" Father," he said, "let us go where we | the first authoritative words should make shall not be interrupted by this noisy him doubt, should upset in one moment crowd, and I will tell you what you wish." the peace and happiness of these past ten Silently they walked down the road to years? But had it been peace? His conwhere the river bending round the garden science rose up against him, and accused made a little solitude. Father Joseph sat him of stifled misgivings, of deliberate down on a bench shaded by hanging putting away of thought upon the matter; larches, and motioned to Martin to take and then his heart bled within him, as his seat by his side. Then, at first in the picture came before him of what it hesitating sentences, but soon with eager would mean if he should indeed be brought flow of words, Martin poured forth the to feel that he was, as Father Joseph said, history of his doubts, his troubles, his living in deadly sin. The husband's and anguish of soul, and lastly of his flight the father's love revolted at the thought. from Grünenau. He had vowed to love and cherish - ay, but other vows had first been uttered. Chaos seemed to have opened before him, and no voice said, "Let there be light." "All this shall be as naught," said Father Joseph. "Come back to the Mother Church, who opens her arms to receive you, and these your sins shall be forgiven." Then Martin gathered himself together with a visible effort and said, with eyes fixed on the dark water at their feet, "Even if I wished it - which I do not -return is impossible. I am married. I have two children." Father Joseph covered his face with his hands and groaned. But in his soul, the purpose took root to bring back to repentance and a new life this his prodigal son. And then, with all the force of a loving, grieving heart, filled with full conviction of the truths he uttered, he put before Martin the picture of his life as it seemed in his eyes. He spoke of broken vows, of sacrilegious escape from his father's house to feast with harlots, and to eat husks with the swine, and ended in fervent tones imploring him to arise and return and be forgiven. Martin Schultz sat silent and troubled. He had gone through all this before, but only with himself; and when the self-same reproaches were uttered by a voice which he had of old loved and revered, they struck him with tenfold force. Again he said, "Return is impossible. I have to think not only of myself, but of my wife and children." "Nay," said Father Joseph, "hear what the Church says: 'He who does not hate father and mother, and more, even his own soul, cannot be my disciple.' My son, my dear son, think of my words, and give me in my old age the inestimable joy of knowing you brought home to the flock." He rose and blessed him where he sat, and turned away, the tall, bent figure passing slowly on under the shadowy trees, whilst Martin remained behind, torn by a thousand conflicting emotions. Had it come to this, that he was so weak that So the days came and went, and Mina Stein went on with her Kur, and chatted and compared symptoms with the other ladies, and occasionally joked her husband about his sudden fancy for Father Joseph, little dreaming of the misery which was gradually making his life a burden to him. For, alas for him! he could not bring himself to confide his trouble to his wife, who with many whims was after all a sensible little woman, and who would at once have appealed to Mr. Bowyer to come and draw him out of this morbid state. Daily, Father Joseph, with loving prayers and every argument and assurance, urged him to cast aside his sin, and daily the battle raged more fiercely in his soul. The very knowledge that on the one side stood happiness, and on the other a lifelong penance, told against him. Like many another poor, perplexed mortal, it seemed to him that the hard way must be the right one; and so from day to day he grew less able to stand against the priest's persuasions, and at last the end came. Mina Stein lay in bed but half awake, listening to the Kursaal band, which was enlivening with somewhat discordant sounds the early morning walk of the patients undergoing their daily portion of water. The musicians were playing a selection of German Volkslieder, and in her half-drowsy state Mina had been following them in her mind through the words of many a well-known song, when she was roused from her slumbers by her husband coming to her bedside. "Do not wait breakfast for me, dearest," he said, "I shall not be in." And then she saw he was equipped for walking. "Where are you off to so early?" she asked him, smiling up at him as he stood looking gravely down upon her. Ich säss nicht hier, du sässt nicht dort, so Mutterseelen allein. Mina Stein never saw her husband again. When the day went by, and he still had not returned, she began to get anxious; and when night fell, she was almost frantic in her helplessness. She pictured him lying on one of those lonely hills, perhaps with a broken limb, waiting for help; and wrung her hands in agony. Next morning searchers went out far and wide, and sought for him in vain. No trace of Martin Stein was ever found. Roger Bowyer, on hearing the news, came at once to the help of the poor young widow; and when at last she was convinced that her married life was ended, he took her home to her orphaned children. Once it so chanced that they turned their steps to Brittany, and, wandering from one old town to another, found themselves at Soligny-la-Trappe, a little village