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cheek. That was her way of impressing things “There is one question which I burn to ask on my memory. Consequently, I have never of our eloquent companion, Monsieur Drommel," done to others—'

said Lestoc blandly. “No, no !” exclaimed Monsieur Drommel, “ Ask me any questions you please, naive interrupting him. “That is quite impossible.” child of La Brie; for you have excited a warm

"I assure you I am speaking the truth, and interest in my breast.' that the sacrifice has cost me little. I have never Have you never been married ?' been in love. I must tell you that I belong to the “Young man," answered Monsieur Drommel open-air school, which school holds as its first gravely, “when you know life a little better you principle that the middle distance is everything will know that philosophers are occasionally and woman is only a spot on the landscape. You obliged to accommodate themselves to the manfollow me, I trust? I paint my landscape, you ners and customs of the century in which they understand, beginning with the sky; for you live.” must always begin with the sky. When my pic- “Precisely. But, may I ask if you have ture is done, I consider it admirable; but I sud- taught Madame Drommel the theory of elective denly discover that it requires a spot upon it- affinities and of circulation ?" two spots, in fact, one rose and the other blue, "My young friend," answered the German, or straw-color, it may be; the hue has nothing more gravely than before, “know that in certain to do with it. I rummage through my memory, lands women have no other rule for their conduct and finally discover some straw-colored woman. than the impulses of their senses or the caprices I

go to her, or I see her pass in the street, and I of their imaginations, and that it would be danbeg her to come up to my studio, saying: Ma- gerous to have the bridle on their necks, and to dame, you are essential to my happiness; you trust to their sense of honor. But with us it is are the spot for which I am looking.'”

very different. Did you know German women, “What nonsense!” said Monsieur Taconet, you would know that they have no need of safe

“I am so dull,” continued the young artist, guards for their virtue. They are distinguished that I really know nothing of love. Love may from all other women by the depth of their moral do for artists who paint interiors; but what have sense, the intensity of their attachments, and the we, students in the open air, to do with it? How grandeur of their passion. When a German the deuce can a man fall in love with a mere woman once gives her heart, she never takes it

back again-her love is a worship, a religion, Monsieur Drommel looked at him with min- and she never denies her god. You do not congled admiration and surprise.

test, I imagine, the moral and intellectual supe" It might be true, my dear boy; but the time riority conceded by all honest people to the Gerwill come

manic race.

It is very possible that certain im“No; never !” he interrupted. “I am alto- pressions and prejudices are necessary to the gether too busy."

inferior races. The red-skins must have their Except on Sundays and fête days,” said Ta- manitous, I suppose. I am sorry for the Latins : conet.

they are destined to give way before long to “I am always too busy," said Lestoc, with a younger nations, which have energy and fire as frown. “I have already said so, and I never well as a future. When Germany has transpermit any one to doubt my word. It is possible formed the world, and imposed the new laws that thirty years hence, in my old age, I may with her own strong hand on the new régime, change; but, if I do, it will be a proof that my woe to the people who are unable to accept its brain is softening."

rudimentary principles-they will disappear as “He is a most extraordinary fellow!” said the red-skins do at the approach of the whites!" Monsieur Drommel to the Prince de Malaserra. Here the ex-police officer cried out for the

Amazing !" muttered the Prince. “For my third time, “. Patience!' answered Panurge." part, I have always respected the tenth com- “Who on earth is this Panurge of whom mandment. I have never coveted my neighbor's you keep talking ?” asked Monsieur Drommel house, nor his ox, nor his ass. Man is never impatiently. perfect, however. The only part of my neigh- He, unlike the ex-police officer, had read evbor's goods which I have occasionally envied is erything except Rabelais. -if you will have it-his wife! If, however, “Panurge," answered Monsieur Taconet," was you will allow me to explain my idea more a man of property, to whom one never caused fully-"

annoyance without having reason to repent, and He explained no more-his words died on his he was offended with Dindenaut when with him lips, under the chilling glances of Monsieur Taco- one day, because, having his spectacles, he heard net.

more easily with his left ear."

spot?”

