Kitabı oku: «The Mirror of Literature, Amusement, and Instruction. Volume 10, No. 264, July 14, 1827», sayfa 6

THE SELECTOR; AND LITERARY NOTICES OF NEW WORKS

RAFTS AND RHINE SCENERY

Between Andernach and Bonn I saw two or three of those enormous rafts which are formed of the accumulated produce of the Swiss and German forests. One was anchored in the middle of the river, and looked like a floating island. These Krakens of the Rhine are composed of oak and fir floated in smaller rafts down the tributary streams, and, their size constantly increasing till they arrive hereabouts, they make platforms of from four hundred to seven hundred feet long, and one hundred and forty feet in breadth. When in motion, a dozen boats and more precede them, carrying anchors and cables to guide and arrest their course. The navigation of a raft down the Rhine to Dort, in Holland, which is the place of their destination,⁴ is a work of great difficulty. The skill of the German and Dutch pilots who navigate them, in spite of the abrupt turnings, the eddies, the currents, rocks and shoals that oppose their progress, must indeed be of a very peculiar kind, and can be possessed but by few. It requires besides a vast deal of manual labour. The whole complement of rowers and workmen, together with their wives and children, on board one of the first-rates, amounts to the astonishing number of nine hundred or a thousand; a little village, containing from forty to sixty wooden houses, is erected upon each, which also is furnished with stalls for cattle, a magazine for provisions, &c. The dwelling appropriated to the use of the master of the raft and the principal super-cargoes was conspicuous for its size and commodiousness. It is curious to observe these rafts, on their passage, with their companies of rowers stationed at each end, making the shores ring again to the sound of their immense oars.

The succession of grand natural pictures, which I had been gazing upon since my departure from Mentz and the district of the Rheingau, are undoubtedly similar, but not the same; there is alternately the long noble reach, the sudden bend, the lake-like expanse, the shores on both sides lined with towns whose antique fortifications rise in distant view, and villages whose tapering spires of blue slate peer above the embosoming foliage; the mountains clothed with vines and forests, their sides bristled and their summits crowned with the relics of feudal residences,⁵ or of cloistered fanes: but the varieties in the shape and character of all these are inexhaustible; it is this circumstance that enhances the pleasure of contemplating, scenery, in which there is, as Lord Byron says,

 
"A blending of all beauties, streams and dells,
Fruit, foliage, crag, wood, corn-field, mountain, vine,
And chiefless castles breathing stern farewells,
From gray but leafy walls where ruin greenly dwells."
 

The oppositions of light and shade; the rich culture of the hills contrasted with the rugged rocks that often rise from out of the midst of fertility; the bright verdure of the islands which the Rhine is continually forming; the purple hues and misty azure of the distant mountains—these and a thousand other indescribable charms constitute sources of visual delight which can be imparted only by a view of the objects themselves. And is excitement awakened in contemplating the borders of this graceful and magnificent river? Yes. When we revert to the awful convulsions of the physical world, and the important revolutions of human society, of which the regions it flows through have been successively the theatre—when we meditate on the vast changes, the fearful struggles, the tragic incidents and mournful catastrophes, which they have witnessed from the earliest ages to the very times in which we have ourselves lived and marked the issue of events—"the battles, sieges, fortunes" that have passed before its green tumultuous current, or within ken of its mountain watch-towers—the shouts of nations that have resounded, and the fates of empires that have been decided, on its shores—when we think of the slaughtered myriads whose bones have bleached on the neighbouring plains, filled up the trenches of its rock-built strong-holds, or found their place of sepulture beneath its wave—when, at each survey we take of the wide and diversified scene, the forms of centuries seem to be embodied with the objects around us, and the record of the past becomes vividly associated with the impression of present realities—it is then that we are irresistibly led to compare the greatness of nature with the littleness of man; it is then that we are forcibly struck with the power and goodness of the Author of both; and that the deepest humility unites itself in a grateful mind, with the highest admiration, at the sight of "these His lowest works."

But do you pretend, it may be asked, in the course of a three days' journey, however lengthened by celerity of conveyance, or favoured by advantages of season or weather—do you pretend to have experienced that very eminent degree of gratification which the country is capable of communicating? Certainly not. I speak of these scenes but as of things, which before my own hasty and unsatisfied glances came like shadows—so departed. Instead of two or three days, a whole month should be spent between Mentz, Coblentz, and Bonn, in order fully to know and thoroughly to enjoy the beauties and grandeurs with which that space abounds.—Stevenson's Tour in France, &c.

THE BARBER

 
Nick Razorblade a barber was,
  A strapping lad was he;
And he could shave with such a grace,
  It was a joy to see!
 
 
And tho' employ'd within his house,
  He kept like rat in hole;
All those that pass'd the barber's door,
  Could always see his pole!
 
 
His dress was rather plain than rich,
  Nor fitted over well;
Yet, tho' no macaroni, Nick,
  He often cut a swell!
 
