Chapter M: W. Is a Fool; (6)

After Goethe and the translator, or, in German phrase, oversetter, comes the editor!--who, in the midst of some would-be-pathetic cant, drops two bits of information, both entirely false; namely, that "the letters, with very few and unimportant exceptions, were written at the moment;" and, secondly, that "the author is dead!" The editor adds that there actually exist four volumes of this correspondence, but from "various circumstances, which cannot be explained, it has been found necessary to publish the two last volumes first;"--the pair, as yet unprinted, containing his highness's opinions and illustrations of London society, as these, now before us, exhibit the "manners and customs" of the provinces, and of Ireland.

As to the alleged demise of the author--Shakspeare mentions a certain class of persons who "die many times before their deaths;" and perhaps his highness may have thought it as well to feel his ground with our provinces before venturing upon what he calls "the _grand foyer_ of European aristocracy." However--unless the whole affair is an impudent juggle--we are justified in fixing this performance upon the Prince Puckler-Muskau; and we only wonder how any English reviewer of the book could have hesitated about doing so, provided he had read as far as page 284 of the first volume, where we find our "German prince" at Limerick, in company with Mr. O'Connell, a relation of the great agitator.

"We quitted the church, and were proceeding to visit the rock
near the Shannon, upon which the English signed the treaty after
the battle of the Boyne--a treaty which they have not been
remarkably scrupulous in observing. I remarked that we were
followed by an immense crowd of people, which increased like
an avalanche, and testified equal respect and enthusiasm. All
on a sudden they shouted, 'Long life to Napoleon and Marshal
----.' 'Good God,' said I, 'for whom do the people take me? As
a perfectly unpretending stranger I cannot in the least degree
understand why they seem disposed to do me so much honour.' 'Was
not your father the Prince of ----?' said O'Connell. 'Oh no,'
replied I; 'my father was indeed a nobleman of rather an older
date, but very far from being so celebrated.' 'You must forgive
us then,' said O'Connell, incredulously; 'for, to tell you the
truth, you are believed to be a natural son of Napoleon, whose
partiality to your supposed mother was well known.' 'You joke,'
said I, laughing: 'I am at least ten years too old to be the son
of the great emperor and the beautiful princess.' He shook his
head, however, and I reached my inn amid reiterated shouts. Here
I shut myself up, and I shall not quit my retreat to-day. The
people, however, patiently posted themselves under my windows,
and did not disperse until it was nearly dark."

We make no apology for anticipating here the arrival of his highness at Limerick, because, by showing in the outset the mistake that Mr. O'Connell made between the titles of Prince de la Moscowa and Prince Muskau, we establish at once the identity of Goethe's "unprejudiced traveller," and a "right-minded" and "decorous" terminater of _affaires de cœur_--of whom many of our readers have had some personal knowledge--and whose imposing mustachios are still fresh in our own recollection. The cold nights of November do not more surely portend to the anxious sportsman in the country the approach of woodcocks, than do the balmy zephyrs of May foretell the arrival of illustrious foreigners in London; each succeeding season brings its flock of princes, counts, and barons, who go the ordinary round of dinners, assemblies, concerts and balls; yawn each of them one night under the gallery of the House of Commons; one day take their position on the bench at the Old Bailey; visit the Court of Chancery; snatch a glimpse of the House of Peers; mount St. Paul's; dive into the Tunnel; see Windsor; breakfast at Sandhurst; attend a review on a wet morning in Hyde Park; dance at Almack's; try for an heiress--fail; make a tour of the provinces; enjoy a battue in Norfolk; sink into a coal-pit in Northumberland; admire grouse and pibrochs in Scotland; fly along a rail-road; tread the plank of a steam-packet, and so depart,--"and then are heard no more."

Such was this Prince Puckler-Muskau; and such were his qualifications and opportunities for depicting that

"strange insular life which" (according to the clear and
consistent summary of M. Goethe) "is based in boundless
wealth and civil freedom, in universal monotony and manifold
diversity--formal and capricious, active and torpid, energetic
and dull, comfortable and tedious, the envy and the derision of
the world!"

His first letter, addressed, as all his letters are, to his "dear Julia,"--(that is to say, no doubt, his highness's consort, Princess Puckler, to his alliance with whom, we believe, he owed his princeship)--is dated Cheltenham, July 12, 1828; and the first observation which his highness is pleased to make upon his arrival at that popular watering-place is one of a mixed character, political, statistical, and philosophical, whence may be derived a tolerably fair estimate of his highness's accuracy and knowledge of "things in general." He is describing to his "dear Julia" the nature and character of the distress amongst the lower orders in England, and its causes and origin.

"The distress," says his highness, "in truth, consisted in this:
that the people, instead of having three or four meals a day,
with tea, cold meat, bread and butter, beefsteaks, or roast meat,
were now obliged to content themselves with two, consisting only
of meat and potatoes. It was, however, just harvest time, and the
want of labourers in the fields so great, that the farmers gave
almost any wages. Nevertheless, I was assured that the mechanics
would rather destroy all the machinery and actually starve,
than bring themselves to take a sickle in their hands, or bind
a sheaf, so intractable and obstinate are the English common
people rendered by their universal comfort, and the certainty of
obtaining employment if they vigorously seek it. From what I have
now told you, you may imagine what deductions you ought to make
from newspaper articles."