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“ It is a great pity," said little Lestoc, " that go as far as Sicily, and put at his entire disposition the Latin barbarians must disappear; in a cen- one of his two palaces, and urged him to go to tury from now there will not be more than Malaserra and there spend an entire month. The three of their race left in the world. One will Prince said he was soon going there himself, and be a hair-dresser, the second a cook, and the immediately began to describe all the beauties third will make jests like Monsieur Taconet. of the place and of every tree upon it. Monsieur But, I am told that when they are dead, and Drommel accepted this proposition with the there is no one left in the world but the Ger- greatest delight, for, the more intimately associmans, the Academy of Berlin, starting on the ated he was with the Prince de Malaserra, the principle of the more fools the merrier, will offer more convinced he became that he was destined a purse of a hundred thousand francs to encour- to live with princes. age inventors to manufacture more barbarians. This agreeable conversation was interrupted

“ You do the greatest injustice to German more than once by the indiscreet Madame Pi-savants,” said Monsieur Taconet as he rose card. This good woman has so many excellent from the table. “They are preposterous enough qualities that one can afford to name a fault or to keep the earth, the moon, and the stars in a two. She feels only a moderate respect for the perpetual state of gayety.” Then approaching great of the earth, and for men of celebrity, even Monsieur Drommel—“One of the last of the red- if they do drink the best wine in her house. She skins,” he cried, wishes to the Germanic Syn- is even accused of treating somewhat cavalierly thesis a sweet night's rest and happy dreams." those of her inmates whose faces were unknown

This being said, he bowed profoundly and to her, which was a great defect, inasmuch as it left the room.

is a part of her profession to have no preferences, “ That man is really very disagreeable," mut- but to treat all persons alike. “Tell me what tered Monsieur Drommel ; he is rough and you are in the habit of eating and I will tell you surly. I am somewhat of a physiognomist. His who you are.” Such is the motto of the perfect face repelled me at once. It is not one that I innkeeper. should like to meet in a dark wood.”

Several times during this long meal and con“I know an honest man who was entirely of versation, Madame Picard entered the diningyour opinion,” said Lestoc, “and who would be room, hoping to find it empty, and then going still if he had not been guillotined the other out would slam the door with considerable vioday."

lence. How could she say “Go away” with “What do you mean by that?" asked the more clearness or emphasis ? Prince de Malaserra.

Monsieur Drommel could not refrain from “ I mean to say, my Prince, that certain peo- saying to the Prince that Madame Picard's face ple like to meet a pretty woman in a wood rather struck him as quite as forbidding as that of than a police-officer any time."

Monsieur Taconet, and he asked, in a mysterious “Ah! Monsieur Taconet belongs to the po- whisper, if the inns at Barbison were looked lice force, does he ?” cried the Prince; “I sus- upon as honest, respectable places. The Prince pected it. The police always have a certain look inferred from this that Monsieur Drommel had in their eyes, and have no figures to speak of at least, among his luggage, a collection of ruthat is, in France."

bies. When, however, he understood that it was Visibly relieved by the departure of this man only a trifling matter of five or six thousand without a figure, he rang and ordered a bot- francs in notes of all kinds, he could not refrain tle of wine, with which he intended to regale his from a contemptuous shrug of his shoulders. illustrious friend. Three glasses were ought, What were six thousand francs to a great lord but little Lestoc went off declaring that the open- who owned Malaserra ? He represented to air school never drank that kind of wine, and Monsieur Drommel that it would have been the Prince de Malaserra was left with Monsieur much better to provide himself with letters of Drommel alone. The Prince congratulated him- credit, and he urged him never to separate himself on his good luck in having met one of the self from his little bag. greatest thinkers of the age, whose logic he pas- “ This house,” he said, “is a most respectsionately admired, although he was forced to dis- able place, but a man, my dear fellow, can never approve his principles.

be sure of anything but what he has !" The conversation became more intimate, for During this time the ex-police officer, who the wine disposed their hearts to expansion. The had retired to his room, had visions, as he smoked Prince de Malaserra asked a host of questions in- his pipe, of a very pretty woman with soft gray dicative of the most heartfelt interest. He was eyes, of an innocent youth with a blonde mousdelighted to ascertain that our sociologist pro- tache, of a leather satchel hung around the neck posed to linger in Italy; he made him promise to of a blockhead, and of the pale and haughty face

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of a Sicilian Prince who exclaimed, Respect to ponder on inferior races, and upon those nafor Property is the foundation of the Universe." tions which hold the secrets of the future, on

Monsieur Taconet built on these faces a Germanic synthesis—and upon Sedan. And, charming romance where elective affinities finally, he thought of the red-skins—and ended played an important part; an imbroglio wherein by murmuring, half aloud, “« Patience!' anhearts and hands “circulated.” Then he began swered Panurge."

