Harper's New Monthly Magazine, Vol. III, No. XVII, October 1851

"Things wore on in this way for a year or more, when it was observed that Monsieur B – absented himself at a certain time of the day for many hours, from home, without allowing his wife to suspect his whereabouts. His manœuvres to prevent pursuit, and avoid observation, were most adroit, and utterly forbade detection.

"Meantime the guardians of the cemetery of Père le Chaise had observed at a certain hour of the day a well-dressed individual make his appearance at the gates, and disappear upon the heights, within the inclosure of a little Gothic tomb, erected to the memory of Madame B – .

"The guardians having ascertained that the visitor was the husband of the deceased lady, with true Parisian politeness, avoided any special observation.

"It was ascertained afterward, however, that he employed these stolen hours in laboring upon the tomb – a pocket-knife, his only implement, and a single crazy hope – (which will appear in the sequel) – his only aim. Having, after four or five months of daily toil, finished his work, he waited only the absence of his wife to carry into execution his plan. For this he had not long to wait; she had promised a visit to the country; and upon the very day following her departure, Monsieur B – hurried to his old rendezvous at Père le Chaise, and with the same knife with which he had worked his way into the stone sarcophagus in which the body of his first wife reposed, he severed the head from the trunk, transported it under cover of his cloak to his home; placed it before him upon the table; kindled a brazier of charcoal; wrote a last word to his living partner, and then, with his pipe in his mouth, and in face of the ghastly head from the tomb – he died upon his chair!"

There is in this story, insufferable as it may seem to delicate-minded readers, strong illustration of the French love of the horrible – of French passion – and of that French spirit of Dramatism, which would turn even the vulgarity of suicide into the heroism of a Tragedy.

Reading on, as we do, in our Easy Chair way, our eye falls upon another bit of French romance of a different style: it will probably never come to the eyes of half of our readers in its Paris shape, so we employ a lazy interval of our weightier duties to render it into old-fashioned English:

Every body knows that the rage for gaming in Paris, specially in private circles, has been for the last eight or ten years – excessive. And if any weak-minded American has "dined out" there, within that time, he has very likely been mulcted in a very pretty sum (after coffee was removed) at écarte.

But, this is not to our story, which, in translating, we shall take the liberty of vamping into the easiest possible shape – for ourselves.

Monsieur X – was some descendant (grandson, for aught we know) of a certain Marshal of the Empire of France, and inherited from him (if report spake true) a handsome fortune of some five hundred thousand francs; or, in American coinage, one hundred thousand dollars. This is quite enough to live on pleasantly in Paris, or, for that matter, any where else.

Of course, Monsieur X – was a mark for such mammas as had marriageable daughters; and as the French mothers always manage these affairs themselves, and are, beside, very thoroughly schooled in the ways of the world, Monsieur X – stood a very poor chance of escape. In fact, he did not escape, but was married one fine morning to a very pretty mademoiselle, who had the credit of possessing rare virtues, and whom our hero (Monsieur X – ), for a wonder, did really and truly love.

We mention this as even a greater rarity on the other side of the water, than on this; and every body of ordinary observation knows that it is rare enough with us.

They lived happily through the honey-moon, and much to the surprise of his friends, for a year or two afterward. But at length it was observed that he wore very long faces, and dined frequently by himself at the Café de Paris, and did not even smile at the broadest of Grassot's comic acting. As he was known to be a young man of very correct habits, the inference was (not always a just one, by the way) that the wife was in fault.

The truth was, that with a disposition naturally amiable and yielding, she had been seduced by those married friends who knew of her husband's resources, into an intense love of cards. As a natural consequence she became ever eager for play, morose in her habit, and petulant of manner.

The husband bore this all very quietly for a while, revolving in his own mind what could be done, and paying his wife's drafts upon him without a murmur. Days and weeks passed by, and the change wore grievously upon his spirits.

At length, he chose his course, and pursued it – after this manner.

He entered with apparent gayety into his wife's amusements, and introduced her, through the interposition of a friend, into one of the most famous gambling salons of Paris. As usual, she took her seat at the table where the stakes were largest. Her antagonist at the play was a stout old gentleman who wore a careless manner, but who after the first round or two played with remarkable success. When madame's losses had amounted to a considerable sum, he proposed "double or quits." Madame accepted and – lost.