This valuable information is followed by an anecdote:--

"Yesterday, '_entre le poire et le fromage_,'"--(at what period
of a Cheltenham dinner that might be, his highness does not
condescend to explain)--"I received the twice-declined visit of
the master of the ceremonies, a gentleman who does the honour
of the baths, and exercises a considerable authority over
the company of an English watering-place, in virtue of which
he welcomes strangers with most anti-English officiousness
and pomposity, and manifests great care and zeal for their
entertainment. An Englishman invested with such a character has
_mauvais jeu_, and vividly recalls the ass in the fable, who
tried to imitate the caresses of the lap-dog. I could not get
rid of my visitor till he had swallowed some bottles of claret
with me, and devoured all the dessert the house afforded. At
length he took his leave, first extorting from me a promise
that I would honour the ball of the following evening with my
presence. However, I had so little inclination for company and
new acquaintances, that I made _faux bond_, and left Cheltenham
early in the morning."

Who the master of the ceremonies at Cheltenham, thus uncourteously likened by his highness unto an ass, may be, we have not the advantage of knowing; but certain it is that, however derogatory such an office might at first sight appear, the characters and profession of some of the individuals filling it prove that it is not so considered; and it is, at all events, highly improbable that a gentleman, paying an official visit to a foreign prince, would force his society upon his illustrious host for a sufficient length of time to drink several bottles of claret; and still more improbable is it that any man--gentleman or not--could contrive to "devour all the dessert the Plough at Cheltenham afforded," at a sitting. If, however, the _arbiter elegantiarum_ of Cheltenham did really conduct himself in the manner described, he followed the example of Hamlet with the daggers,--he spoke of ceremony, but used none.

At page 14, we reach Llangollen, where his highness is pleased to make an observation, which, coming from a prince, sounds strange. He tells his Julia that "where he pays well, he is always the first person!" "We represent him to ourselves (quoth Goethe) as of a dignified appearance;" but the landlords and waiters seem to have wanted such discrimination. He then informs us--

"that his appetite, enormously sharpened by the mountain air,
was most agreeably invited by the aspect of the smoking coffee,
fresh guinea-fowls' eggs, deep yellow mountain butter, thick
cream, 'toasted muffins' (a delicate sort of cake eaten hot with
butter), and lastly, two red spotted trout just caught; all
placed on a snow-white table-cloth of Irish damask;--a breakfast
which Walter Scott's heroes in 'the highlands' might have been
thankful to receive at the hands of that great painter of human
necessities. '_Je dévore déjà un œuf._'--Adieu!"

It is laid down by Hannah, in "Hamilton's Bawn," that a captain of a horse

"has never a hand that is idle;
For the right holds the sword, and the left holds the bridle;"

and we infer, from the animated account given by his highness of his own activity, that he must have been either a dragoon or a hussar, for, while with one hand he is describing to the sentimental Julia the delights of his breakfast, he is, by his own showing, actually eating an egg with the other.--His notion of being served with guinea-fowls' eggs we presume to have arisen from the price which the innkeeper charged for them, for although eggs are plenty in Wales, princes are scarce; but what his highness means by describing Sir Walter Scott as a great painter of human necessities, is quite beyond us.--After breakfast, he impudently intrudes himself on Lady Eleanor Butler and Miss Ponsonby, and quizzes them and their pretty cottage in a style which, all the circumstances considered, one might almost be tempted to call brutal. Those amiable spinsters are, however, no more--and we may pass on.

By a reference to page 27, we find that his highness slept "admirably," on the night of the 15th of August, at his inn in Wales, where he describes himself sitting at the window, looking at the sea, and the ships thereon. "On the landward"--whatever that means--he says, "rises a castle of black marble, surrounded by ancient oaks." And in this retirement he finds, "very unexpectedly,"--we should think so,--a "thin" friend of his, with "magnificent calves, elegantly dressed;" a gentleman who is "so good-natured and yet so sarcastic, so English and yet so German," etc., etc.; and this so delightful personage tells him a story, which, in order to fill up a certain number of pages, his highness is good enough to repeat, though it contains nothing worthy of notice, except an ill-natured slap at the poor Duke of St. Albans, who treated him with every mark of civility when he was in England.

His highness is tempted to visit the marble castle which he has seen from his window, and is "remarkably well received there."

"The bells of the various rooms," says his highness, "are
suspended in a row on the wall, numbered, so that it is
immediately seen in what room any one has rung; the sort of
pendulum which is attached to each wire continues to vibrate for
ten minutes after the sound has ceased, to remind the sluggish of
their duty."

"The females of the establishment," continues his highness, "have
also a large common room, in which, when they have nothing else
to do, they sew, knit, and spin; close to this is a closet for
washing the glass and china, which comes within their province.
Each of them, as well as of the man-servants, has her separate
bed-chamber in the highest story. Only the housekeeper and the
butler have distinct apartments below. Immediately adjoining
that of the housekeeper, is a room where coffee is made, and
the store-room, containing everything requisite for breakfast,
which important meal, in England, belongs specially to her
department.... Near the butler's room is his pantry, a spacious
fire-proof room with closets on every side for the reception of
the plate, which he cleans here, and the glass and china used at
dinner, which must be delivered back into his custody as soon as
it is washed by the women. All these arrangements are executed
with the greatest punctuality. A locked staircase leads from the
pantry into the beer and wine cellar, which is likewise under the
butler's jurisdiction."

Of the cordiality of his highness's reception at the marble castle we have no doubt; but he leaves us in the dark as to whether he had been the guest of the housekeeper or the butler, though we confess we rather incline to the former, not only because, according to his guarantee, the author of the "Sorrows of Werter," he attracted women and was attracted by them, because he refers, with something of a regretful feeling, to the "locked staircase" of the wine-cellar: had the butler been at home, there is every reason to hope that his highness would not have found it closed against him, but, like another Archer, would have been kindly welcomed by the Cambrian Scrub.

