may it not, at any moment, consign the unfortunate man who utters it to the dungeons of St. Angelo ? So absolute is the reign of terror here, so universal the practice of espionage ! What remains, then, but a servile acquiescence in a system which every man at heart hates and despises ; a system which, with all its show of sanctity, its long robes and faces that it wears for state occasions, every one feels to be false, and rotten to the core. Need I dwell on these points, brother ? Do not the crumbling towns, the neglected fields, the deserted sea-ports, the sad countenances that we see every where, the crowds of beggars that swarm in every piazza, line eveiy highway, tell the mournful tale, far bet- GERMANICUS — RIENZI. 261 ter than I can ? Worst, saddest of all, the very peace of the State (if we may call such death-like torpor peace) secured by foreign soldiers. Ger. Ay, brother, nothing that I have wit- nessed has so galled me as this ; so revived earthly passions and prejudices within me ; to see the walls of Rome, the omnipotent Rome, guarded by the troops of those very barbarians whom I thought scarce worthy of my sword ; to be sent to conquer whom, seemed little better than honorable banish- ment. Bien. Even so ; Rome is protected from extinc- tion, this very hour, only by the jealousy of rival powers. Ger. And the countrymen of Brutus and of Rienzi tamely submit to these things ! Bien. True, true ; our very names, as I said before, may not be spoken aloud in these streets, Ger. But have there been no efforts made for freedom since your day, brother ? Bien. Only one, Germanicus, that history will ever speak of ; and that a recent one. But, alas ! the triumph was even more short-lived, the disas- ter and defeat more speedy and terrible, than were my own. True, it hath not fared so hardly with the leader. He has not been murdered by his un- 262 GERMANICUS — RIENZI. grateful followers, nor, thank heaven, hath he fallen into the clutches of the oppressor. He still lives, full of faith and heart, and inspired, they tell me, by visions, bright as ever gilded my path ; but of his companions, many are, even now, languish- ing in the dungeons of yonder fortress, and will, I fear, never again behold the light of day. Others, in their despair, have turned their backs on Rome for ever, and are enjoying in far-off lands the rights no longer recognized here. Ger. And must it ever be thus ? See you no specks of hope, brother, in the horizon ? No indi- cations of a restoration of our national character and prosperity ? Are there, indeed, no more golden days in store for Rome ? Are these hills around us ever to remain thus silent and neglected ? Not that I would revive, brother, those horrible crea- tions, whose wrecks we are now gazing on. Heaven forbid ! Ah no ! no more Golden Houses, polluted by the orgies of fiends ; no more colossal Piles, dedicated, like this, to bloodshed ; or Arches, that tell of cruel and exterminating wars ; or Baths, where men may dream away their lives in sloth and luxury : but are there to be no stately man- sions again reared upon them, the abodes of vir- tuous freemen ; no piles dedicated to Art, and GERMANICUS RIENZI. 263 Science, and Charity, and to a pure and simple Faith, purged of all monstrous legends, and gaudy pageantries ? Is this forum at our feet never again to be frequented by free and loyal citizens ? Is the voice of a Cato or a TuUy never more to be raised here in behalf of truth and justice ? These fields, are they always to remain thus desolate, or will they not smile again beneath an intelligent culture ? Yon campagna, will it not again be crossed by stately roads, dotted with villas, and orchards, and gardens ? And those old hills that enclose it, so dear to tradition, will not their pure air again be breathed by the free ? Will not the shouts of happy boyhood be once more heard among them ? Will not their pleasant groves and murmuring rills once more, as of old, invite and soothe the meditations of genius and of pa- triotism ? How say you, brother ? Or is this sad scene to remain thus ever, grieving the heart of the citizen, sounding its solemn warning to the stranger, through all time ? Bien. Who shall say, Germanicus ? Who shall presume to read God's book of providence ? It may be, that the fair picture you have painted, is yet to be realized here. It may be, that a city ig yet to rise from these ruins, more lovely and 264 GERMANICUS RIENZI. stately than earth has ever borne, and crowned with all those blessings, which mortals now under- stand by the word Liberty ; free speech, an unfet- tered press, a fair distribution of rights and duties, a various, well-requited industry, an universally diffused education, with all the inventions, com- forts, benefits, that follow in their train. It may be, that they are to remain thus, reading, as you say, their sad lesson to humanity, till not one stone