The gentleman proposed the same game: madame accepted and lost!

The gentleman proposed the same trial a third and fourth time; and madame, supposing him to be an eccentric old gentleman, who was willing to furnish her with this opportunity of winning again the money, accepted each time his proposal, and uniformly – lost.

Still the play went on, until madame's losses had amounted to the extraordinary sum of four hundred thousand francs, when the old gentleman pleaded an engagement, and retired.

Madame X – , in an agony of trepidation gained her home, and throwing herself at her husband's feet, confessed and regretted the folly which had ruined them.

The husband was naturally astounded: "But," said he, controlling his emotion, "the losses must be met. There will remain some seventy thousand francs of my estate, and with that we can live comfortably in the country. For myself, I do not at all regret this: but, my dear (for his old affection lingered), I fear that you may sink under the privations you must encounter."

His goodness overcame her; she avowed not only her willingness but her great joy in becoming the companion of his exile.

It was in an old town of Brittany (we believe, for the paper is not at hand) that they lived quietly and cosily together, in a mossy old chateau. Their table was frugally served, and their servants were of the neighboring peasantry: in place of the old joyous rides in the Bois de Boulogne, they now took strolls together under the wood that shaded the chateau. Thus, for ten years they lived, growing into each other's affections, and rejoicing in the loss which had won them to a real enjoyment of life, and of each other's love.

"It was indeed a happy loss," said she.

"It was none at all," said the husband, and with a caress he handed her the certificates for some five hundred thousand francs, in the most available of French funds!

"Your antagonist," said he, "was a sure winner, but his services were purchased by your husband, and now that he has won you to his love, and to a sense of your own dignity, he makes over to you this recovered fortune."

And the French chronicler goes on to paint a pretty scene as a hint for those dramatists who choose to put the affair on the stage. And he further says that the story is well authenticated, as he might prove by giving the parties' names; but upon consideration, he favors us only with an X.

If the story is a lie, all we can say is, that Eugene Guinot must take the blame of it: and judging from his experience, we think the blame will sit lightly on him.

We have wandered so far from the town, that we had half forgotten that there was any town at all. But, after all, there lies but a step nowadays between Paris and New York – a step over sea, and a step over a very narrow bridge of morals. True, we have not yet imported the salon gambling, except in a quiet club-way, where surely vagrant bachelors, it would seem, have as good right to stultify themselves, as they have in most other situations in life. It is to be doubted, however, if gaming does not presently come into the round of amusements. Old methods do not last long in our growing society: and as evidence, we may note the abandonment, the present year, of the fancy balls, which, for four or five seasons back, have made the very Elysium of a summer's festivities.

What matter has been made of it under the new dispensation of undisguised ball costume, the papers have not much informed us: indeed it is richly observable, that when the fashions of the day withdraw from outré action, and shed those enormities of feature which excite the stare of the vulgar – just so soon the public press respects their modesty, and gives them the award of silence. As a consequence (for the sequitur may not appear, in the illogical order of our after-dinner arrangement) little has been said this year of the "dress balls" of Saratoga and Newport: and the catalogues of watering-place Deities have been transferred from the flash-papers, to the roll-books of the marriageable men. A few sharp days of early September (not far from the date of our writing) will have driven our city people away from those shores, where the eastern fogs come sailing in laden with agues, and dropped them down here and there, along those sheltered hill-sides of inland repute, which bask in a summer morning, and which, by and by, will smoke with the kindling glory of an Indian summer.

As yet few have found their way to the town itself: and those few find the streets full of bustle, of strangers, of dust, and of Cuba. It strikes a man oddly, who has been taking his siesta the summer through, under the shadow of country-grown trees, and in the hearing of birds, until he has grown into a sort of assimilation with country habit and country talk, to rebound upon a sudden, from the hard, frosted hill-sides into the very centre of this great furnace of business – and to find it all sweltering and panting with its labor, just as it did six months gone by, and just as it will do in six months to come! Your country idler, with the conceit of the city on him, somehow conceives the idea, that without him there will be less noise, and less commotion: and yet he may go and come, and take his thousands, and bring his thousands, and shout at his loudest, and the great city, quite careless of it all, still sends up from her pebbled veins, and her sweeping quays, the same unceasing roar.