His highness next visits a slate-quarry, over which he tells us it "took him a considerable time to take even a hasty glance." He then gives us the average of casualties which happen annually, and breaks off into a profane medley of nonsense, impiously entitled "Reflections of a Pious Soul," upon which we decline commenting, lest we should be compelled to extract even the smallest portion of it.

In his highness's account of Carnarvon Castle we are favoured with an historical fact so interesting and so new withal, that we must extract it bodily, from page 77; which page is moreover ostentatiously headed, "Origin of the Prince of Wales's Motto."

"On descending, my guide showed me the remains of a vaulted
chamber, in which, according to tradition, Edward II., the first
Prince of Wales, was born. The Welsh, in consequence of the
oppressions of English governors in the earlier times of partial
and momentary conquest, had declared to the king that they would
obey none but a prince of their own nation. Edward therefore
sent for his wife Eleanor in the depth of winter, that she might
lie-in in Caernarvon Castle. She bore a prince; upon which the
king summoned the nobles and chiefs of the land, and asked them
solemnly whether they would submit to the rule of a prince who
was born in Wales, and could not speak a word of English. On
their giving a joyful and surprised assent, he presented to them
his newborn son, exclaiming in broken Welsh, _Eich dyn!_ _i.e._,
'This is your man!' which has been corrupted into the present
motto of the English arms, _Ich Dien_."

It seems hardly worth while detailing the true history of this motto, since every child knows it--yet to prove, on the spot, the deplorable ignorance of this pretender, every child does know that the distinguishing device of the Prince of Wales (having nothing to do with the English arms), viz., the plume of three ostrich feathers, with the motto Ich Dien, which, in Prince Puckler's own mother-tongue, signifies 'I serve,' was assumed by Edward the Second's grandson, the Black Prince, in memory of the death of John, king of Bohemia, the lawful owner of the said device, in the battle of Cressy. One might have expected a little heraldry at least from the Château of Thonderdentronck.

Ten pages of stupid blasphemy bring us to page 88, where the baser propensities of his mind give place to its overweening passion--personal vanity. The hero of "moral manifestations" thus confides to his dear princess the conquest he has made of a bar-maid at Bangor:--

"I had read thus far when the little Eliza appeared with my
breakfast, and with an arch good-nature bid me good morning
'after my long sleep.' She had just been to church, had all
the consciousness of being well dressed, and was waiting upon
a foreigner; three things which greatly incline women to be
tender-hearted. She accordingly seemed almost embarrassed when
I inquired about my departure early the following morning....
After dinner I went, under her guidance, to visit the walks round
the town. One of these is most romantically placed on a large
rock. We saw from hence Snowdon, in almost transparent clearness,
undimmed by a single cloud.... After this pastoral walk, tender
mutton closed the day."

Who is not inclined to exclaim with the Welsh, according to his highness's version, "Eich dyn!" This is your man!

Skipping some more blasphemies, we find ourselves at Kennell Park, the seat of Colonel Hughes.

"Towards evening," says his highness, "I arrived at the house of
my worthy colonel--a true Englishman in the best sense of the
word" (from being a Welshman, we presume). "He and his amiable
family received me in the friendliest manner. Country gentlemen
of his class, who are in easy circumstances, (with us they would
be thought rich,) and fill a respectable station in society; who
are not eager and anxious pursuers of fashion in London, but
seek to win the affection of their neighbours and tenants; whose
hospitality is not mere ostentation; whose manners are neither
'exclusive' nor outlandish, but who find their dignity in a
domestic life polished by education and adorned by affluence,
and in the observance of the strictest integrity; such form the
most truly respectable class of Englishmen. In the great world
of London, indeed, they play an obscure part; but on the wide
stage of humanity, one of the most noble and elevated that can
be allotted to man. Unfortunately, however, the predominance and
the arrogance of the English aristocracy is so great, and that
of fashion yet so much more absolute and tyrannous, that such
families, if my tribute of praise and admiration were ever to
fall under their eye, would probably feel less flattered by it,
than they would be if I enumerated them among the leaders of
_ton_."--Pp. 137, 138.

Little did his highness think that a few short months only would elapse before the brow of his "worthy colonel, filling a respectable station in society," would be encircled with a baronial coronet; little did he imagine that his "country gentleman," who "played an obscure part" in London, was so soon to be converted into one of the "leaders of _ton_," from amongst whom he had so flatteringly excluded him; little did he think that his hospitable friend was destined so soon to adorn the British peerage as Lord Dinorben.

On the 5th of August he walked, while all the rest of the family were yet in bed, "with the charming little Fanny, the youngest daughter of the house, who is not yet out."--"She took me," says his highness, "round the park and garden, and showed me her dairy and aviary." His highness then describes the dairy, which, we presume, from a laudable desire of the "worthy colonel" to bring the article into fashion, is surrounded with lumps of copper, forming "a gorgeous bed for rare and curious plants." His highness enumerates the comforts of the colonel's cocks and hens, and the ducks and the pigeons--he feels at the sight thereof a fit of "pastoral sensibility" come over him, and "turns homewards to get rid of his fit of romance before breakfast:"--"Miss Fanny," he adds, "exclaimed, with true English pathos,

'We do but row,
And we are steered by fate.'"