survives, not one trace of human hands can be identified here. One thing, brother, is certain. There can be no rapid redemption of Rome from this rule of tyranny and ignorance, no sudden transformation of this populace into a people. There was my great error, Germanicus, when in the body ; the enthusiast's dream, for which I laid down my life ; the idea, that in a few short months, or years, I could turn a mob into a nation ; could reap those precious fruits of- freedom, which it costs centuries of toil and tribulation to ripen. Had I been fifty fold wiser and better tha^n I was, still this fancied mission of mine could not have been, cannot yet be fulfilled. This is the true moral of my career, brother, admirably set forth as it is, in that charming book I was showing you yesterday, Ger. What, by the great novelist of Britain ? GERMANICUS — RIENZI. 265 Eien. The same ; a most brilliant^ but quite too flattering picture of my character and talents. Ger. I was much struck with it ; nor shall I readily forget, brother, the air of fright and mystery, with which the poor little bookseller handed you the volume, or the solemn promise of secresy as to the transaction, which he exacted from the ghostly borrower. But do you remember the passage you refer to ? Rien. I think I can recall a part of it ; 'tis the very last in the book. " The moral of the tribune's life, and of this fiction, is not the stale and unpro- fitable moral that warns the ambition of an indi- vidual ; more vast, more solemn, and more useful, it addresses itself to nations. It proclaims, that to be great and free, a people must not trust to in- dividuals, but themselves ; that there is no sudden leap from servitude to liberty ; that it is to insti- tutions, not to men, that they must look for re- forms that last beyond the hour ; that their own passions are the real despots they should subdue, their own reason the true regenerator of abuses. With a calm and noble people, the individual am- bition of a citizen can never effect evil ; to be im- patient of chains is not to be worthy of freedom ; to massacre a magistrate is not to amehorate the 12 266 GERMANICUS — RIENZI. laws." There is still another sentence, I beheve, but it has escaped me. Ger. Truly, nobly stated. Oh, when will the nations of the earth learn and apj^ly these lessons ? But come, brother, the mists are rising round us, and the light is fast fading from the sky. Dark- ness will soon o'ertake us. Come, let us leave this desolate scene, these merciless walls, to spirits more congenial to them ; to those who, living, presided over, exulted in their horrors. Here, indeed, might fitly muse and wander the blood-stained Domitian, the brutal Commodus, the aye-frowning Caracalla ; but 'tis no place for gentle souls like ours. Away, away ! Even as I speak, my own dear star springs into sight, and seems to bid me welcome. Come, brother, you know your promise. You were to spend some happy days with me, in my new abode. I long to show you the dear soci- ety around me, and the pleasant toils, and profit- able studies that employ my hours. You mean to keep your word, surely. Rien. I do, indeed, and I anticipate great de- light from my visit. You were also to read me some of your recent poetry, you know. Ger. No great inducement, that ; still, you will find it some improvement on my earthly verses. GERMANICUS — RIENZI. 267 Rien. And then, Germanicus, I am to show you, in return, my own new home in the heavens. You will see some things there, I am sure, that will both delight and surprise you. Ger. No doubt, no doubt ; but ah, what strains are those ? Rien. 'Tis only our holy brethren of San Gre- gorio, chanting their vespers on the Coelian. Ger. A pleasant sound, truly. But come, brother, to wing, to wing. Bien. Lead on» brother, I follow you. [Exeunt. THE END. A LIST OF N E AV W^ O K K S IN GENERAIL, tilTERATURE, PUBLISHED BT D. APPLETON & COMPANY, 346 & 34S Broadway. %* Complete Catalogues, containing full descriptions, to he had on application to the Publishers. 15 Agriculture and Rural Affairs. 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MAP.IA LO0I8A, DUKE OF REICH8TADT, LUCIEN BONAPARTE, MARSHAL JUNOT, CHARLES BONAPARTE, PAULINE BONAPARTE, MADAME LAETITIA BONAPARTE, ELIZA BONAPARTE, CUAELES BONAPARTE, Probably no writer has had the same op- portunities for becoming acquainted with NAPOLEON THE GREAT as the Duchess D'Abrantes. Ilcr mother rocl^ed him in his cradle, and when he quitted Brienne and came to Paris, she guid- ed and protected his younger days. Scarcely a day passed without his visiting her liouse during the period which preceded his depar- ture for Italy as COMMANDEPv-IN-CIIIEF. Abundant occasion was therefore had for watchincr the development of the great genius who afterwards became tho master of the greater part of Europe. MAESHAL JUNOT, who became allied to the autnor of this work by marriasre, was