We have forewarned our reader, or should have done it, that we shall shift our topic in these our after-dinner musings, as easy as the turning of a leaf. Our eyes have just now fallen upon a passage in Mr. Greeley's last letter from Europe, in which he speaks of the appearance of the English women, and commends, with a little more than his usual ardor of expression, their perfection of figure. He attributes this, and very justly, to the English lady's habit of out-of-door exercise. We had thought that this fact was known: that it was known years ago, and that our fair country-women would catch a hint from it, that would throw color into their cheeks and fullness into their forms. And yet, sadly enough, our ladies still coop themselves in their heated rooms, until their faces are like lilies, and their figures – like lily stems!

We have alluded to the matter now, not for the sake of pointing a satire surely, but for the sake of asking those one or two hundred thousand ladies, who every month light our pages with their looks, if they do indeed prize a little unnatural pearliness of hue, and delicacy of complexion, beyond that ruddy flush of health (the very tempter of a kiss!) and that full development of figure, which all the poets, from Homer down, have made one of the chiefest beauties of a woman?

If not, let them make of themselves horsewomen: or, bating that, let them make acquaintance with the sunrise: let them pick flowers with the dew upon them: let them study music of nature's own orchestra. Vulgarity is not essential to health: and a lithe, elastic figure does not grow in hot-houses.

For ourselves, we incline heartily to the belief, that if American women have a wish to add to the respect, the admiration, the love, and (if need be) the fear of the men, they will find an easier road toward that gain, in a little vigorous out-of-door exercise and a uniform attention to the great essentials of health, than in any new-fangled costumes, or loudly applauded "Rights."

We have grown unconsciously heated with the topic, and this added to the 90° by Fahrenheit, which is steaming at our elbow, must cut short the first installment of gossip from our red-backed easy-chair.

New York, September, 1851.

Literary Notices

The Oration before the Phi Beta Kappa Society of Harvard University, on The American Mind, by Rev. William B. Sprague, is superior to the average run of anniversary discourses. Chaste, vigorous, and eloquent in expression, eminently genial and catholic in spirit, pervaded equally with a genuine love of learning, and a glowing patriotism, it abounds in wise and generous counsels, adapted to the present times, and displays frequent touches of pathos and wit. The tribute to the memory of Buckminster, at the close of the oration, is an admirable specimen of classical eulogy.

The Farmer's Every-Day Book, by Rev. John L. Blake (published by Derby, Miller, and Co., Auburn), is a unique collection of varieties by a veteran manufacturer of books, whose educational works have had an extensive influence on the youth of our country, and whose ripened experience is devoted to productions of practical utility for the adult mind. A mass of information is accumulated in this volume, which must be welcome to the cultivator of the soil, in his choice intervals of leisure, on a winter's evening or a rainy day. It is arranged under appropriate heads, expressed in lucid and attractive language, and combined with excellent moral suggestions. The author has derived his materials from every available source. He has shown a sound judgment in their selection. Nothing is admitted which has not a real claim on the attention of the reader, while there are few topics of interest to the farmer which are not discussed with more or less detail. The articles from Mr. Blake's own pen are distinguished for their liveliness and good sense. His book is equally adapted to the modest farm-houses of New England, and the log-cabins of the Western Prairie.

Harper and Brothers have published a sumptuous edition of The Nile Boat; or, Glimpses of the Land of Egypt, by W. H. Bartlett – another agreeable volume on the manners and customs of the Orientals, with numerous sketches of their scenery. Mr. Bartlett's course was similar to that of which we have such a charming memorial in the "Nile Notes," by a Howadji; and it is interesting to compare the descriptions of two travelers, who look at the same objects from such entirely different points of view. Mr. Bartlett's first point is Alexandria, from which he departs for Cairo, whence he passes up the Nile, visits Thebes, Esneh, and Edfou, ascends the cataracts, and explores the weird ruins of Philae. The style of this volume is quiet and unpretending. It is illustrated with a profusion of engravings, from drawings made on the spot by the author, many of them with the camera lucida. They exhibit the principal monuments of the Pharonic period, as at Thebes, the later Ptolemaic style, as at Edfou and Philae, with some of the most beautiful specimens of the Arabian, at Cairo, besides many others of an interesting and instructive character. The volume is an admirable specimen of typography, and deserves a place in every library.