"Yes, indeed, thought I," says the prince, "the little philosopher is right--things always turn out differently from what one intends, even in such small events as these." What "the little philosopher" meant by her pathetic exclamation, we cannot, of course, divine; nor what his highness alludes to as an event; but the story, as his highness has here printed and published it, may serve as a caution to Lord Dinorben how he suffers the familiar visits of princes, and subjects himself to the jokes of such illustrious personages as feel themselves privileged, in return for the honour they confer upon him by their presence, to laugh at his "want of _ton_," and ridicule the kindnesses which "people of his class" are so apt to bestow.

After dinner the prince tells us that he mounted the colonel's horse--"unwearied as a machine of steel,"--(copper would have been as fair a simile):--he gallops over the stones, up hill and down,--

"leaps with undisturbed composure over the gates which
continually intercept my way across the fields and tires me long
before he feels the least fatigue himself. This, to me, is the
true pleasure of riding--[a friend's horse]--I love to traverse
mile after mile of country which I had never seen before, where I
know not whither I am going, and must find out my way back as I
can."

But will it be believed, notwithstanding the comfort, the good cheer, the aviary, the dairy, the untireable horse, etc., etc.,--the prince, although he had promised to stay with the "worthy colonel" for some weeks, gets amazingly bored, and "therefore took leave;" and had been, as he intimates, so _genêd_ by Kennell Park, that, proceeding from it to the house of "another gentleman who had invited him," he makes his visit "of some hours instead of days."

This grateful recipient of Cambrian hospitality is presently discovered at the seat of Mr. Owen Williams, where he is obliged to amuse himself "after dinner with reading the newspaper." This slur upon the gaiety and conviviality of Mr. Williams's table must be as groundless as is an assertion which he also hazards, that there was nothing for dinner but fish--and that after dinner oysters formed the dessert. But whether it be true that his highness felt dull and was driven to the newspaper, or not, glad we are that he has said he was; for he favours us with an extract from the journal, whatever it might have been, which affords a new and convincing proof of the universal correctness of his highness's information and remarks:--

"In this vast desert [the newspaper] I met with only one thing
which I think worth quoting to you. The article treated of the
speech from the throne, in which were the words 'The Speaker
is commanded to congratulate the people on their universal
prosperity.' 'This,' says the writer, 'is too insolent; openly
to make a jest of the miseries of the people.' It is indeed a
settled point, that truth is never to be expected in a speech
from the throne; and if ever a king were mad enough to wish to
speak the real truth on such an occasion, he must begin his
speech, 'My knaves and dupes,' instead of the wonted exordium,
'My lords and gentlemen.'"

That no such words appeared in any king's speech as those which his highness is pleased to comment upon, we need not take the trouble to say; but it is rather strange, since we have already recorded his highness's view of the real causes of popular distress in this country, that he should so entirely coincide in the vindictiveness of the supposed newspaper upon the fictitious expression.

We next find the prince visiting Colonel Hughes's copper-mines; and, while he is standing by the furnace, he receives an invitation from the colonel's brother, the major-commandant of the loyal Chester local militia, to dine with him. His highness not only declines the invitation, which he was quite at liberty to do, but sneers at the hospitality which was offered him; and forthwith starts from Lord Dinorben's copper pots for Holyhead, to embark for Dublin; where, after a dose of sea-sickness, he arrives in good preservation. He says--"As I knew not what else to do--(for all the notables who inhabit the town are in the country)--I visited a number of show-places; and among the first was the theatre,--a very pretty house, with a somewhat less rough and obstreperous audience than in London!" _Eich dyn!_

The descriptions which the "attracting and attracted" prince gives to "Julia" of his little adventures during his rides upon the horses of his friends are edifying. In Wales he discovers a sylph weeding in a field, half naked, but "shy as a roe, and chaste as a vestal." In Ireland he meets with another interesting female, whose personal and mental qualities he thus details to his "beloved soul:"--

"The scene was yet further animated by a sweet-looking young
woman, whom I discovered in this wild solitude, busied in the
humble employment of straw-plaiting. The natural grace of the
Irish peasant-women, who are often truly beautiful, is as
surprising as their dress, or rather the want of dress; for
though it was very cold on these hills, the whole clothing of
the young woman before me consisted of a large very coarse straw
hat, and literally two or three rags of the coarsest sackcloth,
suspended under the breast by a piece of cord, and more than
half disclosing her handsome person. Her conversation was
cheerful, sportive, and witty; perfectly unembarrassed, and, in
a certain sense, free; but you would fall into a great error if
you inferred from that any levity or looseness of conduct. The
women of this class in Ireland are, almost universally, extremely
chaste, and still more disinterested."

Truly, indeed, does the illustrious Goethe say, that this prince knew how to put himself on a level with the highest and lowest. We are, however, compelled to quit this rustic, half-clad Venus for brighter scenes and more intellectual pleasures. On his return from his ride, his highness proceeds to call on Lady Morgan, who receives him with much grace and urbanity.

"I was very eager (says the distinguished stranger) to make the
acquaintance of a woman whom I rate so highly as an authoress. I
found her, however, very different from what I had pictured her
to myself. She is a little, frivolous, lively woman, apparently
between thirty and forty, neither pretty nor ugly, but by no
means disposed to resign all claim to the former, and with
really fine and expressive eyes. She has no idea of '_mauvaise
honte_' or embarrassment; her manners are not the most refined,
and affect the 'aisance' and levity of the fashionable world,
which, however, do not sit calmly or naturally upon her. She has
the English weakness, that of talking incessantly of fashionable
acquaintances, and trying to pass for very '_recherchée_,' to a
degree quite unworthy of a woman of such distinguished talents;
she is not at all aware how she thus underrates herself.