which has nothing to attract the traveller beyond its neighborhood to the Trappist monastery, which Bowyer had long desired to see. Mrs. Bowyer found that she would not be admitted to the monastery, but decided to drive there with her husband, and wait in the carriage whilst he was shown the place. Their way took them through a hilly, thickly wooded country, until by a sudden turn in the road they came out on the spur of a jutting hill. Below them lay a narrow valley, the sides dark with trees. In the centre stood C'est ici que la mort et que la vérité Elèvent leurs flambeaux terribles: C'est de cette demeure, au monde inaccessible, Que l'on passe à l'éternité. When the carriage stopped at the monastery gates, and the sound of its wheels could no longer be heard, the silence was extraordinary. Only the murmur of a little spring close by, and the measured fall of a hatchet far away in the forest, broke the complete stillness. No human voice reminded of the fact that within those grey walls a multitude of men had elected to pass the remainder of their days, looking on the world (in their great reformer's own words) "as if it had already gone through the great conflagration which shall destroy it in the end of time, and as if nought but its ashes remained." It seemed as if the silence all around had laid its hand even upon these casual visitors to its abode, for they spoke in subdued tones, and started when the driver rang the bell at the central gate, and shocked the air with its harsh clang. The door with its warning to strangers, "On gardera dans le cloître un perpétuel silence," opened to admit Mr. Bowyer; the silent porter in his long white woollen gown with leathern girdle, his face almost hidden by the great black hood, kneeled for a moment, in token of welcome, before his guest, and then mutely led him down the narrow walk between gooseberry bushes and white thorns to the door of the ship-like church. Here and there a brother was at work in the garden, his hood thrown off, the long gown tucked with the black scapulary into the girdle, his shaven crown bare to the afternoon sun. None paused or looked up for a moment at the stranger, whose eyes passed from them to the motto on the cloister door, Sedebit solitarius et tacebit, ere he entered into the gloom of the church itself. It was very plain, totally lacking in those adornments usual in Roman Catholic places of worship. A simple wooden altar, above it a great crucifix, and right and left a double candlestick this was all-no silk or embroidered | attend to domestic matters. The so-called hangings-only the symbol of the faith" Papal Aggression" once more attracted in stern severity. Mr. Bowyer stood there and gazed, whilst he pondered sadly enough on the living death of these monks, who may neither speak to each other, nor communicate by writing with the outer world; a clock outside struck the hour for service, and through a side door filed in silently the company of brothers, each one kissing the ground before the altar, as he moved solemnly to his place, where through the service he stood with closed or downcast eyes singing the responses, in which alone his voice should evermore be heard on earth. And as Roger Bowyer looked in sadness on that mournful band, he started with dismay. Close to him, where his hand could almost reach him, stood, thin and aged and haggard, but unmistakable, with face shaven as when first he knew Martin Schultz, whilom priest of Grünenau, the long-mourned husband of Mina Stein. him, Bowyer with difficulty restrained himself till the short service was at an end, and then he leaned towards him and whispered his name. The downcast eyelids quivered, the sensitive mouth, drawn with pain and year-long anguish of soul, trembled, but no other sign of recognition came; and before Bowyer could speak again, the hood was drawn closer over the lined brow, and Martin Schultz, the Trappist monk, had passed out of his sight for evermore. Bowyer had heart for no more sightseeing that day; he joined his wife, but so pale and shocked that she exclaimed at his appearance. But neither then nor at any other time did he give her any explanation beyond the one (which, as she said, was none),· "I have seen a ghost, and mortal flesh cannot overcome its horror of the dead returned to life." AMY LAYARD. From The Fortnightly Review. HISTORY IN PUNCH. PART II. EUROPE being "profoundly at peace," all sorts of animals, inclusive of the lion and the lamb, lying down beside one another metaphorically in the gigantic conservatory of Hyde Park (which, by the way, received its title of Crystal Palace from Mr. Punch), England had time to attention, and in his representative character, though in a spirit quite foreign to that of the paper in the first ten years of its existence, the sage of Fleet Street was one of the strongest advocates of that undignified and abortive measure, the Ecclesiastical Titles Act. It is noteworthy that both Bright and Cobden opposed the statute. As the first of the series, the Exhibition of 1851 was the sensation of the year. Its effect upon the theatres (like that of a similar institution recently) was disastrous. This was commemorated by Mr. Punch in a cartoon, in which was represented a manager informing the solitary individual occupying his entire house "that the ridiculous farce of opening his theatre would not be repeated, and the 'order' of the gentleman before him would be returned to him on application to the box-office." History repeats itself; the