Continental Monthly Volume 1 Issue 3 by Various

V >> Various >> Continental Monthly Volume 1 Issue 3

Pages:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20

In 1832, when he had been a member of the House but two years, and a
King's Counsel but five years, and in the same year that the reform of
Russell and Grey received the royal sign-manual, he was elevated to the
dignity of Solicitor General. No one of the long line of his illustrious
predecessors brought to the discharge of this eminent trust greater
learning and acuteness than Lord Campbell evinced; who, at the same time
of this appointment, was honored with the order of Knighthood. In 1834,
after serving as solicitor with the marked approbation of the
government, he was promoted to the Attorney Generalship.

He now re-entered Parliament as the representative of the capital of his
native Scotland, and became a leader in debate and the transaction of
the public business. He continued Attorney General through the
conservative ministry of Sir Robert Peel, and the subsequent Whig
government of Lord Melbourne. In 1841, he held for a brief period the
Chancellorship of Ireland; being at the same time elevated to the rank
of a peer of England, with the title of John, first Lord Campbell. He
retired from office when Sir Robert Peel returned to power in the autumn
of 1841, and turned his thoughts to the gentle and graceful pursuit of
literature. The first production of his pen was the 'Lives of the Lord
Chancellors,' from the earliest times to the close of Lord Eldon's
Chancellorship, in 1827. For the spirited interest of its style, the
clear and precise detail of fact, and the simple yet elegant course of
its manner, it is surpassed by no work of the present century. It is
regarded by eminent critics as a masterpiece of biography, and may
justly rank with the first books of that character in the English
tongue. It has probably been as serviceable to perpetuate the name of
the author, if not more so, than the numerous profound and equitable
decisions which he has left on the records of the Courts of King's Bench
and Chancery.

It was soon followed by 'The Lives of the Chief Justices of England,'
which only enhanced the reputation of the former work; and we would
heartily recommend both of these books to the perusal of all who are
interested, either professionally or as a matter of taste, in this
branch of literature, as a deeply interesting as well as instructive
entertainment.

In 1846, Lord John Russell assumed office, and Lord Campbell was
recalled from the occupation which had proved so congenial to his mind,
to take a seat in the ministry as Chancellor of the Duchy of Lancaster.
While he held this position, he was a frequent and popular debater in
the House of Peers, where he zealously defended the policy of the
government. In 1850, Lord Chief Justice Denman retired from the King's
Bench, ripe in years and in honorable renown, and Lord Campbell was at
once designated as his successor. In this exalted place, he was removed
from the harassing uncertainties of political life; and he continued for
nine years to administer justice with promptitude, skill, and equity.

It was while Chief Justice that he became eminent for the great light he
brought to bear upon many important and intricate questions of law; and
his fame may be said to rest mainly upon the profound ability with which
he exercised the functions of this trust. In 1859, when Lord Palmerston
succeeded to the brief administration of Lord Derby, Lord Campbell was
finally raised to the summit of his profession. He was the fourth
Scotchman who has been Lord Chancellor within the century, and is a
worthy compeer of such men as Loughborough, Erskine, and Brougham. The
long years of unremitting toil were at length crowned with glorious
success; and the great man died in the midst of duty, affluence, honor
and power, while enjoying the prerogatives of the highest judicial
trust, during the summer of the past year.

Whether we consider him as a lawyer, statesman, author, or man, his
character appears in a most amiable light. Profound without pedantry,
subtle without craft, zealous without bigotry, and humane without
effeminacy, he lived a philanthropic, pure, and consistent life. His
highest eulogium is that he lived and died in the service of his
country; that through every vicissitude his chief care was the national
weal; that his chief fame rests in the love and veneration which he
awakened in his countrymen; and that few Englishmen of the present
century have left more enduring monuments of public wisdom and private
example.

'O, civic music, to such a name,
To such a name for ages long,
To such a name,
Preserve the broad approach of fame,
And ever ringing avenues of song.'

* * * * *

CHILD'S CALL AT EVENTIDE.

Bright and fair,--
Golden hair,
Still white hands and face;
Not a plea
Moveth thee;
Nor the wind's wild chase,
As yesterday, calling thee,
Even as I, in vain.
Come--wake up, Gerda!
Come out and play in the lane!

See! the wind,
From behind,
Sporteth with thy locks,
From the land's
Desert sands
And the sea-beat rocks
Cometh and claspeth thy hands,
Even as I, in vain.
Come--wake up, Gerda!
Come out and play in the lane!