VICTOR CHERBULIEZ. (Conclusion in next Journal.)

BURTON'S ANATOMY OF MELANCHOLY."

DR:
R. JOHNSON is not generally supposed to pressly says, a "cento collected from others ”; a

have erred as a critic on the side of exces- vast heterogeneous mass of miscellaneous readsive approbation. And yet he managed to be- ing; the contents of a commonplace-book kept stow upon one book the most forcible eulogium by a reader of boundless curiosity who has ranged ever uttered. Burton's “ Anatomy of Melan- over the whole field of learning then accessible, choly " was, he said, the only book which ever from the classical authors down through the took him out of bed two hours sooner than he fathers and the scholastic philosophers of the intended. The compliment is always reproduced middle ages, to the grammarians, philosophers, when Burton's book is mentioned. Second-hand physiologists, and novelists of the Renaissance, booksellers judiciously quote it in their catalogues and who has dipped into the most fashionable to stimulate the appetite of their customers. playbooks, poems, and essays of the day-MonEvery lover of books has been induced to pro- taigne, Bacon, Spenser, Drayton, and even Ben long his evening sitting, sometimes to prolong it Jonson and Shakespeare.* It is a patchwork till daylight, by the charms of a fascinating au- stuck together with scissors and paste, a queer thor; but the most voracious of literary gluttons amorphous mass, in spite of its ostensible plan, seldom breaks his morning slumbers under such where we are half-baffled and half-attracted by an impulse. And, when we add that it was John- references to strange authors who delighted in son who was thus beguiled, Johnson whose whole masquerading with Latin terminations to their life was a continuous remorse for inability to rise names. We have heard more or less of some of early, when we see that Burton must have done them, of Bodinus and Paracelsus, or Cardan, or for once what could be done neither by strong Erasmus; but who, we wonder, was Rlasis the religious principles, nor by a morbidly keen con- Arabian, or Skenkius, or Poggius, or Fuchsius, science, nor by the pressure of stern necessity, or Busbequius t-a name which has no doubt a and what the united energies of Boswell and the peculiar favor of pleasant quaintness ? Such Thrales and the whole of the Club would have names carry with them a faint association of the failed in securing, we must admit that the per- days of high-built and ponderous pedantry; we formance borders on the incredible. Doubtless catch a passing glimpse of some ancient doctor it was the youthful Johnson whose slumbers he damning another for his theory of the irregular disturbed; and it was after the scanty fare of verbs, or settling the theory of the enclitic de, or Lichfield, not the solid festivities of the “Mitre” conducting tremendous disputations in the schools or the “ Turk’s Head.” With all deductions, we with all the ponderous apparatus of the old sylloare still in presence of a “great fact.” Many a gistic artillery. Yet it is possible to have too young student must have turned with avidity to much of Busbequius; and, after dipping into the the promised treat, and a good many have prob- book, in search of that spirit and power which he ably retreated in disappointment. For, at first is said (still by Johnson) -o display when writing sight, the reader becomes aware of the curious

* Shakespeare is noticed at least twice; in a reference mildness of another phrase of Johnson's; the to Benedick and Beatrice in the comedy, and a quotabook, he said, is “ perhaps overloaded with quo- tion from “Venus and Adonis.” tations.” That is rather like saying that Pick- + Busbecq, or Busbequius, was in fact a distinguished wick may“ perhaps " be regarded as aiming at diplomatist in the sixteenth century; he went to Confun; that there is possibly a dash of humor instantinople and wrote travels, and, according to the Charles Lamb; or that Pope may be accused of lilac from Turkey. There is a full article about him in

“ Biographie Universelle," was the first to introduce the a tendency to satire. The “Anatomy” is all but Bayle. Possibly his name has a scholastic flavor to us made up of quotations; it is, as the author ex- from a vague association with the famous Dr. Busby.

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from his own mind, it is well if we do not give and yet, under all his concealments, he has a cerup the chase in despair, and decide that it is tain vein of shrewd humor which may at least hardly worth cracking so vast a shell of effete serve to excite such a portion of that faculty as pedantry to come at so small a kernel of sound we may ourselves happen to possess.