"She is not difficult to know, for, with more vivacity than good
taste, she instantly professes perfect openness, and especially
sets forth on every occasion her liberalism and her infidelity;
the latter of the somewhat obsolete school of Helvetius and
Condillac. In her writings she is far more guarded and dignified
than in her conversation. The satire of the latter is, however,
not less biting and dexterous than that of her pen, and just as
little remarkable for a conscientious regard to truth."

Now is this fair?--is this gallant?--is it princely?--is it gentlemanlike?--hunted, followed, worshipped, and besought as his highness was by Lady Morgan; dogged, baited, ferreted out, and _fêted_ as he had been, was it to be expected that he would denounce his kind hostess as frivolous, affected, a liberal and an infidel,--(and _he_ too, of all men in the world)--with more vivacity than taste, and no regard for truth!--and, worst of all, "neither pretty nor ugly!"

He does, indeed, slily drop one lump of sugar into his bowl of gall, and thinking he knows her ladyship's mind to a nicety, no doubt believes that the one sweet drop will "property the whole." "She is apparently between thirty and forty." Miss Owenson, however, was an established authoress six-and-twenty years ago; and if any lady, player's daughter or not, knew what she knew when she wrote and published her first novels, at eight or nine years' of age, (which Miss Owenson must have been at _that_ time, according to the prince's calculation,) she was undoubtedly such a juvenile prodigy as would be quite worthy to make a "case" for the _Gentleman's Magazine_, and as fit to fill a show-waggon at Bartholomew Fair, as her ladyship's namesake who was born with double joints, and could lift a sack of corn with her teeth when she was only six years old.

His highness now determines to explore County Wicklow, and starts for Bray,--"a town twenty miles from Dublin!"--having "left his carriage and people in town."--Of this carriage and people we are often told much, and they seem to give him no more trouble or inconvenience in the management of them than his hat or his gloves,--when he wants them he has them,--when he does not, they vanish into thin air. What did he do with his "carriage and people" while he was flirting with the barmaid at Bangor? When did they cross the water to Ireland? for we have seen he came quite alone through Wales; and we shall see presently that he made all his excursions in Ireland in noddies, jingles, jaunting cars, and went back quite alone through England upon the tops of coaches. But, not to dwell on such trifles--for we suppose one might, without much injury, say, both of "principality" and of "people," _de minimis non curat Prætor_--let us attend his highness (or, to give him the exact title which the Germans bestow on princes of this calibre, "his thorough-illustriousness,") to his supper-table at Bray.

"I supped with a young parson of good family, who made me laugh
heartily at his orthodoxy in matters of religion, interspersed
with talk, which was by no means remarkable for severe decorum
of virtue. But such is the piety of Englishmen (_qu. ?_)--it is
to them at once a party matter and an affair of good manners;
and as in politics they follow their party implicitly, through
thick and thin, reasonable and unreasonable, because it is
their party;--as they submit to a custom for ever because it
is a custom; so they regard their religion, (without the least
tincture of poetry,) in exactly the same point of view: they go
to church on Sundays, just as regularly as they dress every day
for dinner; and regard a man who neglects church, just in the
same light as one who eats fish with a knife."

We may afford to despise this infidel's sneer at English piety. As for his ideas of English manners, the secret of his "thorough-lustre" on that head now begins to peep out. He had evidently been studying the poor puppyisms of what has been well enough called "the silver-fork school of novelists." In the genuine spirit of the doctors of this precious "sapientia," he says,--

"The common people in England put the knife as well as the fork
to their mouths. The higher classes, on the contrary, regard this
as the true sin against the Holy Ghost, and cross themselves
internally when they see a foreign ambassador now and then eat
so;--it is an affront to the whole nation."

This specimen of his highness's "decorum" is sufficient. With reference to his highness's horsemanship, we leave the following exploit of the succeeding morning to the consideration of the reader:--

"About a mile and a half farther on, the path suddenly ends in a
ha-ha, over which my horse utterly refused to leap. As the wall
was on my side, and the turf below very soft, I hit upon a new
expedient; I tied my handkerchief over the eyes of the refractory
beast, and pushed him down backwards over the wall. He was very
little frightened, and not at all hurt by the fall, as I had
expected, and grazed peaceably blindfold till I rejoined him.
This manœuvre saved me at least five miles." (No doubt German
miles.)

We presume this experiment was performed upon a friend's horse. In the execution, however, of his "new expedient," he had, it appears, dropped his purse: and we give the account of its restoration to its owner in his highness's own words, in order to show the opinion his highness entertains of the numerous fools who were civil enough to make "feasts for him" while he was in this country.

"Scarcely had I rested myself at table (at Avoca), when I was
told that some one wished to speak to me. A young man, whom I
had never seen, was shown in, and presented to me a pocket-book,
which, to my no small astonishment, I recognized as my own;
containing, besides other important papers which I always
carry about me, all the money I had taken for my journey. I
had, Lord knows how, dropped it out of my breast-pocket; and
had, therefore, no small reason to congratulate myself on so
honourable and obliging a finder. In England I should hardly
have had the good fortune to see my pocket-book again, even if a
'gentleman' had found it; he would probably have let it lie in
peace,--or kept it."