Closed thine eyes,
Gently wise,
Dost thou dream the while?
Falls my kiss
All amiss,
Waketh not a smile!
Sweet mouth, is't feigning this?
Then do not longer feign.
Come--wake up, Gerda!
Come out and play in the lane!

Forehead Bold,
White and cold;
Sealed thy lips and all;
I am made
Half afraid
In this lonely hall.
Night cometh quick through the glade!
I fear it is all in vain,--
All too late, Gerda,--
Too late to play in the lane!

* * * * *

THE GOOD WIFE: A NORWEGIAN STORY.

PART I.

NOTHING LOST BY GOOD HUMOR.

For more than a month I had been ransacking my memory in search of some
story or narrative to offer our readers, but with rather poor success. I
thought of all the good things I had ever heard, and tumbled and tossed
my books in vain--nothing could I find that was suitable for either
children or parents. So I was, very reluctantly, about to abandon the
enterprise, when it chanced that, being unable to compose myself to
sleep, a few nights since, I took up, according to my custom on such
occasions, an old copy of Montaigne, the usual companion of my vigils,
the fellow-occupant of my pillow, and the only moralist whose musings
one can read with pleasure on the wrong side of forty.

I opened the _Essays_ carelessly, for each and every page of them is
precious and replete with themes for meditation. In so doing, I alighted
upon the chapter entitled, 'Of three Good Women,'--which commences thus:
'They are not to be found by the dozen, as every one knows, and
especially not in the duties of married life, for that is a market full
of such thorny circumstances that it is no easy matter for a woman's
will to keep whole and sound in it for any length of time.'

'Montaigne is an impertinent fellow!' I exclaimed, slamming to the book.
'What? this close reader of antiquity, this fine analyst of the human
heart, has been able to find only three good women, only three devoted
wives, in all the Greek and Roman annals! This is playing the joker out
of season. Goodness is the special attribute of woman. Every married
woman is good, or supposed to be such. I bethink me, too, that our old
jurists always make the law presume this goodness to exist, at the
outset,'

Thus meditating, I wandered into my library, and there took up a fine
old volume, bound in red morocco, and entitled 'The Dream of Vergier;' a
book full of wisdom and logic, and written by some venerable clerk,
during the reign of Charles V., king of France. I looked for the page
that had struck my fancy, but--alas! how oddly one's memory changes with
the lapse of years--instead of finding, in that grave old book, the just
panegyric of woman's goodness, I discovered, to my great surprise, only
a violent satire all spiced with texts borrowed from St. Augustine, the
Roman laws and the ancient canons, with this sage conclusion, full
worthy of the exordium:--

'I do not say, however, that there is no good woman at all, but the
species is rare; and hence an old law says that no _law concerning good
women_ should be made, for that laws are to be made concerning things of
usual occurrence, as it is written in _Auth. sinc prohib_., etc., _quia
vero_ and L. _Nam ad ca_, Dig. _De Leffibus_.'

These juridical epigrams, these cool pleasantries, in a serious book,
shocked me more than even the hard hits of the Gascon philosopher. 'Good
women,' I thought to myself, 'are found everywhere. In history? No;
history is written by men who love and admire heroes only, that is to
say, those who rob, subjugate, or slay them. In theology? No; it has not
yet forgiven the daughters of Eve the fault which ruined us,--a sin of
which they have retained at least a little share. In the records of the
law, then? No, again; for men make the laws. Woman is, in their eyes,
nothing but a minor, legally incapable of governing herself. God only
knows what is, here, as in all things, the difference between the fact
and the law. Are these good women to be found in plays, romances, or
novels? No, still; for they are but the perpetual recital of feminine
artfulness. Where, then, shall we look for good women?--In the realm of
fable and fiction, in the kingdom of fancy--the dominion of the ideal.

These are the only regions in which merit holds the place it is entitled
to or justice is done to the claims of virtue. What is the tenderness of
Baucis, or the long fidelity of Penelope? Fiction only. And the
resignation of the gentle Griseldis--what is it? An old tale of other
days. In order to find the good woman we are looking for, this is the
ivory portal at which we must knock.