 
And Nick was brave, and he could fight,
  As many times he proved;
A lamb became a lion fierce,
  Whenever he was moved!
 
 
Like many of his betters, who
  To field with pistols rush,
When Nicky lather'd any one,
  He was obliged to brush!
 
 
Some say Nick was a brainless block,
  While those who've seen him waving
His bright sharp razor, o'er scap'd chins,
  Declare he was a shaving!
 
 
His next door neighbour, Nelly Jones,
  A maid of thirty-eight,
'Twas said regarded Nick with smiles,
  But folks will always prate.
 
 
'Tis known in summer time that she,
  (A maid and only daughter)
To show her love for Razorblade,
  Kept Nicky in hot water!
 
 
For politics Nick always said,
  He never cared a fig;
Quoth he:—"If I a Tory were,
  I likewise wear a wig!"
 
 
No poacher he, yet hairs he wired,
  With skill that made maids prouder;
And though he never used a gun,
  He knew the use of powder!
 
 
He never took offence at words,
  However broad or blunt;
But when maids brought a front to dress,
  Of course he took a front!
 
 
Beneath his razor folks have slept,
  So easy were they mown;
Yet (oh! most passing strange it was!)
  His razor was his own!
 
 
Nick doubtless had a tender heart,
  But not for Nelly Jones;
He made Miss Popps "bone of his bone,"
  But never made old bones!
 
 
He died and left an only son,
  A barber too by trade;
But when they ope'd his will, they found
  A cruel will he'd made.
 
 
And doubtless he was raving mad,
  (To slander I'm unwilling)
For tho' a barber, Nicky cut
  His heir off with a shilling!
 

Absurdities: in Prose and Verse.

BONAPARTE ATTEMPTS SUICIDE

While we endeavour to sum up the mass of misfortunes with which Bonaparte was overwhelmed at this crisis, it seems as if Fortune had been determined to show that she did not intend to reverse the lot of humanity, even in the case of one who had been so long her favourite, but that she retained the power of depressing the obscure soldier, whom she had raised to be almost king of Europe, in a degree as humiliating as his exaltation had been splendid. All that three years before seemed inalienable from his person, was now reversed. The victor was defeated, the monarch was dethroned, the ransomer of prisoners was in captivity, the general was deserted by his soldiers, the master abandoned by his domestics, the brother parted from his brethren, the husband severed from the wife, and the father torn from his only child. To console him for the fairest and largest empire that ambition ever lorded it over, he had, with the mock name of emperor, a petty isle, to which he was to retire, accompanied by the pity of such friends as dared express their feelings, the unrepressed execrations of many of his former subjects, who refused to regard his present humiliation as an amends for what he had made them suffer during his power, and the ill-concealed triumph of the enemies into whose hands he had been delivered.

A Roman would have seen, in these accumulated disasters, a hint to direct his sword's point against his breast; a man of better faith would have turned his eye back on his own conduct, and having read, in his misuse of prosperity, the original source of those calamities, would have remained patient and contrite under the consequences of his ambition. Napoleon belonged to the Roman school of philosophy; and it is confidently reported, especially by Baron Fain, his secretary, though it has not been universally believed, that he designed, at this extremity, to escape from life by an act of suicide.

The emperor, according to this account, had carried with him, ever since the retreat from Moscow, a packet containing a preparation of opium, made up in the same manner with that used by Condorcet for self-destruction. His valet-de-chambre, in the night betwixt the 12th and 13th of April, heard him arise and pour something into a glass of water, drink, and return to bed. In a short time afterwards, the man's attention was called by sobs and stifled groans—an alarm took place in the chateau—some of the principal persons were roused, and repaired to Napoleon's chamber. Yvan, the surgeon, who had procured him the poison, was also summoned; but hearing the emperor complain that the operation of the poison was not quick enough, he was seized with a panic-terror, and fled from the palace at full gallop. Napoleon took the remedies recommended, and a long fit of stupor ensued, with profuse perspiration. He awakened much exhausted, and surprised at finding himself still alive; he said aloud, after a few moments' reflection, "Fate will not have it so," and afterwards appeared reconciled to undergo his destiny, without similar attempts at personal violence. There is, as we have already hinted, a difference of opinion concerning the cause of Napoleon's illness; some imputing it to indigestion. The fact of his having been very much indisposed is, however, indisputable. A general of the highest distinction transacted business with Napoleon on the morning of the 13th of April. He seemed pale and dejected, as from recent and exhausting illness. His only dress was a night-gown and slippers, and he drank from time to time a quantity of tisan, or some such liquid, which was placed beside him, saying he had suffered severely during the night, but that his complaint had left him.

After this crisis, and having ratified the treaty which his mareschals had made for him. Napoleon appeared more at his ease than he had been for some time before, and conversed frankly with his attendants upon the affairs of France.