Continental Monthly, Vol. I, No. V, May, 1862 by Various

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''Farewell. You shall be told all that you require,' said my neighbor.

''Oh! excuse me,' said Percival, returning, 'where does this door lead
to?'

''To some room to which I have never had access.'

''Occupied by whom?'

''I do not know.'

'A violent blow, which we had not expected, was given on the door, close
to which we were standing, listening. I instantly retreated to my bed.
Adele remained motionless as a statue; and when the second blow fell
upon the panels, I cried out most lustily:

''Who the deuce is there?' mingling therewith, moreover, sundry forcible
Spanish expletives.

''No one. Excuse me, Senor, I mistook the door.'

''Well, clear out, and don't do it again!' I retorted.

''Please show me the way out of this house, Mr. Livermore,' was all we
heard, until after a painful pause the street-door was closed, and
Arthur's footstep sounded returning up-stairs. I looked fixedly at my
companion; her face wore a deathlike pallor, but a soft, melancholy
smile played upon her lips.

''Poor Edmund!' said she, in a sad, soft tone, 'despite the wrongs I
have endured at his hands, the jealousy he has now evinced is such a
proof of his undying love, that I am almost constrained to forgive his
former cruelty.' Adele gave vent to a sigh, and added, with downcast
eyes:

''The world, doubtless, will blame me; they will believe every charge,
scout every palliative plea. For a season, I must endure its frown, and
resign my will to drink the bitter cup of scorn and contumely; for I
have gone astray, I have sinned against the judgment of my
fellow-mortals; and yet, oh! it were so easy to gain sympathy, were I to
disclose the secrets of the inner dungeons of my prison-house--that spot
which poets sing as blessed--Home! O man, man! there _is_ no place like
home, but how readily may it be turned into a hell--for--a wife!'

'I was still weak--nervous; and her words breathed such tones of bitter
anguish, and her whole frame evinced such tokens of emotion, that in
spite of all that I had overheard, tears welled up to my eyelids, and
compassion overcame my still lurking distrust; her sobs alone broke the
silence which ensued, and I was never in my life more painfully
embarrassed. Fortunately the return of my neighbor relieved me from my
peculiar predicament. No sooner did Adele hear him enter the adjoining
room, than she opened the door of communication, and threw herself upon
his breast.

VII.

''Dearest Arthur,' said she, the tears still running down her cheeks,
'how fearfully you must have suffered throughout this long interview!'

''Oh! fear not, Adele, all will yet be well. I will protect you and
avenge your wrongs.'

''Fear not?' said she, 'do you think that I dread death for my own sake?
No, Arthur, death is nothing terrible to me _now_.'

'Then suddenly appearing to become conscious of my presence, they both
seized me by the hands and overwhelmed me with the profusion of their
thanks.

''Any one would have acted precisely as I have, under similar
circumstances. I therefore beg you to spare me from further thanks. But,
my dear sir, do you feel ill? Madame, allow me to support Mr.
Livermore.'

'A sudden change came over his features; a deathlike paleness overspread
his countenance, his eyelids became half-closed, his breathing grew
short, his hands clenched, and a nervous tremor shook his entire frame.
For a few moments I feared he was at the point of death. I promptly
assisted him to his couch.

''Are you surgeon enough to bleed him?' inquired Adele.

''Yes, I will not hesitate if you desire me to do so.'

'We soon divested Arthur of his coat, stripped his arm, and while I went
in search of an impromptu lancet, Adele prepared the needful bandages.

''Be quick, I implore you,' said she. 'Once before I saw him as he now
is; there is not a moment to be lost.'

'Need I confess that the entrance of a guardian angel in the shape of a
skillful disciple of Esculapius would have been hailed by me as an
especial joy? However, no such angel came, neither was he within call;
so as the danger struck me as imminent, and his condition appeared
growing every moment more critical, I argued, without bleeding he would
undoubtedly die, whereas by my attempt, however clumsy, he might rally.
I plucked up my courage to the sticking-point, and stuck my patient. I
drew several ounces of blood. My fair assistant displayed the most
undeniable, I can hardly say irreproachable, coolness, for really, to my
fancy, she was a little too much self-possessed. As soon as the bandages
were applied, Arthur's consciousness returned.

''Ah! thanks, thanks,' said he, addressing me in a low, faltering tone.
'The crisis has now passed.'

''Over-excitement, doubtless, produced it?'