Whatever we might have been likely to do by his pocket-book, we may, on this particular occasion, allow his highness's tour-book to "_lie_ in peace."--He proceeds to exhibit his intimate knowledge of the "insular life:"--

"A really poor man, who is not in a situation to contract debts,
can on no terms be a 'gentleman.' On the contrary, a rich scamp,
who has had what is called a good education, so long as he
preserves his 'character' (reputation) dexterously, passes for a
'perfect gentleman.' In the exclusive society of London there are
yet finer 'nuances.' A man, for instance, who were to manifest
any timidity or courtesy towards women, instead of treating them
in a familiar and 'nonchalant' manner, would awaken the suspicion
that he was 'no gentleman;' but should the luckless man ask twice
for soup at dinner, or appear in evening dress at a breakfast
which begins at three in the afternoon and ends at midnight, he
may be a prince and a 'millionaire,' but he is 'no gentleman.'"

Had his highness named none of his English (and Welsh) associates, one might have found a charitable apology for the above: as it is, we are bound to express our cordial agreement with one of his observations--viz., that a man "may be a prince" without being a gentleman. His highness now threads the Dargle; a coarse attack, full of blasphemous allusions, upon Lord Powerscourt, follows; and we then are carried to Donnybrook fair. A description of the bestialities of that festival is given, which concludes with an account of a flirtation, to call it by the gentlest name, between a pair of lovers "excessively drunk,"--the whole of which is introduced merely to usher in this remark:--"My reverence for truth compels me to add, that not the slightest trace of English brutality was to be perceived." We hope the Lady Janes and Lady Marys, who waltzed and gallopaded with this "thoroughly illustrious" prince--their fathers, whose wines he drank--and their brothers, whose horses he rode,--will not forget this passage, in case his "noble and prepossessing aspect" should again chance to enlighten our "insular gloom."

Once more safe in his quarters at Dublin, our Prince lays down as an axiom that "nobody eats soup in England." "This," says his highness, "is the reason, by-the-bye, for which my old Saxon left me; he declared that he could not exist any longer in a state of barbarism--without soup." Now, that his highness's "Saxon" should have quitted "his ground" on this score seems odd,--inasmuch as his highness himself has just before told us, that "the luckless man who asked for soup twice at dinner" could be "no gentleman;" in other words, that such is an usual mark of what our superfine novelists call "vulgarity!" For the rest, his highness appears to have lived much more in coffee-houses than anywhere else; and, as everybody knows, whole seas of soup--black, grey, red, and green--are daily and hourly bubbling and smoking in all such quarters. Of one of these same coffee-houses, after denying the existence of soup, and explaining that the Irish boil their potatoes "in water," his highness thus continues his description:--

"But now follows the second stage:--the table-cloth is removed;
clean plate, and knife and fork laid, wine and wine-glass,
and a few miserable apples or pears, with stony ship biscuits
are brought: and now the dinner seems to begin to enjoy
tranquillity and comfort. His countenance assumes an expression
of satisfaction; apparently sunk in profound meditation, leaning
back in his chair, and looking fixedly straight before him, he
suffers a sip of wine to glide down his throat from time to time,
only breaking the death-like silence by now and then laboriously
craunching his rocky biscuits.

"When the wine is finished, follows stage the third--that of
digestion. All motion now ceases; his appetite being satiated, he
falls into a sort of magnetic sleep, only distinguishable from
the natural by the open eyes. After this has lasted for half an
hour or an hour, all at once it ceases; he cries out, as if under
the influence of some sudden possession, 'Waiter, my slippers;'
and seizing a candle, walks off gravely to his chamber to meet
his slippers and repose."

It appears to us very odd that the gallant prince should have, in this luculent sketch of "insular life," suppressed all mention of his "attracted" friends the chambermaids. He proceeds,--

"Englishmen who do not belong to the aristocracy, and are not
very rich, usually travel without a servant by the mail or
stage-coach, which deposits them at the inn. The man who waits
on strangers to the coach, cleans their boots, etc., has the
universal appellation of 'Boots.' It is, accordingly, 'Boots'
who brings your slippers, helps you to pull off your boots, and
then departs, first asking at what time you will have, not, as
in Germany, your coffee, but your hot water to shave. He appears
with it punctually at the appointed hour, and brings your clothes
cleanly brushed. The traveller then hastens to dress himself and
to return to his beloved coffee-room, where the ingredients of
breakfast are richly spread upon his table. To this meal he seems
to bring more animation than to any other, and indeed I think
more appetite; for the number of cups of tea, the masses of bread
and butter, eggs and cold meat, which he devours, awaken silent
envy in the breast, or rather in the stomach, of the less capable
foreigner. He is now not only permitted, but enjoined (by custom
his gospel) to read. At every cup of tea he unfolds a newspaper
of the size of a table-cloth. Not a single speech, crim. con.,
murder, or other catastrophe, invented by the 'accident maker' in
London, escapes him.

"Like one who would rather die of a surfeit than leave anything
uneaten which he had paid for, the systematic Englishman thinks
that, having called for a newspaper, he ought not to leave a
letter of it unread. By this means his breakfast lasts several
hours, and the sixth or seventh cup is drunk cold. I have seen
this glorious meal protracted so long that it blended with
dinner; and you will hardly believe me when I assure you, that a
light supper followed at midnight without the company quitting
the table."--Pp. 209-212.