the intimate friend of Na- poleon, and figured in most of the BRILLIANT ENGAGEMENTS which rendered him the greatest military captain of the asre. No interruption took place in the intinjacy which she enjoyed, so that in all these scenes, embracing a period of nearly THIRTY YEARS, the Duchess became familiar with all the secret springs of NAPOLEON'S ACTIONS, JEROME BONAPARTE, LOUIS BONAPARTE, CARDINAL FE8CH, LOUISA, QUEEN OF PBUSBU, JOSEPH BONAPARTE. either through her husband or by her cwn personal knowledge and observation at tho Court of Napoleon. JOSEPIIINE, whose life and character so peculiarly attract the attention of all readers, occupies a great part of the first volume. The character and the deeds of THE EMPERORS AND KINGS, THE GREAT MEN OF THE DAY, THE MARSHALS OF THE EMPIRE, THE DISTINGUISHED LADIES OF THE COURT, are described with minuteness, which pei sonal ohserv:ition only admits of. The work is written in that FAMILIAR GOSSIPING STYLE, and so interspersed with anecdotes that the reader never wearies. She has put every thing in her book — great events and small. B.iTTLES AND BALLS, COURT INTRIGUES AND BOUDOIR GOSSIP, TREATIES AND FLIRTATIONS, making two of the most charming volumef of memoirs, which will interest the reader in spite of himself. Opinions of the Press. " These anecdotes of Napoleon are the best yet given to the world, because the most Intimate and familiar." — London Literary Giizette. " We consider the performance now before us as more authentic and amusing than any other (if its kind." — London Qiiarterly Review. " Every thing relating to Napoleon is eagerly sought for and read in this country as well tB In Eui ope, and this work, with its extraordinary attractions, will not fail to command » wide circulation. Madame Junot possessed qualifications for writing a semi-domestic history of the great Corsican which no other person, male or female, could command."— Life lUuatrated. D. APPLETON a, CO:S PUBLICATIONS. A \Vork abounding in Exciting Scenes and Remarkable Incidents. Capt. Canot ; OR, TWENTY YEARS OF AN AFRICAN SLAVER : BEING AN ACCOUNT OF HIS CAREEK AND ADVENTURES ON THE COAST, 19 THE INTERIOR, ON SHIPBOARD, AND IN THE "WEST INDIES. Written out and Edited from the Captain'' s Journals, Memoranda, and Oonveraationt. BY BRANT Z MAYER. One Volume, "12nio. With eight Illustrations. Price $1 26. Criticisms of the Press. "The author is a literary gentleman (if Baltimore, no Abolitionist, and we believe tfc» t\'ork to be a trutliful account of the life of a man who saw much more than falls to the lot of most men." — Commomcealth. " A remarkable volume is this; because of its undoubted truth : It having been derived by Mayer from personal conversations with Canot, and from journals which the slaver fur- nished of his own life." — Worcester Palladium. " Capt. Canot, the hereof the narrative, is, to our own knowledge, a veritable person- age, and resides in Baltimore. There is no doubt that the main incidents connected with his extraordinary career are in every respect true. ' — Arthur's Home GazHte.. " Under one aspect, as the biography of a rem.arkable man who passed through a sin- gularly strange and eventful experience, it is as interesting as any sea story that we have ever read." — Boston Evening Traveller. "Capt. Canot has certainly passed through a life of difficulty, danger, and wild, daring adventure, which has much the air of romance, anil still he, or rather his editor, tells the tile with so much straightforwardness, that we cannot doubt its truthfulness." — New York Sunday Desi>aU:lu "The Work could not have been better done if the principal actor had combined the descriptive talent of De Foe with the astuteness of Kouche and the de.xterity of Gi. Bias, which traits are ascribed to the worthy whose acquaintance we shall soon make by bis admiring editor. '" — N. Y. Tribune. "The general style of the work is attractive, and the narrative spirited and bold — well suited to the daring and hazardous course of life led by the adventurer. This book is illus- trated by si'veral excellent engravings." — Baltimore American. "Tlie biography of an African slaver as taken from his own li[)S, and giving his adven- tures in this trathc for twenty years. With great natural keenness of perception and com- plete communicativeness, he has literally uiima-sked his real life, and tells both what h« was and ichat he saip, the latter being the Photograph of the Negro in Africa, which has been so Ion;; wanted. A nephew of Mr. Mayer has illustrated the volume with eight ad- mirable drawings. We should think no book of the jiresent day would be received with so keen an interest" — Home Journal. '• Capt. Canot has passed most of his life since 1319 on the ocean, and his catalogue of adventures at sea and on land, rival in srotesqueness and apparent improbability the mar- vels of Uobinson Crusoe." — Earning Post. "If stirring incidents, hair-breadth escapes, and variety of adventure, can make a book Interesting, this must possess abundant attractions."