''Yes,' said he, 'any excitement is dangerous for one like me. You see
in me a man condemned to death by every member of the faculty that I
have ever consulted. I dare say you mean kindly, and by that look of
incredulity, you would seek to comfort me.'

''Well, doctors are often mistaken,' I said.

''True; but I am convinced their predictions in my case will be
literally fulfilled, for when this terrible disease of the heart once
lays its hold upon a man, it never relaxes its deadly grasp. But,' said
he, raising himself to a sitting posture, 'but I _will_ not die, I
_must_ live. One fixed purpose, one great aim sustains me, and I feel
that till I have accomplished this, the thread of life, frail as I know
it is, strained as I feel it oft to be, still, still I have a firm
presentiment it will hold out.'

''Arthur, dear Arthur!' broke in the voice of Adele, as she leaned over
his shoulder, 'you know after such a paroxysm, repose is necessary. No
more conversation to-night; strive to calm your nerves, and to enjoy the
tranquil influence of sleep. Do this, I beg, I implore you.'

'With the docility of a petted child he yielded, and reclining his head
upon his pillow, soon sank into a deep sleep. It was now verging upon
three o'clock, and at my solicitation Adele retired to my apartment,
while I kept watch beside my patient's couch.

'The mysterious individual whose conduct had so puzzled me, and to whom
I had been so strangely introduced, seemed to be a man of about thirty,
decidedly handsome, and of striking mien, of elegant manners, and
evidently accustomed to refined society. His hair, which curled
naturally, was, however, growing thin; a few deep lines were furrowed on
his brow, and the corners of his mouth wore, as it were, unconsciously,
at times, a disdainful air, and as he slept I could trace how the fire
of youthful passion had brought his manhood to premature decay.

'Although the veil of mystery had been rent, my curiosity was only
whetted, by no means gratified. Who could this man be for whose arrival,
according to my hostess' account, he had been waiting with such feverish
impatience? What journey could he have returned from, in such shattered
health; and finally, what was this great purpose, on the successful
issue of which, he seemed to stake his all, on which he declared his
life to hang?

'Again the undefinable spell that seemed to attach to the fascinating
Adele, filled my mind with reveries of wondrous interest. What was her
part in this drama that was enacting so close beside me? Was she the
victim or the enchantress? During the long vigils of that night, I asked
this question of myself many a time and oft, and yet could arrive at no
solution of my doubts. The soft, regular sound, produced by her
breathing, in the next room, the door of which remained ajar--for she
had thrown herself upon my bed, without removing her apparel--fell upon
my ear, and proved she slept in all the tranquillity of innocence. And
yet the very tranquillity of that sleep almost excited my displeasure;
for it seemed to evince a listless, reckless indifference to danger, a
lack of tender, womanly sympathy for suffering and sickness, that might
indeed arise from a heart untouched by any love, save that of self.

'I was just rolling up another cigarette, when, as the day dawned, Adele
entered. She was lovely, and radiant with smiles. The closest and most
sagacious observer would have failed to discern the slightest trace of
the excitement through which she had passed but a few short hours
before. She thanked me for my kind assistance, with a bewitching grace,
almost girlish in its simplicity, and begged me to retire, and take the
rest she felt assured I must need. Before so doing, however, it was
agreed that the door leading to my room should in future remain
unfastened, in case of a recurrence of the danger that had menaced her
the previous night.

'Feeling no drowsiness, but rather a desire for fresh air, I mounted to
the cupola that adorned the roof of our house, and for a couple of
hours I sat there, enjoying the delicious breeze and the picturesque
panorama that lay beneath my feet, and the motley groups that swarmed to
early prayers up the Cathedral steps.

'At last, I felt like strengthening the inner man, and determined to
step down as far as Veroley's, the fashionable cafe of the city, and
there to take a right good breakfast. I returned to my room to replenish
my purse, and to take my dagger and revolver. I found the purse and
revolver on the shelf where I had left them, untouched, but my search
for the dagger proved fruitless. Yet with it I had wrenched out the
staples that fastened the door, and to my knowledge no one had had
access to my room since that time, save Adele.

'After taking my breakfast, and calling for my letters, I paid one or
two visits, and ere I returned home, it was well nigh three in the
afternoon.

'I had not been seated long, ere Mr. Livermore entered. He appeared to
have completely recovered from his attack.

''Of two evils, the adage advises us to choose the lesser. I would,
therefore, prefer to appear intrusive rather than ungrateful; so excuse
me if I trespass on your time or your patience. After the generous
devotion you displayed last night, and after what Adele moreover has
told me, I feel I am bound to inform you whom you have thus befriended;
for, as you have already learned, Albert Pride is not my real name.'