Acting upon this conviction, I reperused all the old traditions, I
called to my aid that peculiar lore of nations which is embodied in
their legends, and which is so vividly, so amiably, and so ingenuously
expressed. I interrogated the story-tellers of every country, Indian,
Persian, Arabic, Turkish, Chinese, Italian, Spanish, French, German,
English, Dutch, Swedish, Norwegian, Danish, Russian, Lithuanian, and
even the hoary old wayside narrators of the far Thibet. I plunged into
this ocean of fancy with the recklessness of an accomplished diver,
but,--must I acknowledge it?--less fortunate than even Montaigne with
his history, I have succeeded in bringing back only one woman that I can
call really good, and her I have had to disinter from under the ice and
snows of the North, in a wild country, too, and among a people who are
not so delicate and refined as though Paris were in Norway. From Cadiz
to Stockholm, from London to Cairo and Delhi, from Paris to Teheran and
Samarcand, if the stories are to be believed, there are artful girls and
scheming mothers, in any quantity; but the _good woman_!--where does she
lie hid, and why do they never tell us anything about her? Here is a
hiatus to which I specially call the attention of the learned. In
observing it myself, I feel the more emboldened to relate the story of
the only good woman and wife I have unearthed. It is a simple narrative,
and not thoroughly in accordance with every-day experience, and, indeed,
there may be some squeamish people who will say that it is ridiculous.
No matter--it has one good quality which no one can dispute--it is not
in the ordinary style of either adventure or narration. Novelty is all
the rage at the present day, and what imparts value to things is not
their intrinsic merit, but their strangeness.

Here, then, is my story presented to you, kind reader, just as Messrs.
Asbjoernsen and Moe give it, in their curious collection of Norwegian
tales and legends.

PART II.

GUDBRAND AND HIS WIFE.

There was once a man called Gudbrand, who lived in a lonely little
farm-house on a remote hillside. From this circumstance he got the name
among his neighbors of Gudbrand of the Hill.

Now, you must know that Gudbrand had an excellent wife, as sometimes
happens to a man. But the rarest thing about it was, that Gudbrand knew
the value of such a treasure; and so the two lived in perfect harmony,
enjoying their own happiness, and giving themselves no concern about
either wealth or the lapse of years. No matter what Gudbrand might do,
his wife had foreseen and desired that very thing; so that her good man
could not touch or change or move anything about the house without her
coming forward to thank him for having divined and forestalled her
wishes.

Besides, it was easy for them to get along, since the farm belonged to
them, and they had a hundred solid crowns in a drawer of their closet
and two excellent cows in their stable. They lacked nothing, and could
quietly pass their old age without fear of poverty or toil, and without
having to look to the friendship or the commiseration of any of their
fellow-creatures.

One evening, while they were talking over their various little tasks and
projects, says the wife of Gudbrand to her husband,--

'Husband, I've got a new notion in my head: you must take one of our
cows to town and sell her. We'll keep the other, and she'll be quite
enough to furnish us with all the milk and butter we can use. Why
should we toil for other people? We've money lying in the drawer, and
have no children to look after. So, wouldn't it be better to spare these
arms of ours, now that they are growing old? You will always find
something to occupy your time about the house;--there'll be no lack of
furniture and things to mend, and I'll be more than ever beside you with
my distaff and my knitting-needles.'

Gudbrand bethought him that his wife was right, as usual, and so, as the
next morning was a beautiful one, he set off for the town, at an early
hour, with the cow he wanted to sell. But it was not market day, and he
found no purchaser to take the animal off his hands.

'Well! well!' said Gudbrand, 'at all events, I can take Sukey back to
the place I brought her from; I've got hay and litter in plenty, there,
for the poor brute, and it's no farther returning than it was coming
hither.' Whereupon, he very quietly started again on the road to his
home.

After walking on for a few hours, and just as he was beginning to feel a
little tired, he met a man leading a horse by the bridle toward the
town. The horse was in fine condition, and was all saddled and ready for
a rider. 'The way is long and night rapidly coming on,' thought
Gudbrand. 'I can hardly drag my cow along, and to-morrow I'll have to
take this same walk over again. Now, here's an animal that would suit me
a great deal better, and I'd go back home with him, as proud as a lord.
Who would be delighted to see her husband returning in triumph, like a
Roman general? Why, the wife of Gudbrand!'

Upon this happy thought, Gudbrand stopped the trader and exchanged his
cow for the horse.

Once mounted on the charger's back, our hero felt some qualms of regret,
for he was old and heavy, while the horse was young, frisky, and
headstrong, so that, in less than half an hour, behold, our would-be
cavalier was on foot again, vainly striving to drag along by the bridle
a creature that cocked up his head at every puff of wind, and capered
and pranced at every stone that lay in his path.