Fisheries, Healtheries, Inventories, and Colinderies have, temporarily at all events, caused the theatres a considerable amount of damage. In 1851 the pre-Raphaelite movement began seriously to attract the attention of Mr. Punch, who raised his voice against its exaggerations. This was the time when Holman Hunt, Watts, and Millais were a united band of brothers, and were walking in the same road of art. Since then their paths, although on parallel lines, have separated. The Royal Academy of the Exhibition year contained Millais's "Mariana in the Moated Grange," and the sage of Fleet Street held it up to derision; but pre-Raphaelitism was, in the eye of the public, a ridiculous affectation, and so for some years this famous artist was one of Mr. Punch's butts. But genius broke the pre-Raphaelite bonds, and ultimately Millais was awarded the highest honor in Mr. Punch's power to confer he was invited (and the invitation was accepted) to contribute to Mr. Punch's own pages. Among other fads, "bloomerism" was in high favor at this time. Naturally, Mr. Punch made the most of portly and ugly old women adopting male costume, and could not resist the temptation of showing, with the assistance of Leech's pencil, that pretty English girls would look just as beautiful out of petticoats as in them. Much fun is made of the difficulty of the fair sex accurately to christen that portion of human attire now known as "the divided skirt." If 1851 might be called "the Exhibition Year," 1852 might be equally appropri- | Charivari: No doubt the idea was sugately described as "the year of the Na- gested by the great incongruity between poleonic coup d'état." Fully half of the the sober Quaker's costume and the then cartoons in the two volumes, if not more, usual appendage of the extremest dandy. have reference to the affairs of France. In like manner, but with greater regard Mr. Punch, representing the tone of the for "local coloring," Lord Palmerston was English feeling which considered Prince given by Mr. Punch a wisp of straw, ever Louis not only as an adventurer, but as afterwards to be held between his lips. an unprincipled and reckless adventurer, To this day presents are occasionally from the first adopted a bitterly hostile made to the leading statesmen of the time tone towards the ultimately unfortunate by the generous dispenser of good things emperor, whom he depicts as a "beggar who dates from Fleet Street for inon horseback." stance, the rather large-sized collars which Mr. Gladstone is usually depicted as wearing are gifts from that locality. In the case of Mr. John Bright he is shown looking through his eye-glass at a very small reform baby, and expressing his dissatisfaction with its diminutive proportions. In 1852 home politics are remarkable for the sudden rise of Benjamin Disraeli into first-class cartoon importance. For some years the great statesman had occasionally appeared in the pages of the Zondon Charivari, but always in a character indicative of weakness allied either with feeble malice or conceit. Thus he was at Leaving politics and turning our attenone time drawn as a little viper gnawing tion to the "domestic concerns " of the at a file, at another as the juvenile politi-nation, we find that every effort was made cal representative of that body of preco- to retain the Crystal Palace on its site at cious children immortalized by Leech, unper the heading of "The Rising Generation." Now he was treated with greater respect, and Mr. Punch shows him as the conductor of an omnibus, suggesting that "a party" should go out in the rain to make room for a very attractive young person (but seemingly not overburdened with brains), Miss Agriculture. Lord John Russell, who is seated on the knifeboard in the wet, expresses his regret that he should have accommodated "a party of swells." After a period of vacillation (which Mr. Punch marked by exhibiting him as "the Political Chameleon "), Disraeli at length accepted free trade, when the sage of Fleet Street immediately presented the nation with a cartoon showing the minister as Fair Rosamond offered by Queen Eleanor (Cobden) a bowl of poison thus labelied, or the alternative dagger of "resignation." The Conservative chancellor of the exchequer preferred the former. Four-and-thirty years ago obituary cartoons were unknown in Mr. Punch's pages, and the pictorial record of the death of the great Duke of Wellington came upon the public with the force of extreme novelty. It was something new for so serious a drawing to appear, and proves that the sense of a great national loss was overpowering and universal. Mr. Bright at this time was presented by Mr. Punch with his mysterious eyeglass (for the right honorable gentleman has never worn one) which he has retained ever since in the pages of the London LIVING AGE. VOL. LVII. 2918 Hyde Park for the benefit of the working classes. This scheme was opposed by a favorite "butt" of Mr. Punch's, Mr. Sibthorpe, a colonel in the militia, who was guilty of the unpardonable eccentricity in those days of wearing a beard, whiskers, and moustaches. This peaceful warrior had the active assistance of the Duke of Argyll and the Earl of Shaftesbury, even then known for his philanthropy, but who on this occasion as on others, took a narrow-minded view of things. A compromise was ultimately effected by removing the building to Sydenham. Mr. Punch, who always keeps his eyes on the ladies, notices in 1852 that they are wearing hoods to their cloaks. Ever practicable, he suggests that as the