'I hastened to offer to my neighbor the seat of honor, my magnificent
rocking-chair, not only as a mark of politeness, but thinking that as he
was about to tell me something, if he were only comfortably ensconced,
very interesting, he might find himself so much at his ease that he
would make a much cleaner breast of it.

'My little surmise proved correct; he accepted my proffered civility,
and proceeded to give me a long and very interesting account of his
parentage and youth. Suffice it to say, that he was a native of
Tennessee, and being left an orphan at an early age, had, like thousands
of others, passed through a brief career of folly and extravagance. He
had become acquainted with Adele and her family some two years
previously, and had been married to her about four months, under the
impression, as he had told her husband on the previous night, that a
divorce had been obtained.

'What most excited my surprise, in his recital, was, that while Percival
had accused her of having deserted him because she deemed him ruined,
Arthur told me that she married him, knowing him to be almost penniless.
But I will give you his own words:

''I explained to her my desperate position, when she replied: 'It
matters not; in return for the fortune you have squandered, I will give
you that which shall produce an income far beyond your boyish dreams.'

''A horrible suspicion flashed across my mind; I feared her reason was
impaired.

'''Adele,' I exclaimed, 'in mercy, jest not; but explain yourself.'

'''I will, Arthur; but first of all, I must exact from you the most
solemn vow, that under no circumstances will you divulge to mortal man
or woman, the secret I am about to confide to you.''

'At this point, Mr. Livermore checked himself suddenly, as if he had
said too much, and then added:

''I regret, my dear sir, that I can merely add, that I gave Adele the
solemn pledge she required, and that my presence here, in the city of
Mexico, to-day, is merely the result of the secret then intrusted to
me.'

'I was still under the impression that this narrative had produced, when
Adele softly entered the apartment.

''Arthur,' said she, in a low whisper, 'there is some one knocking at
the door of the ante-chamber.'

''Remain here,' said he, rising from his seat, 'I will go and open it.'

''Do not let him go alone, I beg of you,' said Adele. 'Who knows of
what service your presence may be to-day, or of what value your
testimony may be hereafter? Possibly, it may save money, if not life;
but why go without your hat and gloves?' she added, as I was leaving the
room bare-headed, 'you must pass for a visitor, not for a
fellow-lodger.'

'Lost in admiration of her ready tact and coolness, I reached Arthur
Livermore's sitting-room, just as he opened the door.

''Pepito,' exclaimed he.

''Ay, Caballero, Pepito himself, in perfect health, and ever your most
devoted servant.''

[TO BE CONCLUDED.]

* * * * *

CHANGED.

I can not tell what change has come to you,
Since when, amid the pine-trees' murmurous stir,
You spoke to me of love most deep and true:
I only know you are not as you were.

It is not that you fail in tender speech;
You speak to me as kindly as of old;
But yet there is a depth I do not reach,
A doubt that makes my heart grow sick and cold.

True, there has been no anger and no strife;
I only feel, with dreary discontent,
That something bright has vanished from my life;
I know not what it is, nor where it went.

You chide my grief, and wipe my frequent tears;
But to my pain what art can minister?
Oh! I would give all life's remaining years
If you would be again as once you were!

As, dipped in fabled fountains far away,
All living things are hardened into stone,
So strange and frozen seems your love to-day,
Its sweet, spontaneous growth and life are gone:

And it is changed into a marble ghost,
Driving away all happiness and rest;
In whose chill arms I shiver faint and lost,
Bruising my heart against its rocky breast.

Nay, no regrets, no vows: it is too late,
Too late for you to speak, or me to hear:
We can not mend torn roses: we must wait
For the new blossoms of another year.

* * * * *

HAMLET A FAT MAN.

I have seen on the stage several Hamlets, more or less successful in
that sublime dramatic creation of Shakspeare, to say nothing of
small-calfed personifications at private fancy balls. Young Booth, in
these days, is doubtless the most ideal and accurate interpreter of the
great Dane; although Mrs. Kemble's rendition is certainly beyond the
reach of hostile criticism.

In this paper I propose to consider Hamlet not as he is represented on
the stage, but as he is described in the original text. At the theatre,
he usually appears as a dark-complexioned, black-haired, beetle-browed,
and slender young man, wearing an intensely gloomy wig, eyebrows corked
into the blackness of preternatural bitterness, while on thin and
romantic legs, imprisoned in black silk tights, he struts across the
stage, the counterfeit presentment of the veritable prince.