'This is a poor bargain I've made,' thought Gudbrand, when, just at that
moment, he descried a peasant driving along a hog so fine and fat that
its stomach touched the ground.

'A nail that is useful is better than a diamond that glitters and can be
turned to nothing, as my wife often says,' reflected Gudbrand; and, with
that, he traded off his horse for the hog.

It was a bright idea to be sure, but our good man had counted without
his host. Don Porker was tired, and wouldn't budge an inch. Gudbrand
talked to him, coaxed him, swore at him, but all in vain; he dragged him
by the snout, he pushed him from behind, he whacked him on both his fat
sides with a cudgel, but it was only labor lost, and Mr. Hog remained
there in the middle of the dusty road like a stranded whale. The poor
farmer was yielding to despair, when, at the very nick of time, there
came along a country lad leading a she-goat, that, with an udder all
swollen with milk, skipped, ran, and played about, in a manner charming
to behold.

'There! that's the very thing I want!' exclaimed Gudbrand. 'I'd far
rather have that gay, sprightly creature than this huge, stupid brute.'
Whereupon, without an instant's hesitation, he exchanged the hog for the
she-goat.

All went well for another half-hour. The young madam with her long horns
greatly amused Gudbrand, who laughed at her pranks till his sides ached.
In fact, too, the goat pulled him along; but, when one is on the wrong
side of forty, one soon gets tired of scrambling over the rocks; and so
the farmer, happening to meet a shepherd feeding his flock, traded his
she-goat for a ewe. 'I'll have just as much milk,' mused he, 'from that
animal as from the other, and, at least, she will keep quiet, and not
worry either my wife or me.'

Gudbrand was right, in one respect, for there is nothing more gentle
than a ewe. This one had no tricks; she neither capered nor butted with
her head, but she stood perfectly still and bleated all the time.
Finding herself separated from her companions, she wanted to rejoin
them, and the more Gudbrand tugged at her tether, the more piteously she
baaed.

'Deuce take the silly brute!' shouted Gudbrand; 'she's as obstinate and
whimpering as my neighbor's wife. Who'll rid me of this bawling,
bellowing little beast? I must get clear of her, at any price.'

'It's a bargain, if you choose, neighbor,' said a country fellow who was
just passing, with a fat goose under his arm. 'Here, take this fine
bird, instead; she's worth two of that ugly sheep that's going to split
its throat in less than an hour, anyhow.'

'Done!' said Gudbrand; 'a live goose is as good as a dead ewe, any day;'
and so he took the goose in exchange.

But it was no easy matter to manage his new bargain. The goose turned
out to be a very disagreeable companion; for, finding itself no longer
on the ground, it fought with its bill, its feet, and its wings, so that
Gudbrand was soon tired of struggling to hold it.

'Pah!' growled he; 'the goose is an ugly, ill-grained creature, and my
wife never would have one about the house.' With this reflection, he
changed the goose, at the first farm-house he came to, for a fine
rooster of rich plumage and furnished with a grand pair of spurs.

This time, he was thoroughly satisfied. The rooster, it is true,
squawked from time to time, in a voice rather too hoarse to gratify most
delicate ears; but as his claws had been tied together with twine and he
was carried head downwards, he finally gave up and resigned himself to
his fate. The only unpleasant circumstance now remaining was that the
day was rapidly drawing to a close. Gudbrand, who had started before
dawn, now found himself fasting, at sundown, without a farthing in his
pocket. He still had a long walk before him, and the good man felt that
his legs were giving out and that his stomach craved refreshment. Some
bold step must be taken; and so, at the first wayside tavern, Gudbrand
sold his rooster for a shilling, and as he had a raging appetite, he
spent the last doit of it for his supper.

'After all,' said he, the while, 'what use would a rooster be to me, if
I had to die of hunger?'

As he, at length, drew near his own dwelling, however, Gudbrand began to
meditate seriously on the curious turn things had taken with him, and,
before entering his home, he stopped at the door of Peter the Gray
beard, as a neighbor of his was called in the surrounding country.

'Well, neighbor,' said Peter, 'how have you prospered in the town?'

'Oh! so, so,' answered Gudbrand; 'I can't say that I've been very lucky,
nor have I much to complain of either;' and he went on to tell all that
had happened.

'Neighbor, you've made a pretty mess of it!' said Peter the Graybeard;
'you'll have a nice time of it when you get home. Heaven protect you
from your dame! I wouldn't be in your shoes for ten crowns.'