— A'isicdrA; Daily Advertiser. " This is a true record of the life of one who had spent the greater part of his days in dealing in human flesh. We commend this book to all lovers of adventure." — Boston Chrixtian Recorder. " We would advise every one who is a lover of ' books that are books' — every one who •dmires Le Sage and De Foe, and has lingered long over the charming pages of Gil Blaa Md Robinson Cnuoe — every one, pro-slavery or anti-slavery, to purchase this book."— Buffalo Courier D. APPLETON & CO:S PUBLICATIONS. BeT. Samuel Osgood's Two Popular Books. Mile Stones in our Life Journey SECOND EDITION. One Volume, 12mo. Cloth. Pnce $1, Opinions of the Press. " In so small a compsss, wo rarely meet with more Catholic sjTnpathies, and with I clearer or more practical view of the privileces enjoyed by, and the duties enjoined, upoB as all, at any stage of our mortal pilgrimaci." — Church Journal. "Some passages remind us forcit)ly of Addison and Goldsmith." — Independent. "This little volume is one of those books which are read by all classes at all stages ol life, with an interest which loses nothing by change or circumstances." — Pennsylvanian. " He writes kindly ; strongly and readably; nor is their any thing in this volume of t narrow, bigoted, or sectarian character." — Life Jlluntrated. " His counsels are faithful and wholesome, his reflection touching, and the whole is clothed in a style gr.aceful and treQ."— Hartford Relig. Herald. " This is a volume of beautiful and cogent essays, virtuous in motive, simple in expres- sion, pertinent and admirable in logic, and glorious in conclusion and climax." — Buffal* Eacpresa. "It is written with exquisite taste, is full of beautiful thought most felicitously OS- pressed, and is pervaded by a genial and benevolent spirit." — Dr. Sprague. " Almost every page has a tincture of elegant scholarship, and bears witness to an ox- tensive reading of good authors."— .Sryaw^. II. The Hearth-Stone ; THOUGHTS UPON HOME LIFE IN OUR CITIES. BY SAilUEL OSGOOD, AUTHOR OF "STUDIES IN CHRISTIAN BIOQEAPHT," "GOD WITH MEN," Kta FOUKTH EDITION. One Volume, 12mo. Cloth. Prlc« $1. Criticisms of the Press. "This is a volume of elegant and impressive essays on the domestic relations and reli- gious duties of the household. Mr. Osgood writes on these interesting themes in the most charming and animated style, winning the reader's judgment rather than coercing it to ths buthor's conclusions. The predominant sentiments in the book are purity, sincerity, and love. A more delightful volume has rarely been published, and we trust it will have t wi(ie circulation, for its influence must be salutary upon botli old and yoimg." — Commer- cial Advertiser. " The ' Hearth-Stone' is the symbol of all those delightful truths which Mr. Osgood her* connects with it. In a free and graceful style, varying from deep solemnitj to the most genial and lively tone, as befits his range of subjects, he gives attention to wise though ta on holy things, and homely truths. His volume will find mar y -warm hearts Jo which It Will address itself." — Christian Meaminer. L. APPLETON i: CO.'S PUBLICATION'S. A Oreat IVational TW^ork. Party Leaders. SKETCHES OF JEFFERSON, HAMILTON, RANDOLPH, JACKSON, AND CLAY: J Including Notice* of many other Distinguished American Statetmen BY J. G. BALDWIN, (Now of Ban Francisco, Califwnia.) Author of " Flush Times of jilabama and MissiuippL One Yolame, 12mo. Cloth. Price $1 OPINIONS OF SMINENT MEN. From Ex-Pre^dent Fillmoee. I have read " Party Leaders" with great satisfaction and delight, and return you a thoa Band thanks for the pleasure and insujiction 1 have derived from the perusal. From, Ilbnorable Edwaed Eveeett. What little I have as yet been able to read of it, has impressed me very favorably in re- ference to the ability and impartiality with which it Is drawn up. I am prepared to read it with interest and advantage, in consequence of the pleasure I derived from "The Flush Times in Alabama." From Honorable J. P. Kennedy. I was greatly delighted with the fine, discriminating, acute insight with which the cha- racters presented in the work are drawn, and with the eloquent style of the sketches. I but repeat the common opinion of the best judges, which I hear every where expressed, when I commend these qualities of the book. "The Flush Times of Alabama" had whetted my desire to see this second production of Mr. Baldwin's pen, and 1 can hardly express to yon the agreeable surprise I enjoyed in finding a work of such surpassing merit in a tone and manner so entirely different from the first— demonstrating that double gift in the author which enables him to excel in two such opposite departments of literature. From Hon. E. M. T. HcirrEE, U. 8. Senator from Virginia. I