I once read a brief line or two in a work by Goethe, alleging that
Hamlet was 'a fat man.' At first I was inclined to regard this as a joke
of the majestic German. Later reflection induced me to examine this
surmise in detail, and to conclude finally that the theory is true, and
that the enigma of Hamlet's character can be solved through calculations
of pinguitude.

Eureka. Perfect tense, indicative mood, 'I have found it!' In fact, the
whole Hamlet problem must be regarded in an obese, or adipose point of
view. The Prince of Denmark is not the conventional Hamlet of the
theatre, nor the Hamlet of Shakspeare. He was a Northman, and like the
greater number of the inhabitants of Northern Europe, was, doubtless, a
blue-eyed and flaxen-haired blonde. My lord was far from appearing thin
or delicate; on the contrary, he carried on his belly a large
portmanteau well-rounded by the swell of the digesting nutriment.

That our honored prince was a fat man, is proved by his own confession,
as well as by the evidence of the queen. Tossed about in a hot desert of
doubt and despair, he exclaims in one of his incomparable soliloquies:

'_Oh! that this too, too solid flesh_ WOULD MELT!'

What thin man would melt away even in the hot solstice of June? In the
fencing scene, (Act IV.,) his flabby muscles are soon fatigued, and the
queen exclaims:

'_He's fat, and scant of breath:
Here, Hamlet, take my napkin, rub thy brows_.'

However, to be serious, it must be confessed that there are splendid
traits in the mental character of the prince; every grandeur or folly
can be found in him. From the lowest pit of despair, his soul debates
the question of suicide as a logical proposition, forgetting the divine
prohibition against 'self-slaughter.' Eloquence, genius, and brilliant
fancies, are constantly manifested, and also a gorgeous imagination.

It may be mentioned, incidentally, that Hamlet's character has been
contrasted with that of Orestes, the Greek, who, when he arrived at
years of manhood, avenged his father's death by assassinating his
mother, Clytemnestra, and her adulterer, OEgisthus. In other words, he
avenged a crime by a crime.

And now let us drop these serious comments, and return to the more
humorous side of our theory--the plumpness of the prince, overlooked as
a mere accident, by critics and actors. It is a physiological propriety
that he should be of a phlegmatic temperament--a temperament often
united to an acute intellect, but also, to a sluggish and heavy person.
A weak, wavering inactivity, fickleness of purpose, a keen sensibility,
or sensitiveness, are also noticeable; while the subtlety of his
theories is sharply penetrating, and forms the keystone to the arch of
his character.

Truly, Hamlet's intellect is that of a giant; his strength of will,
that of a child. He has, so to speak, no executive talent. He is the
doubting philosopher, the subtle metaphysician, the self-analyzer,
always 'thinking too precisely upon the event.' He sees so far into the
consequences of human action that he is fearful of taking decided steps.
He has the nerve to kill neither his uncle nor himself, although he
debates the latter question with great dexterity. He never _effected_
any one of the plans upon which he had deliberated. Any one who reads
_Hamlet_, under the influence of this theory, will see that it is
confirmed by every incident in the tragedy.

A series of accidents hurried the prince to the final catastrophe. His
was a lovely, great, and noble nature; but it lacked one element of
heroism--strength of will. It was an exquisite touch in the mighty poet
to make Hamlet gross in figure, as he was phlegmatic, inactive, and
irresolute in temperament. Had he been a thin, brown, choleric, and
nervous man, the tragedy would have ended in the first Act. Had he been
a fiery Italian, instead of a doubting, deliberating Dane; had he been
of a passionate, or yellow complexion, instead of a calm blonde; had he
possessed a wiry, high-strung, and nervous constitution; had he, in a
word, proved himself a man of action, and not a man of metaphysical
tendencies, his sword would have soon cut the perplexing meshes which
surrounded him, and he would have executed instant vengeance upon the
authors of his misfortune and disgrace. Else he would have put an end to
a life too wretched to be endured.

The conventional critic may smile at the conceit of a _fat_ Hamlet, but
I am satisfied that my theory is amply sustained by the text, as well as
by the true solution of the alleged knotty points of Shakspeare's mental
character, over which the ponderous but inflated brain of Dr. Johnson
stultified itself. He accuses the Avon bard of introducing spirits,
ghosts, myths, and fairies; of being guilty of exaggerations,
absurdities, vulgar expressions, and other naughtiness. (_Boswell's
Johnson_, Vol. IV. pp. 258, etc.) All of which proves that the Doctor
was sometimes prejudiced, ill-natured, jealous, and ponderously silly on
certain points.