hoods are not intended to cover the bonnet, they may be utilized in carrying the infants of the family. Mr. Punch's pages contain a sketch embodying the idea. In 1853 "Spiritualism" appears in England for the first time, and John Leech gives the world plenty of pictures of table-moving and hat-turning, which were then considered merely drawing-room amusements, entirely unconnected with the supernatural. Later on, when the barrier which divides the invisible world from the visible was professedly removed by mediums, Mr. Punch adopted a very different tone, and denounced the Spiritualistic charlatans. This year, so far as foreign affairs were concerned, may be accepted as "the lull before the storm." We were 66 drifting into war.' The public were heedless and Mr. Punch, at first, does not pay any very great attention to the situation. Now and then, in the spring, there is a reminder that Russia was on bad terms with England, France, and Turkey, who appear for the first time as allied; but as the year grows older_every other cartoon is devoted to the Eastern question. The change of English feeling engendered by the entente cordiale between ourselves and our 'lively neighbors" is shown in the different treatment of the emperor Napoleon III. He is now no longer "the beggar on horseback," but a highly respectable physician called in by Dr. John Bull to consult with him as to the health of the sick man of Europe. that seemed foreign and unclean, the fashion became firmly established. Among other matters claiming to divide attention with the war, was an attempt to introduce legal examinations as a qualification for the bar. Mr. Punch did not take up the matter with much heartiness. One of his contributors, "Mr. Briefless,' although a sound lawyer, was much in favor of existing institutions, so after a little genial quizzing the subject was dropped, for twenty years. Looking at the year's amusements, the production of a version of "Faust" by Mr. Dion Boucicault at the Princess's, under the management of Mr. Charles Kean, seems to have been the event of the seaThe camp at Chobham, which was the son. Under the title of "Poodle Mephisprecursor of Aldershot and Shorncliffe, topheles the play is criticised very gives Mr. Punch plenty of subjects, and harshly. "All the poetry, all the granit is amusing to note that some of his sug-deur, is discharged from Goethe, the imaggestions (for instance the formation of a shoeblack brigade for the special service of the occupiers of the tents) have since been adopted and carried into effect at Wiinbledon. Among minor matters was the Cab Act, which was intensely unpopular at the time with the London Jehus, for whom Mr. Punch had on the whole a kindly feeling. Now, too, we observe the change in the costume of our young men. The cheery wine-party undergraduate, whom Leech had drawn in years gone by, was now succeeded by the stolid swell whose elder brother's breastpin, representing a miniature human skull, provoked the junior's envy. The year 1854, as seen in the pages of Punch, seems to be one long panorama of the war in the Crimea. Alma, Balaclava, and Inkerman followed in quick succession after the long pause of inaction at pestiferous Varna, and the public could think of nothing else. Again the cartoons became "heroic," and as John Leech's forte, in spite of an occasional example of power or pathos, was comedy, the position of artist in chief was assumed by Mr. Tenniel, whose designs for the House of Lords had a little earlier commanded universal admiration and approval. Early in the year a cut of two soldiers representing England and France, grouped in amity, was so popular under the title of "The United Service" that it was reproduced on a number of articles, inclusive of playing-cards. ination and the subtleties of the master being supplied by the pulleys of the machinist and the colors of the scene-painter." So says Mr. Punch, who disposes of Mr. Kean's own performance by roundly abusing him, and then admitting his new nose to be perfect. "It has the true demoniacal curve. We never saw a better view of the devil's bridge." Among the "small beer chronicles" of the drama, a "list of prices for puffs in a pantomime" is given, which might in all seriousness have been adopted by the manager of a theatre to-day; and Evans's supperrooms, "late Joy's" (it is now the "New Club" in Covent Garden) are alluded to as recording a recent change of proprie torship. The war was prosecuted with vigor (at any rate in the pages of the London Charivari, during 1855), and the cartoons are consequently nearly all of a pugnacious character. Early in the year John Leech's "General Février turns Traitor," showing the czar succumbing at the touch of the skeleton death attired in the Russian uniform, attracted much attention. Peace negotiations were carried on, but without result, beyond establishing the reputation (in the chronicles of Mr. Punch) of the king of Prussia as a besotted winebibber, on account of his devotion to the champagne of the Veuve Clicquot. It has since been proved that the facts were not sufficient to warrant so grave an accusation. Perhaps the peace negotiations After the war, one of its incidents were rendered the more difficult by the the spread of the beard and moustache action of the Russians in firing upon a movement- attracted perhaps most at-party protected by a flag of truce. This tention. In spite of Mr. Punch's chaff, incident was known as "the Massacre of and John Bullish objections to anything Hango." |