The correctness of this picture is striking; but we do not exactly trace the sequence of thought within his highness's illustrious breast which conducts him from this analysis of coffee-house breakfasts, through a few more uncalled-for insinuations of contempt for the individuals at whose houses he had been visiting, to the grand reflection with which it pleases him to close, p. 234, viz., "Nevertheless, the English nobleman, even the least of the lords, in the bottom of his heart, thinks himself a better man than the king of France." This, written A.D. 1828, appears to be gratuitous malice; though, as to being a better man than the king of France, if there be truth in Hennequin, we certainly hope there is hardly an Englishman, whether great lord or little gentleman, amongst us--liable as we are to the charge of stealing pocket-books from living princes,--who would, in January, 1832, be ambitious to change characters with the actual occupant of the Tuileries.

At page 218, this exemplary advocate of Popish emancipation in Ireland, lets slip the following simple and natural observations:--

"I returned to Dublin just at the moment of a meeting of the
'Catholic Association,' and alighted at the door of their house:
unfortunately, however, neither Shiel nor O'Connell was present,
so that there was no great attraction. Heat and bad smells ('car
l'humanité Catholique pûe autant qu'une autre') drove me out in a
few minutes.

"In the evening I was better amused by the performances of some
other charlatans--a company of English horse-riders who are here."

This is complimentary, and quite consistent with what will be found in the sequel.

The prince now starts for the south of Ireland--visiting and ridiculing a variety of families on his route. On one particular household he is especially jocose, and instances, in illustration of the state of their domestic information, a "long and patient" search which was made "in a map of Europe, for the United States!" (p. 221.) He adds,--

"The occasion of the search was, that the old gentleman wanted to
show me Halifax and B---- town, which latter takes its name from
him."

For one moment we must beg leave to stop his highness; no Englishman, or Irishman, ever talks of the United States; we always speak of America; and as, unfortunately for his highness, America is the distinctive appellation of one quarter of the globe, no Englishman, or even Irishman, would ever expect to find America in a map of Europe. If, indeed, it had been a question about Puckler-Muskau, or any such place, if place it be, we should, in common with all the rest of the world, the prince himself perhaps excepted, have hunted with the greatest alacrity to find it. But why was this old "country squire" so anxious to find the two American towns, which, by his anxiety, it is clear he thought his illustrious visitor knew nothing about? Why? Why, because he "laid the first stone of both during the American war, in which he commanded seven hundred men, and loves to recall those days of his youth and importance." In the preceding page he tells us that his host "is seventy-two years old, and hale and vigorous as a man of fifty." Now, mark:--Halifax, the capital of the province of Nova Scotia, was founded in May, 1749, being exactly seventy-nine years before the year 1828, in which his highness had the good fortune to meet with its "hale" founder, _anno ætatis_ seventy-two, in Ireland, he having, according to his highness's account and calculation, commanded seven hundred men, and laid the first stone of a city, exactly seven years and four months before he was born. Whether this "vigorous" personage waited for the accouchement of his respectable mother to begin operations at B----, we cannot determine--the initial (so delicate!) baffles us; but we ought to be contented with his early exertions in the public service at Halifax.

These innocent, or rather imbecile, blunders or fictions are followed by another blasphemous satire upon our Church service--coupled with the remark, that Ireland is "debased by the stupid intolerance of the English priesthood," and that, therefore, out of a party of twenty persons, nobody knew where Carlsbad or Prague was; they did not even know where Bohemia was; in short, "everything out of Great Britain and Paris was a country in the moon." All this is at Limerick,--where the sexton of one of the "Catholic churches" told him they had rung the bells as soon as they heard of his arrival, and begged ten shillings as a gratuity; though we strongly suspect, that in 1828, the "Catholic churches" had no bells; where his highness is offered the order of the Liberators, which he declines, and compounds for dining with the Agitators; and where also occurs that scene of his being mistaken for young Ney, which we took leave to transpose to the earlier part of our observations, in order to identify the author.

The great object, however, of his highness's Irish excursion was, as might have been anticipated, to visit Mr. O'Connell; and accordingly he gets a horse (a friend's, of course) to ride to Derrinane, by a route which man on horseback never went before. On the journey a "soft rain began to fall," and his delicate highness (who, be it remembered, always prefers, or, at least, adopts the fashion of "travelling outside") writes thus:--"As I am seldom in the way of enjoying such a bath in the open air, I waded with a great feeling of satisfaction and pleasure through the streams, throwing myself in some degree into the pleasurable state of mind of a duck. Nothing of that kind is, as you know, impossible to my mobile fancy." What are we to make of this? His "thorough-lustre," the Prince Puckler-Muskau--the "dignified," "prepossessing," all-accomplished, admired of Goethe, the frank and favoured correspondent of Julia, and the personal friend of Lady Morgan,--to be able to throw himself into the pleasurable state of mind of a duck! and then appealing to his "beloved soul" to bear public testimony that he is capable of such an exertion. But perhaps the translator is in fault, and "duck" is not the right word.

In his progress to Derrinane, a series of Munchausen adventures await his highness:--he contrives to keep his seat in the saddle six miles after having broken his saddle-girths--he subsequently saddles himself, and leads his horse, (his carriage and people not being there)--and at length, after fording bottomless torrents, ascending inaccessible hills, and avoiding various inevitable accidents, the least of which would have been mortal, he reaches "the Abbey," and, after much thumping and ringing, obtains admission. As many of our readers may never have had the honour of inspecting this distinguished _interieur_, we must let his highness speak:--

"The tower clock was striking eleven, and I was, I confess,
somewhat anxious as to my dinner, especially as I saw no living
being, except a man in a dressing-gown at an upper window. Soon,
however, I heard sounds in the house; a handsomely dressed
servant appeared, bearing silver candlesticks, and opened the
door of a room, in which I saw with astonishment a company of
from fifteen to twenty persons sitting at a long table, on which
were placed wine and dessert. A tall, handsome man, of cheerful
and agreeable aspect, rose to receive me, and apologized for
having given me up in consequence of the lateness of the hour,
regretted that I had made such a journey in such terrible
weather, presented me in a cursory manner to his family, who
formed the majority of the company, and then conducted me to my
bedroom. This was the great O'Connell!