But they who have cracked the kernel of this grand tragedy, and formed a
just conception of the real disposition and peculiarities of the true
hero, must admire and appreciate the marvelous skill of the great bard
who understands the relations between physiology and the passions, and
can analyze the temperament physical, as well as dissect the soul
immortal.

* * * * *

THE KNIGHTS OF THE GOLDEN CIRCLE.

Within a very few years, the friends of Emancipation in the North and
West, as well as all opposed to the increase of 'Southern power' in our
national policy, have been from time to time interested by rumors of a
secret association termed that of the _Knights of the Golden Circle_, or
as it is familiarly described, 'the K.G.C.' It was understood to be a
secret society, instituted for the purpose of extending, by the most
desperate means and measures, the institution of slavery, and with it,
of Southern Secession and all those social and political principles
which have been of late years so unscrupulously advocated by Southern
statesmen. It is, however, only of late that any thing definite relative
to this order has been published.

In July, 1861, the Louisville _Journal_ gave a full _expose_ of the
order, which has been recently republished in a pamphlet, by 'the U.S.
National U.C.,' a copy of which now lies before us. 'Of the authenticity
of this exposition,' says the introduction, 'there can be no doubt.'
George D. Prentice, Esq., the editor of the _Journal_, gives his solemn
assurance, as an editor and as a man, that the documents from which he
derived his information are authentic. He asserts, moreover, that he
received them from a prominent Knight of the Third Degree. The
genuineness of these documents has never yet been denied by any man
whose word can be regarded as valid testimony in the case. Corroborative
testimony was furnished in a violent newspaper quarrel which occurred
soon after the first publication was made, in which several 'Knights of
the Third Degree' were participants, the question in dispute being as to
the authorship of the revelations made to Mr. Prentice. After the
warfare had subsided, he informed them that they were all mistaken, and
that each one of the parties implicated was equally guiltless.

On the first page of the introduction referred to, the editor, after a
succinct statement that the K.G.C. is the direct descendant of the order
of the Lone Star and other secret fillibustering societies, and that
many of the 'old landmarks' of those unions may be traced in its
organization, quotes from an article in the CONTINENTAL MONTHLY for
January, 1862, as follows:

'This organization, which was instituted by John C. Calhoun,
William L. Porcher, and others, as far back as 1835, had for its
sole object the dissolution of the Union and the establishment of
Southern Empire--Empire is the word, not Confederacy or
Republic--and it was solely by means of its secret but powerful
machinery, that the Southern States were plunged into revolution,
in defiance of the will of a majority of their voting population.
Nearly every man of influence at the South, (and many a pretended
Union man at the North,) is a member of this organization, and
sworn, _under the penalty of assassination_, to labor, 'in season
and out of season, by fair means and by foul, at all times and on
all occasions, for the accomplishment of its object.'

The editor of the pamphlet in question declares that he knows not upon
what evidence the above statement from the CONTINENTAL is based, but
admits that there can be no reasonable doubt that these men and their
associates _did_ resort to secret and powerful means for the spread of
their views and for the instruction of the Southern mind in the
doctrines of disunion and treason which they originated.

As regards our source of information, let it suffice to say that we
derived it from a gentleman who was himself a K.G.C., who was familiar
with its history, and of whose character for honor and veracity strict
inquiries made by us of men of high standing in the community left no
shadow of room for doubt. From his statements, it was transferred by one
of our establishment to the author of the article in question.

To the eye of the student of history, who has closely traced in many
ages and countries the vast action of secret societies in events, the
whole Southern movement bears, however, intrinsic evidence of that
peculiar form of hidden political power. The prompt and vigorous action
of the whole Secession movement, by which States with a majority
attached to the Union were hurled, scarce knowing how, into rebellion,
would never have been accomplished save by a long established and
perfectly drilled organization. It is not enough to sway millions that
the leaders simply know what they wish to do, or that they have the
power to do it. There must be _organization_ and _subordination_, if
only to control the independent action of demagogues and of selfish
politicians, who abound in the South as elsewhere. Had the existence of
the K.G.C. never been revealed, the historian would have detected it by
its results, and been compelled in fairness to admit that it was
admirably instituted to fulfill its ends--evil as they were--and that
its work was well done.

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