Burton, in his opening address to the reader, It is well, I say; for after all there is a real sets forth his claims to the title of Democritus charm in the old gentleman. Certainly the junior; and he tells at length the legend of the “Anatomy” is not a book to be read through; laughing philosopher; how the citizens of Abit would have no place in the short list of literary dera took him to be mad by reason of his excesmasterpieces which the intelligent reader is sup- sive perception of the ludicrous, and brought the posed to absorb into his mental structure. It is weeping Hippocrates to cure him of his folly; a book for odds and ends of time, and to be read how Hippocrates found him sitting on the ground only at appropriate seasons; not, perhaps, in a cutting up beasts to find out the causes of melrailway-carriage or by the seaside, or in any ancholy; and how, when Hippocrates tried to place where the roaring wheels of our social point out that reasonable citizens employed themmachinery make themselves too plainly heard. selves upon business or pleasure instead of disIt is rather a book to be taken up in a quiet section, Democritus answered every argument by library, by accident, not of malice prepense, and, peals of laughter and demonstrations of the utin spite of Johnson, rather in the last hour of the ter absurdity of all the ordinary activities of man. night than at morning. When you are tired of So clearly did Democritus preach upon the old blue-books or scientific wrangling or metaphysi- text, Vanity of Vanities, that Hippocrates decal hair-splitting; when you have turned to the parted with the fullest conviction of his sanity. last book from the circulating library only to dis- Burton proposes to continue the discourse of cover that novel-writing is a forgotten art; that Democritus. Never, he says, was there so much poetry has become a frivolous echo of sounding food for laughter as now; for now, “as Salisverbiage; that the smartest mazagine article is a buriensis says in his time, totus mundus histrimere pert gabble of commonplace-jaundiced onem agit, the whole world plays the fool; we views which sometimes suggest themselves on have a new theatre, a new scene, a new comedy such occasions—it may be pleasant to soothe of errors, a new company of personate actors; yourself by entering this old museum of musty Volupiæ sacræ (as Calcagnius willingly feigns in antiquities, and to feel as though you were enter- his · Apologius) are celebrated all the world ing a forgotten chamber where the skeletons of over, when all the actors were madmen or fools, seventeenth-century spiders are still poised upon and every hour changed habits, or took that undisturbed cobwebs. The phantoms of Busbe- which came next.” The world is a farce ; quius and his fellows may then have substan- princes are mad; great men are mad; philosotiality enough to hold converse with you for a phers and scholars are mad, and so are those time, and you gradually perceive that old Burton who scorn them. “Methinks," he says, " most himself probably once filled an academical cos- men are fools," if we may apply the judicious tume with a genuine structure of flesh and bone. tests given by Æneas Sylvius. "Nevisanus, the Carefully as he retires behind his moth-eaten lawyer, holds it for an axiom, most women are folios, there are moments when he drops his dis- fools ; Seneca, men, be they old or young; who guise, and you can depict the quaint smile of the doubts it, youth is mad as Elius in Tully, stulti humorous observer of men and manners, and be- adolescentuli ; old age little better, deliri senes.lieve that he had in his days a genuine share of And, after running through as many classes as the pathetic side of human folly. Nobody, it is he can think of, Burton confesses that he is himtrue, is more provokingly shy. It is the shyness self as foolish and as mad as any one. We are of the genuine old-fashioned scholar, who is half- tolerably familiar with the theory, “ All the world ashamed of possessing tissues not made out of is a stage," and the players are “mostly fools.” an ancient parchment. You ask him for an opin- Satirists and poets and moralists and essayists ion, and he throws a dozen authorities at your have set the same sentiment to different times; head and effects his es ape into an ingenious and it is the special function of the humorist to digression; he balances himself in curious equi- give fresh edge to the ancient doctrine. Burton librium between the ranks of opposing doctors, has certainly chosen a thesis which affords ample and only lets slip at intervals an oblique intima- room for the widest illustration ; and we have tion that he is inclined to think that one of them only to ask how he acquits himself of his task. is a donkey. In all this he is certainly as differ- And here we perceive that he begins to ent as possible from the ordinary humorist. He shrink a little. Some people, he says, will think requires an interpreter, and must be cross-ex- his performance “ too fantastical, too light and amined to make him yield up his real meaning; comical for a divine”; and he replies that he is

sense.