have read " Party Leaders" with great pleasure. It is written with ability, and wifn fteshness, and grace of style, * * * The chapters on Randolph are capital. From Hon. Ja^tes M. Mason, U. & Senator fvom Virginia. . I have heard "Party Leaders" highly commended by those competent to judge, but confess I was not prepared for the intellectual and literary feast its rich pages have yielded. Asa literary work, I shall be much disappointed if it does not place its author at once In the first rank of American literature, and even in old England. I shall look for its place nett to, if not by the side of, the kindred works of M::Intosh and Macaulay. From a I>i«tinguiiihed Statesman. It is a noble production, full of profound thought, discriminating judgment, just crlti etsm, and elevated sentiments, all expressed in the most captivating and eloquent style. It U m book just according to my fancy, and, I think, one of th« most captivating in oui tonguage. D. APPLETON & C0:8 PUBLICATIONS. A PracticEil Book ou the Breeding of Fish A COMPLETE TREATISE ON Artificial Fifli-Breeding : INCLUDING THE KEPOKTS ON THE SUBJECT MADE TO THE FRENCH ACADEMY AND THE FKENCH GOYEENMENT, AND PAETICU- LAK3 OF THE DISCOVERY AS PURSUED IN ENGLAND. TKAX6LATED AND EDITED BY WM. H. FRY. ILLUSTRATED WITH ENQRAVINOS. One Volume. 12mo. Cloth. Price 75 cents. Opinions of the Press. " A very genial aitd entertaining, though practical and scientiflc book. No one who loves the existence in our rivers, brooks, or lakes, of trout and salmon, should be without It" — Broome Republic. "In this little volume, the whole process of fish-culture is described so plainly and with 60 ninch minuteness that any person will have no difficulty in informing himself sufficiently well to engage in the business ; provided he has the necessary facilities and leisure, with a Jtood running stream or pond, and the proper attention, a great brood of fishes may be oatcbed from the eggs, and raised up for the market or the table ; and such delicacies are trout and salmon, that it is evident that the business of producing them for sale may bo made profitable." — Worcester Palladium. " This discovery is treated as a matter of great public benefit in France and England, where it is practised under the direction and patronage of Government, and is beginning to work its results in stocking rivers and lakes, with the finest species of fish, where few or oone have before existed for many years." — Ohio Cultivator. " Every farmer who has a stream flowing through his land, or miller who wishes to turn Vis ponds to some account, should make himself acquainted with the details of the book." —Neioark Daily Advertiser. " A GREAT, A GLOEIOUS BOOK."-Cour. & Enq D. APPLETON & CO., 346 & 348 BROADWAY, HAVE JUST PUBLISDED THE VIRGINIA COMEDIANS; OE, @Iir gap ill t\t ©to Daminioit. FROM THE MSS, OF C. EFFINGHAM, Esq. Two vols. 12mo. paper, $1; cloth, $1 50. A volume wMch has been pronounced the best novel of the day. Peruse the criticisms of the following papers. " It Is not only unlike the monstrous mass of efforts whJch nave preceded It — and therefore, attractive in the light of comparison, and for Its perfect newness — but It is freiehted with such an ardor of style, fervor of imagination, beauty of description, both •s regards characters and scenes, and a plenitude of genial spirit, that Its reader is sure to be Its lover. " The story, which commences about the middle of the last century. Is located in Virginia, Its personce in dramatis being composed of many choice spirits who figured, or were supposed to figure, at that period. "We have not seen Its equal for many a day, and heartily apply to it the old verse, ' May this book continue in motion. And its leaves every day be unfurled.' " Buffalo Courier. " The period of the story is about the middle of the last century ; the place Williams- barg, Virginia, and Its vicinity; the characters Virginia gentlemen of that day and generation, among whom comes Beatrice ffallam, the leading actress of a company ol comedians of that Ilk, and one of the most striking, truthful, and lovable characters In modem fiction. The Interest of the book never flags. The characters are such that we eannot be indifferent to them, and the author absorbs us in their actions and their fate." — Courier <& inquirer. " The tone of the book Is Intensely national. It has come on ns completely by Bur pilB«, for we had no conception of Ita character, nntU we were half through the flnt Tolume, and we must confess that we were at the outset extremely unprepared ftit faoh a display of Uterary power." — y. Y. ExpreM. D. APFLETON & C0MPANT8 PUBLICATIONS. The Great Work on Russia. Fifth Edition now ready. RUSSIA AS IT IS. By Count A. de Gurowski. One neat volume 12tno., pp.328, well printed. Prico $1, cloth. CONTENTS. — Preface. — Introduction. — Czarism: its historical origin — ^Tb Czar Nicholas. — The Organization of the Government. — ^The Army and Navy. — The Nobility. — ^The Clergy. — ^The Bourgeoisie — The Cossacks.