Of the swarm of Annuals for 1852, we have received The Iris, edited by John S. Hart, LL.D., and The Dew-Drop, a smaller volume, both published by Lippincott, Grambo, and Co. The Iris is issued, with its usual splendor of embellishment and typography, with one especial feature for the present year, which can not fail to enhance its interest and value. This is a collection of drawings of some of the most remarkable objects connected with the Indian traditions on this continent, made by Capt. Eastman, of the United State's Topographical Corps, who was stationed for nine years on our northwestern frontier, among the Indian tribes in the vicinity of Fort Snelling. The traditions themselves have been wrought up into poems and tales by the wife of Capt. Eastman, depicting the vicissitudes of Indian life, and the passions of Indian character. A great part of the letter-press of the volume consists of these sketches, which, for the most part, are executed with a firm and graceful hand. Besides these there are several pieces which are gems of literary excellence. "The Cenotaph," by E. W. Ellsworth, in memory of Capt. Nathan Hale, who died nobly in the service of the Revolution, is a quaint ballad, displaying a strange union of pathos and Yankee humor. Edith May, Mrs. Mary E. Hewitt, and Alice Carey each contribute characteristic poetical pieces.

The Dew-Drop is exquisitely embellished, and contains selections from the writings of several of the best American authors. Among them we find the names of Longfellow, Boker, Tuckerman, Stoddard, Edith May, Miss Lynch, Miss Sedgwick, Mrs. Child, and other popular celebrities.

Uncle Frank's Willow-Lane Stories is a budget of pleasant narratives for children, from the pen of Francis C. Woodworth, whose contributions to juvenile literature are always distinguished for their cordial and lifesome sympathy with the young heart. These stories are taken from country life, and are full of juvenile adventure and incident. The volume is illustrated with neat wood-cuts. (Published by Charles Scribner).

Drayton (published by Harper and Brothers), is a new American novel, presenting several fine examples of character-painting, with a plot of more than common interest. The hero, who passes from the shoemaker's bench to a high place in the legal profession, is not a bad specimen of American go-ahead-itiveness, softened down by numerous redeeming traits. We think the anonymous author has displayed a degree of ability in this volume which promises a future career of decided brilliancy.

The Epoch of Creation, by Eleazar Lord (published by Charles Scribner). An elaborate volume, devoted to the defense of Divine Revelation against the encroachments of modern science, with especial reference to the alleged results of geological research. The leading idea of the work is expressed in the following paragraph of the Introduction, of which, though by another hand, the whole treatise is an expansion and illustration. "The work of creation was necessarily a supernatural work; and hence all reasoning from the general laws of nature, which in their operation were subsequent to the work of creation, is as irrelevant in explanation of the Mosaic account, as the argument drawn from universal experience in disparagement of the miracles recorded in Holy Writ." Mr. Lord, accordingly, in explaining the teachings of Scripture on the work of creation, defends the literal sense of the Mosaic history. He maintains that the six days of the creation are to be understood in their most obvious acceptation, and that the attempt to reconcile them with the theory of a more ancient date of the material universe, is absurd in point of philosophy, and fatal to the interests of revealed truth. In the course of his argument, the author takes occasion to present several searching criticisms of Hitchcock, Miller, Pye Smith, and other eminent geologists, who have regarded the question in a different point of view. His work will be read with interest, at the present day, when so much attention has been drawn to the religious and scientific issues in controversy. Mr. Lord presents an earnest and able defense of the theological view, in opposition to what may be considered as the prevailing opinion of the scientific world. He writes with clearness and force. He is master of considerable logical skill. Without the vivacity of style, or the brilliancy of rhetoric which distinguishes the productions of many of his opponents, he aims mainly at the lucid expression of the arguments in the case, which he sustains with shrewdness and ability. No one can mistake his evident zeal for the interests of revelation; or accuse him of the slightest taste for scientific novelties.