VOL. VIII.-33

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only speaking an assumed part, and collecting of hunting for literary curiosities, he returned to the opinions of others. 'Tis not I, but they the coarse brutalities of waterside buffoonery, as that say it." You must blame Nevisanus and the sated epicure ends by finding the highest relCalcagnius for the startling theory just expound- ish in simple beans and bacon. He died, we are ed, not the Rev. Richard Burton, student of told, at the exact time which he had foretold upChrist Church, and Rector of Segrave. He on astrological grounds, and the students whistrembles at his own audacity, and retires behind pered that he had taken the necessary steps to his mask. And, as he carries out this principle secure the fulfillment of his own prediction. only too systematically, he is a humorist only by Certainly such a practical bull carried to a tragic proxy. He does not let us see what he feels conclusion, confirming the truth of astrology by himself; he is not a mere buffoon, for we are a chance which really showed it to be false, and not sure that he has no serious meaning ; but he that at the cost of his own life, was a most fitting does not rise to be a daring humorist, for he is end for a thoroughgoing humorist. There would afraid ever to laugh out. We often fail to dis- be a charm about setting such a trap for future cover whether he is slyly laughing in his sleeve or dabblers in eccentric logical quibbles. In the advancing some preposterous doctrine in honest Anatomy,” Burton delivers his own views upon reverence for the authority upon which it rests; astrology with delightful ambiguity. If, he says, whether his elaborate pedantry is really part of Sextus Empiricus, Picus Mirandula, Sextus ab himself or a mere mask which he knows to be Heminga, or others, have persuaded any man really grotesque. We follow Montaigne with the that the signs in the heavens have no more virtue sense that we are talking to a man of vigorous than the signs over a shop or an inn, the skeptic intellect, who reads books as they ought to be may be referred to Bellantius, Pirovânus, Marasread by a full-grown thinker; who treats them callerus, or Goclenius, who, let us hope, will give as an equal or a superior; and quotes them to him satisfaction. Meanwhile, his own view is illustrate his own thoughts, not as providing un- that the stars do not compel but incline, and inalterable molds to which his thoughts are bound cline so gently that a wise man may resist them. to conform. But that is just the point which This charmingly elastic hypothesis is enough to Burton leaves doubtful. Is he really half in fun allow your true humorist to reconcile his love of when he quotes a dozen learned men to prove the marvelous with the occasional promptings that disease or poverty may be a cause of melan- of common sense. Burton, indeed, might have choly; or is he distinctly aware that the learned found authorities enough in his own day to make men are indulging in ludicrous platitudes; or a genuine belief in astrology respectable. . But perhaps simply turning out his commonplace- downright belief was hardly in his way. The book to show his learning?

question for him was not the truth or falsehood That is the curious problem which haunts us of a doctrine, but the facility which it afforded through the whole performance. The man was for dallying with grotesque fancies. Living in no doubt a puzzle to his contemporaries, as he the intellectual twilight, when the fastastic shapes remains for us. The view which they took of of old superstition and mythical philosophy blendhim is typified in the two or three anecdotes ed strangely with the growth of really scientific which do duty for his biography, doubtless more hypotheses, he could ramble at will through the or less apocryphal, as such anecdotes invariably stores of obsolete learning, picking up here and are, and yet perhaps as significant of the truth there whatever passage suited the fanciful faculty as the most authentic narratives. Burton, as which had displaced his reason. To a genuine Wood tells us, was very “facete, merry, and ju- reasoner, or a man of independent common venile” among his college companions, and no sense, there is a broad distinction between a man could surpass him (as we may easily believe) proof and an illustration ; between adducing eviat interlarding his discourse with appropriate dence for a fact and merely quoting some anecquotations, according to the fashion of the time. dote or phrase which expresses the opinion of a He meant, it is said, to cure himself of a tenden- predecessor. He has beliefs of his own, and apcy to melancholy by compiling the “ Anatomy"; plies an independent test to other men's statebut melancholy increased his weakness so much ments. But with Burton the distinction disapthat at last he could only relieve himself by lis- pears, and we can therefore never quite settle tening to the ribaldry of the Oxford bargees, an whether he is a pedant in earnest or in sport, or amusement which "rarely failed to throw him in a mood strangely composed of the two. into a violent fit of laughter.” Burton, no doubt, In the eighteenth century Burton fell into the had the true humorist's temperament; a disposi- hands of one who, whatever his faults, must be tion to melancholy underlay his perception of the reckoned among the very greatest of literary artludicrous, and this disposition might be fostered ists. No man had a more acute sense than Sterne by a sedentary life and advancing years, till, tired of the possibilities of transmuting unpromising

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