- The Real People, the Peasantry. — Tlie Rights of Aliens and Strangers. — The Commoner. — Emancipation. — Manifest Destiny. — Appendix. — The Amazons. — ^The Fourteen Classes of the Russian Public Service ; or, the Tschins. — The Political Testament of Peter the Great. — Extract from an Old Chronicle. Notices of the Press. "The author takes no superficial, empirical view of his subject, but collectins a rich variety of facts, brings the lights of a profound philosophy to their explanation. His work. Indeed, neglects no essential detail — it is minute and accurate in its statistics — it abounds In lively pictures of .society, manners and character. * * Whoever wishes to obtain an accurate notion of the internal condition of Russia, the nature and extent of her resources, and the practical influence of her institutions, will here find better materials for his pur- pose than in any single volume now extant." — N. Y. Tribune. " This is a powerfull-y-written book, and will prove of vast service to every one who desires to comprehend the real nature and bearings of the great contest in which Russia is now engaged.'' — N. Y. Courier. " It is original in its conclusions ; it Is striking in its revelations. Numerous as are tht volumes that have been written about Russia, we really hitherto have known little of that Immense territory — of that numerous people. Count Gurowski's work sheds a light which at this time is most welcome and satisfactory." — N. Y. Times. "The book is well written, and as might be expected in a work by a writer so unu- sually conversant with all sides of Russian affairs, it contains so much important InformatioB respecting the Russian people, their government and religion." — Com. Advertiser. "This is a valuabk work, explaining in a very satisfactory manner the internal conditions of the Russian people, and the construction of their political society. The institutions of Russia are presented as they exist in reality, and as they are determined by existing and obligatory laws." — M. Y. Herald. " A hasty glanc* over this handsome volume has satisfied us that it is one worthy of general perusal. * * It is full of valuable historical information, with very interest- ing accounts of ftie various classes among the Russian people, their condition and aspi rations." — 2^. Y. Sun. "This is a volume that can hardly fail to attract very general attention, and command a wide sale In view of the present juncture of European affairs, and the prominent part therein which Russia is to play." — Cftica Gazette. " A timely book. It will be found all that it professes to be, though some may be start M Hi some of its conclusions." — Boston Atlas. " This is one of the bestof all the books caused by the present excitement In relation t« Russia. It is a very able publication — one that will do much to destroy the general belief In the infallibility of Russia. The writer shows himself master of his subject, and treats of the Internal condition of Russia, her institutions aud cnstoirvs, society, laws, &c., in an eb Mghtened and scholarly mann»r." — City Itein. D. APPLE TUN ^ CO.'S PUBLICATIONS OAPT. FOOTE'S NEW AND HIGHLY INTERESTING WORK Africa and the American Flag. BY COMMANDER ANDREW H. FOOTE, Luut. Commanding U. S. Brig " Perry^'' on the Coast of Africa, A. D. 1850-51. ILLUSTRATED WITH HANDSOMELY TINTED LITHOGRAPHIC PLATEa One Volume, 12mo. 379 pages. Price $1 50. CONTENTS. Discoveries by French and Portuguese along the Coa.?t— Slave Trade Systematized "Horrors of the Middle Passage" — African Nations— Formation of the American Colonization Society — Disposal of Recaptured Slaves by the American Government— The Commonwealth of Liberia— Thos. 11. Buchanan— Use of the American Flag in the Slave Trade— Slavers at Bassa— Expedition against them— Conflict- Death of King Bentrerai — Expedition of Buchanan against Gaytinuba— Death of Buchanan— His Character— Condition of Liberia as a Nation— Aspect of Liberia to a Visitor— Condition Df the People compared with that of their race in the United States— Schools— Condi- tion of Slaves on board of the Slave Vessels — Capture of the Slave Barque Pons — Affair with the Natives near Palmas — Cruise of the " Perry" — Abuse of the American Flag— An Arrangement made with the British Commodore for the Joint Cruising of the " Perry" and Steamer "Cyclops" — Capture of the American Slave Ship "Martha" — Claims to Brazilian Nationality— Letters found on board illustrative of the Slave Trade — St Helena- Appearance of the Island — Island of Madeira— Interference of the British Consul with the " Louisa Benton"— Necessity of Squadrons for Protection of Com- merce and Citizens Abroad. This very interesting volume makes us acquainted with very im- portant facts connected with the efforts of the American Government to suppress the Slave Trade on the Coast of Africa. Lieut. Foote not only places before us a record of what occurred whilst he was in com- mand of the U. S. Brig " Perry," but gives us an account of the History and Government of the African Race — their Manners and Customs, an Account of the Establishment of the Commonwealth of Liberia, ita Condition, Prospects, Scbool. 