'Good!' rejoined Gudbrand of the Hill; 'things might have turned out
still worse for me; but, now, I'm quiet in my mind about it, for my wife
is so clever that, right or wrong, no matter what I've done, well or
ill, she'll not say one word about it.'

'I hear and admire your statement, neighbor,' retorted Peter, 'but, with
all respect for you, I do not believe a word of it.'

'Will you lay a wager on it?' said Gudbrand. 'I have a hundred crowns in
my drawer at home, and I'll bet twenty of them against as many from
you.'

'Done, on the spot!' replied Peter. So, joining hands on it, the two
friends entered Gudbrand's house. Peter stood back at the door to hear
what the husband and wife would have to say.

'Good evening, wife!' said Gudbrand. 'Good evening, husband,' said the
good woman; 'you've come back, then, God be praised! How did you fare
all day?'

'Neither well nor ill,' replied Gudbrand. When I got to the town, I
could find no one there to buy our cow, and so I traded her off for a
horse.'

'For a horse!' said the wife. 'An excellent idea, and I thank you with
all my heart. We can go to church, then, in a wagon, like plenty of
other folks who look down upon us, but are no better than we. If we
choose to keep a horse and can feed him, we have a right to do it, I
suppose, for we ask no odds of anybody. Where is the horse? We must put
him into the stable.'

'I did not bring him all the way home,' answered Gudbrand, 'for, on the
road, I changed my mind; I exchanged the horse for a hog.'

'Come, now,' said the wife, 'that's just what I'd have done, in your
place! Thanks, a hundred times over! Now, when my neighbors come to see
me, I'll have, like everybody else, a bite of ham to offer them. What
need had we of a horse? The folks around us would have said, "See the
saucy things! they think it beneath them to walk to church." Let us put
the hog in a pen!'

'I didn't bring him with me,' said Gudbrand, 'for on the way I exchanged
him for a she-goat.'

'Bravo!' said the good wife. 'What a sensible man you are! When I come
to think of it, what could I have done with a hog? The neighbors would
have pointed us out and have said, "Look at those people--all they make
they eat! But, with a she-goat, I shall have milk and cheese, not to
speak of the little kids. Come, let us put her into the stable."

'I didn't bring the she-goat with me, either,' said Gudbrand; 'I traded
her again, for a ewe.'

'There! That's just like you,' exclaimed the wife, with evident
satisfaction. 'It was for my sake that you did that. Am I young enough
to scamper, over hill and dale, after a she-goat? No, indeed. But, a ewe
will yield me her wool as well as her milk; so let us get her housed at
once.'

'I didn't bring the ewe home, either,' stammered Gudbrand, once more,
'but swapped her for a goose.'

'What? a goose! oh! thanks, thanks a thousand times, with all my
heart--for, after all, how could I have got along with the ewe? I have
neither card nor comb, and spinning is a heavy job, at best. When you've
spun, too, you have to cut and fit and sew. It's far easier to buy our
clothes ready-made, as we've always done. But a goose--a fat one, too,
no doubt--why, that's the very thing I want! I've need of down for our
quilt, and my mouth has watered this many a day for a bit of roast
goose. Put the bird in the poultry-coop.'

'Ah! I've not brought the goose, for I took a rooster in his stead.'

'Good husband!' said the wife, 'you're wiser than I would have been. A
rooster! splendid!--why, a rooster's better than an eight-day clock. The
rooster will crow every morning, at four, and tell us when it is time to
pray to God and set about our work. What would we have done with a
goose? I don't know how to cook one, and as for the quilt, Heaven be
praised, there's no lack of moss a great deal softer than down. So, let
us put the rooster in the corn-yard!'

'I have not brought even the rooster,' murmured Gudbrand, 'for, at
sundown, I felt very hungry, and had to sell my rooster for a shilling
to buy something to eat. If it hadn't been for that I must have starved
to death.'

'God be thanked for giving you that lucky thought,' replied the wife.
'All that you do, Gudbrand, is just after my own heart. What need we of
a rooster? We are our own masters, I think; there is no one to give us
orders, and we can stay in bed just as long as we please. Here you are,
my dear husband, safe and sound. I am perfectly satisfied, and have need
of nothing more than your presence to make me happy.'

Upon this, Gudbrand opened the door;--'Well! neighbor Peter, what do you
say to that? Go, now, and bring me your twenty crowns!' So saying,
Gudbrand hugged and kissed his wife with as much fervor and heartiness
as though he and she had just been wedded, in the bloom of youth.

Pages:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20