"On the whole, he exceeded my expectations. His exterior is
attractive; and the expression of intelligent good-nature, united
with determination and prudence, which marks his countenance,
is extremely winning. He has, perhaps, more of persuasiveness
than of genuine, large, and lofty eloquence; and one frequently
perceives too much design and manner in his words. Nevertheless,
it is impossible not to follow his powerful arguments with
interest, to view the martial dignity of his carriage without
pleasure, or to refrain from laughing at his wit. It is very
certain that he looks much more like a general of Napoleon's
than a Dublin advocate. This resemblance is rendered much more
striking by the perfection with which he speaks French, having
been educated at the Jesuits' College at Doual and St. Omer.
His family is old, and was probably one of the great families
of the land. His friends, indeed, maintain that he springs from
the ancient kings of Kerry,--an opinion which no doubt adds
to the reverence with which he is regarded by the people. He
himself told me--and not without a certain pretension--that one
of his cousins was Comte O'Connell, and 'cordon rouge' in France;
and another a baron, general and chamberlain to the Emperor of
Austria; but that he was the head of the family. He is about
fifty years old, and in excellent preservation, though his youth
was rather wild and riotous....

"If he should succeed in obtaining emancipation, of which I
have no doubt, his career, so far from being closed, will, I
think, only then properly begin. The evils of Ireland, and of
the constitution of Great Britain generally, lie too deep to be
removed by emancipation. His understanding is sharp and quick,
and manners, as I have said, winning and popular; although
somewhat of the actor is perceivable in them, they do not conceal
his very high opinion of himself, and are occasionally tinged
by what an Englishman would call 'vulgarity.' Where is there a
picture entirely without a shade?

"Another interesting man, the real, though not ostensible, head
of the Catholics, was present, Father L'Estrange, a friar, and
O'Connell's confessor. He may be regarded as the real founder
of that Catholic Association so often derided in England, but
which by merely negative powers, by dexterous activity in secret,
and by universally organizing and training the people to one
determinate end, attained a power over them as boundless as
that of the hierarchy in the middle ages; with this difference,
that the former strove for light and liberty, the latter for
darkness and slavery. This is another outbreak of that second
great revolution, which solely by intellectual means, without any
admixture of physical force, is advancing to its accomplishment;
and whose simple but resistless weapons are public discussion
and the press. L'Estrange is a man of philosophical mind and
unalterable calmness. His manners are those of an accomplished
gentleman who has traversed Europe in various capacities, has a
thorough knowledge of mankind, and with all his mildness cannot
always conceal the sharp traces of great astuteness. I should
call him the ideal of a well-intentioned Jesuit. As O'Connell was
busy, I took an early walk with the friar to a desert island, to
which we crossed dry-footed over the smooth sand now left by the
ebb. Here stand the genuine ruins of Derrinane Abbey, to which
O'Connell's house is only an appendix. It is to be repaired by
the family, probably when some of their hopes are fulfilled....

"I wondered when I afterwards found both O'Connell and L'Estrange
entirely free from religious bigotry, and even remarked in them
very tolerant and philosophical views, though they persisted in
choosing to continue true Catholics. I wished I had been able to
conjure hither some of those furious imbeciles among the English
Protestants, who cry out at those Catholics as irrational and
bigoted; while they themselves alone, in the true sense of the
word, cling to the fanatical faith of their politico-religious
party, and are firmly predetermined to keep their long ears for
ever closed to reason and humanity."--Vol. i., pp. 334-338.

Tearing himself from "the Man of the People," Father L'Estrange, and the rest of "the court of Derrinane," our prince transports himself to Killarney; inspects Mucruss, rows about the lakes, repeats some of Mr. Crofton Croker's stories of the great O'Donoghue, and again falls into one of those _affaires du cœur_, his clever management of which has so moved the admiration of the venerable Goethe.

"The Irish naïveté of the innkeeper's daughter made such an
agreeable impression on me, that on my return to her father's inn
I scarcely talked to anybody else, and thus won her good graces.
She had never quitted her native mountains, and was as ignorant
of the world as it is possible to conceive. I asked her, in jest,
if she would go with me to Cork. 'Oh no,' said she, 'I should be
afraid to go so far with you. Do tell me now who you really are:
You are a Jew--_that_ I know already.' 'Why, are you mad?' said
I; 'what makes you think I must be a Jew?' 'Ah, you can't deny
it; haven't you a black beard all round your chin, and five or
six gold rings on your fingers?' My disclaimer was of no use. At
last, however, she said good-humouredly, that if I positively
would not allow that I was one, she wished at least that I might
'become as rich as a Jew,' (an English phrase.) I confirmed this
with a Christian 'Amen!'"

Barring the last bit of blasphemy, this is a laughable page. We only ask, whether any prince, who had not the mind of a duck, would record such an adventure as this? Another bar-maid--another pot-girl--and she to whom he exclusively devoted his attentions, to set him down for a Jew, and not to be convinced to the contrary! Where were his "people"--where the evidence to counteract this calumny? The mere nastiness of encouraging a tuft of unseemly hair under his chin could hardly have led the girl to this conclusion.