1 large vol. 8vo. pp. 686. Price $3. II. HISTORY OF FRANCE, FEOM THE EAKLLEST PERIOD TO THE PRESENT TIME. By M. MICHELET, Professor a la Faculty des Lettres, Professor i I'Ecole Xormale, ItsuflScient praise." — Troy Times. "This now story of Dumas will afford a delightful resource for a leisure hour." — Th4 Bisarre. "This very entertaining novel is indubitably one of Dumas's best efforts: it cannot f«il t« b«eome widely popular." — N. Y. Courier. "A phasing, romantic love story, written with the author's usual vigor." — Newark Adv. •* A quiet domestic tale that must charm all readers.'' — Syracuse Daily. ** This is a lively story of love, jealousy and intrigue, in a French village." — Phila. VaUg fXtnfs. "The fame of the author will aloiio secure a wide circulation for this book. He i» ODi of the best novel writers living. 'The Foresters' fully sustains his great reputation."— Troy Daily Times. "This exceedingly entertaining novel is from tlie pen of one of the most eminent t-ni flelebratcd of Modern French novelists — Alexander Dumas." — Binghampton Repiihlican. "This producti.m of the celebrated author, is written In the same masterly style fot vhlch all his works are noted." — Hartford Times. "The Foresters, as a work by itself, is one of many chariri. That the book will bt Mfwrly sought alter, there can be no doubt. That every reader will admire it is none tb« teas certain. — Buffalo Morning Express. "It will be found an interesting story."— vlr Country. By MANSFIELD PARKYNS, Eso. "With Illustrations. 2 vols. l2mo. Price, $2 50. Cloth. LITERARY CRITICISMS. " Of one thing we are convinced, and that Is, that few that take up " Life in Abyssinia," will lay it down without reading it through, and without exclaiming when they come to the end "what an amusing book this is, and what an agreeabl« ta\age is Mansfield Parkyns." — BlackicoocTs Magazine. " Since the appearance of " Typee and Omoo," we have seen no more agreeable volumes of travel than those of Mr. Parkyns."— £'fe. Post. " Mr. Marsfield Parkyns is no tourist, but a genuine traveller. Tn acquaintance with E.istern languages and manners he is a Buckhardt ; his liking for Natural History and assiduity as a eollector, reminds us of Waterton ; while in his pa.ssion for the cnase, and occasional introduction of elephants, giraffes, and lions, he bears an obvious likenpss to Campbell or Gordon C-amming.''^— Dublin Magazine. "Remarkably entertaining and interesting volumes, brimfull of adventures and life. We have read them with perfect gusto, and cordially join "Blackwood's recom- mendation." — Boston Atlas. " A story of three years in Abyssinian life, by one so keen in observation and fond of adventure as Mr. Parkyns could not but promise a great attraction ; and no one who opens this book will lay it down in disappointment He sketches the incidents of his travels with great distinctness and vividness and portrays character, wherever he meets it, capitally." — JVi Y. Courier. " The author appears to have become thoroughly naturalized among the singular people with whom it was his lot to dwell, and tells the story of his adventures with a Mveliness and freedom from reserve that are extremely captivating." — Jour, of Com. " Dullness certainly has no share in Mr. Parkyns' composition — it is a capital book."— f. S. Gazette. "This is no ordinary production." — Albany Argus. " Attractive as a romance while they have the merit of usefulness."- ^o«?o7i Cour. " The most interesting book of travel issued from the press in many years." — Phila. Courier. " In every respect the volumes are truly attractive." — American Courier. " We have been highly amused, and, we must say, instructed, in the perusal of Mi. Parkyn's adventures."— .B;yfaZo Demuerat. " We do not hesitate to commend the book to our readers— It will amply repay tbeir atccntion." — Hartford Times. " The work fulfils all the author promises."— CArMWaii Register. " To all who are in any kind of trouble from hot weather, bad temper, unpaid bili^ ■od the like annoyances, we would recommend this book." — Providence Journal. " The style is pleasant and many of the incidents are piquant and startling."— iJocA#». '■er American. " These are two dellghtftil volumes of travel, fresh, racy and glowing with lUk."