The Theory of Human Progression (published by B. B. Mussey and Co., Boston). The purpose of this book, which we should suppose was written by a Scotch Presbyterian, is to show the natural probability of a reign of justice on the earth. It is written in a hard, dry, ultra-logical style, tinctured with the spirit of Scotch and German metaphysics, and deducing the most stringent conclusions in regard to social justice from the language of the Bible. The author is an original thinker. He has little respect to custom or precedent. With great acuteness and discrimination, he points out the unavoidable inferences from the premises, which he assumes, and which, in most cases, he derives from the doctrines of Scripture. We rarely find such radical views of society, combined with such orthodox principles of theology. If the volume had been written with greater simplicity and liveliness of style, its effect would have been immeasurably enhanced.

Forest Life and Forest Trees, by John S. Springer (published by Harper and Brothers). This is a genuine American work, redolent of the pine forests of Maine, and filled with fresh and glowing descriptions of the life of a New-England backwoodsman. The writer was reared in the midst of the scenes which he portrays with such distinct outlines and such natural coloring, and has spent several of what he regards as the most pleasant years of his life in the toils and adventures of a "down east" lumberman. Hence he moves among the "strange, eventful" incidents of his story, like one who is perfectly at home, jotting down his exciting narrations without the slightest effort or pretension, and introducing his readers by the simplest transitions to the very heart of the remote wilderness. His work is divided into three parts, namely, The Trees of America, The Pine Tree, or Forest Life, and River Life. The first part is a valuable compilation selected from the most authentic materials on the dendrology of New-England, accompanied with judicious original comments. In the remaining portions of the book, we have a variety of reminiscences of a residence among the wild mountains, forests, lakes, and rivers of Maine, adventures of lumbermen in the pursuit of their perilous calling, fresh pictures of the sublime scenery with which they are surrounded, and a fund of amusing anecdotes. Several instructive details are given in regard to the lumber trade. The volume is illustrated with numerous wood engravings, which will give a distinct idea of many of the localities and scenes described by the author. Although making no claims to literary excellence, in the technical sense of the term, we are sure this book will become a universal favorite with the "reading millions" of America, from Canada to California.

Service Afloat and Ashore, during the Mexican War, by Lieut. Raphael Semmes (published by Wm. H. Moore and Co., Cincinnati), has already asserted a successful claim on the public favor, a large edition having been exhausted, and a second being on the eve of appearance. It is a work of standard merit, and does honor to the growing literature of the West. More substantial in its character than one would anticipate from its finical, book-making title, it presents a well-digested summary of the political history of Mexico, of her relations with the United States, and the various complications that led to the war of 1846. The author was personally engaged in the siege of Vera Cruz, of which terrible operation he gives a vivid description, drawn up both with military precision, and with appropriate poetical coloring. He afterward joined the army of Gen. Scott at Jalapa, was present at the battle of Churubusco as aid to Gen. Worth, and accompanied the victorious troops to the Mexican Capital. With an excellent opportunity for observation, and no small experience of military affairs, he has subjected the movements of the American army to a critical scrutiny, and presents his conclusions with soldier-like frankness and decision, though evidently aiming at impartiality. His remarks on the course of Gen. Scott are often severe, though he pays a warm tribute to the many admirable qualities of that eminent commander; but his deepest enthusiasm is called forth by the chivalrous and romantic character of Gen. Worth. Whatever opinion may be formed of the correctness of his comments on delicate military questions, it must be admitted that they are put forth in fairness and good faith, and if not to be regarded as conclusive, they afford a valuable aid in deciding the judgment of the impartial reader. The style of Lieut. Semmes is usually chaste and vigorous. In the mere narrative of historical events it sometimes flags, calling for the application of the whip and spur; but in the description of scenes of stirring interest, of battles, and marches, and shipwrecks, it kindles up with the occasion, and becomes glowing and vehement, often presenting passages of wild and startling beauty. We congratulate the noble-spirited author on the signal success of his work, and hope that we shall again hear of his name in the field of literature, as well as in the service of his country.