— Oom. Adtertiter D. APfLf:TON 4" CO.'S PUBLICATIONS. THE GREAT KENTUCKY NOVEL. D. APPLETON & COMPANY HAVE JUST PUBLISHED Tempest and Sunfliine ; or, Life in Kentucky. BY MRS. MARY J. HOLMES. One Volume, 12mo Paper covers, 75 cents; cloth, $1. These are the most striking and original sketches of American character in the South-western States which have ever been pub lished. The character of Tempest is drawn with all that spirit and energy which characterize the high toned female spirit of the South, while Sunshine possesses the loveliness and gentleness of the sweetest of her sex. The Planter is sketched to the life, and in his strongly marked, passionate, and generous nature, the reader will recognize one of the truest sons of the south-west. OPINIONS OF THE PRESS. "Thebookte well written, and its fame will be more than ephcmontL"— .B««^to Vxpresa. " The story Is interesting and finely developed." — Daily Times. " A lively romance of western life— the style of the writer is smart, intelligent, and wiiiniug, and her 6tory is told with spirit and skill." — U. S. Gazette. " An excellent work, and its sale must be extensive." — Stamford Advocate. " The whole is relieved by a generous introduction of incident as well as by an am plitnde of love and mystery." — Express. " A delightful, well written book, portraying western life to the letter. The book abounds in an easy humor, with touching sentences of tenderness and pathos scattp-ed through it, and from first to last keeps up a humane interest that very many authors strive in vain to achieve. ' Tempest ' and ' Sunshine,' two sisters, are an exempliflca- tion of the good that to some comes by nature, and to others is found cnly through trials, temptation, and tribulation. Mr. Middleton, the father of 'Tempest and 'Bun shine,' is the very soul and spirit of ' Old Kaintuck,' abridged into one mai». The b«>t is worth reading. There is a healthy tone of morality pervading it that will uiake U « lultable work to be placed in the hands of our daughters and sisters."— .ATew York Du% Book. n. APPLETON MPLvn Concordance to Shakspeare," Ac. One handsomely printed volume, large 12mo. over 500 pages. Price $1.25— doth. " Mrs. Clarke has given us one of the most delightful novels we have read for many a day, and one which Is destined, we doubt not, to be much longtr lived than the majority «f books of its class. Its chief beauties are a certain freshness In the style in which the In- cidents are presented to us — a healthful tone pervading it — a completeness In most of th* characters — and a truthful power in the descriptions." — London Times. " We have found the volume deeply interesting — its characters are well drawn, whlla Rs tone and sentiments are well calculated to exert a purifying and ennobling intluenca upon all who read it." — Savannah liepublican. "The scene of the book is village life amongst the upper class, with village episodes, irhich seem to have been sketched from the life — there is a primitive 6im|)lieity and gre^t- aess of heart about some of the characters which keep up the sympathy and interest to the end." — London Globe. " The reader cannot fail of being both charmed and jiistructed by the book, and ol hoping that a pen so able will not lie \^\e."—Penn8ylvanian. " We fearlessly recommend it as a work of more than ordinary merit." — BinghampUm Daily Republic " The great moral lesson indicated by the title-page of this book runs, as a golden thread, through every part of it, while the reader is constantly kept in contact with the workings of an inventive and brilliant raiu^"— Albany Argus. " We have read this fascinating story with a good deal of interest Human nature is well and faithfully portrayed, and we see the counterpart of our story in cliaracter and disposition, in every village and district The book cannot fail of popular reception."— Albany and Rochester Courier. " A work of deep and powerful influence.'' — Herald. " Mrs. Cowden Clarke, with the delicacy and artistic tast« of refined womanhood, has in Atis work shown great versatility of talent." " The story is too deeply interesting to allow the reader to lay it down till be has read It to the end." "The work is skilful in plan, graphic in style, divettified in incident and true to nature.' " The tale Is charmingly Imagined. The incidents never exceed probability but s«em perfectly natural In the style there is much quaintness, in the sentiment much tendernea,*" " It is a spirited, charming story, full of adventure^ friendship and love, with characters n;«ely drawn and carefully discriminated. The clear style and spirit with which the story to presented and the characters developed, will attract a large constituency to the perusal" » Mrs. Cowden Clarke's story has one of the highest qualities of fiction— it is no flickering ihadow, but seems of real growth. It is full of lively truth, and shows nice perception of file early elements of character with which we become acquainted In its wholeness, and in th« ripeness of years. The incident is well woven: the color is blood-warm ; wd ther« 1* tb« preeence of a sweet grace and gentle power " 55104S m!rfi!i!!rtn«r.Si* hili