Buch lesen: «The Mirror of Literature, Amusement, and Instruction. Volume 17, No. 472, January 22, 1831», Seite 2
THE VICTORY OF THE CID
(For the Mirror.)
The subject of the following lines is mentioned in the traditional histories of Spain: that on one occasion, to insure victory in a nocturnal attack on the Moslem camp, the body of the Cid was taken from the tomb, and carried in complete armour to the field of battle.
Not a voice was heard at our hour of need,
When we plac'd the corse on his barbed steed,
Save one, that the blessing gave.
Not a light beam'd on the charnel porch
Save the glare which flash'd from the warrior's torch,
O'er the death-pale face of the brave.
We press'd the helm on his ghastly head,
We bound a sword to the hand of the dead,
When the Cid went forth to fight.
Oh where was Castile's battle cry,
The shout of St. James and victory,
And the Christians stalwart might?
The winds swept by with mournful blast,
And sigh'd through the plumes of the dead as he past,
Through troublous skies the clouds flitted fast,
And the moon her pale beam faintly cast,
Where the red cross banner stream'd,
But each breeze bore the shouts of the Moslem throng,
Each sigh was echoed by Paynim song;
Where the silvery crescent beam'd.
Undrawn was the rein, and his own good sword
Ungrasp'd by the nerveless hand of its lord;
His steed pac'd on with solemn tread,
'Neath the listless weight of the mighty deed.
But each warrior's heart beat high,
As he mark'd the beacon's wavering flash,
And heard the Moorish cymbal clash,
For he knew that the Cid was nigh.
We bore him back to his silent bed,
When his plumes with Paynim blood were red,
And the mass was sung, and the prayer was said
For the conqueror from the grave.
We wrapp'd him again in his funeral vest,
We placed his sword on the clay cold breast,
And o'er the place of the hero's rest,
Bade Castile's banner wave.
SPIRIT OF DISCOVERY
THE AEOLOPHON, A NEWLY-INVENTED INSTRUMENT
When Lord Stanhope first launched his model-boat on the Serpentine, no one expected to see the time when steam and paddles should suffice to carry "a tall ship" across the broad Atlantic. As little did we, when we were first amused by that very pretty musical toy, the German Eolina, anticipate, that within three years we should hear such an instrument as the one we are about to describe. In shape, size, and compass, the AEOLOPHON is the counterpart of a babinet piano-forte, having six octaves of keys extending from FF to F; and its sounds are produced by a series of metallic springs, set in vibration by the action of the air produced from a bellows. It has three pedals—one for filling the wind-chest, and the others regulating the swell. The tone of this instrument, particularly in the middle and lower parts of its compass, is among the most beautiful we have ever heard, and much superior, both in body and quality, to that of any chamber organ of equal size; added to which, the Aeolophon has the inestimable advantage of never varying its pitch, or getting out of tune.
From the nature of this instrument, it will be readily conceived that its best effects are displayed in slow movements, and the sustaining and swelling long notes; but, to our surprise as well as pleasure, we found that a running passage, even of semitones, could be executed upon it, if not with all the distinctness of a Drouet or a Nicholson, with as much clearness as on any organ. As an accompaniment to the piano-forte, it will be found an admirable substitute for the flute, clarinet, oboe, bassoon, or even violoncello; but perhaps its widest range of usefulness will be discovered in small orchestras, where the set of wind instruments is incomplete—the effects of any, or even all of which, may be supplied by one or two performers on the Aeolophon reading from the score, or even from separate parts.
It is now about a year since that a patent was obtained for the springs, and this peculiar mode of applying them, by Messrs. Day and Co.; immediately upon hearing the effect of which, Mr. Chappell, of Bond-street, entered into an engagement with the patentees for the agency of their patent, and the manufacture of instruments under it.
On the 27th of November last Mr. Chappell was honoured with a command to exhibit the powers of this new instrument before their Majesties, his Royal Highness the Duke of Sussex, and a small circle of nobility, at St. James's Palace; when it gave so much satisfaction, that some of the pieces played upon it were repeated by command, and the whole performance lasted from nine o'clock till past eleven, when the royal party retired.
(We quote the preceding from The Harmonicon, a Journal of Music and Musical Literature, of high promise. Its recommendation of The Aeolophon may be allowed to rest upon the character of the Journal for critical acumen.)
THE SKETCH-BOOK
COACH COMPANY
(For the Mirror.)
Returning (said my friend Mrs. S.) once upon a time, some fifty miles from a country visit, a few difficulties regarding my conveyance to town were at length decided by my taking a seat in the – Telegraph. A respectable-looking, middle-aged woman, in widow's mourning, was, I found, to be my companion for the whole way, whose urbanity and loquacity, combined, soon afforded me the important information that she was travelling over England, in order to take the advice of several of the faculty touching the case of "a poor cripple—a gentleman—a relation of hers." A gentleman! But scarcely had I taken another survey of the honest dame, in order to assure myself that she at least was not a member of the aristocracy of Great Britain, and thereby to instruct my judgment as to the actual rank of him whom she designated by so proud a title, when I was favoured with a long history of "the lady who lost her shawl, which I found—and she has visited me ever since." A lady!—and a lady, good, agreeable, and condescending, no doubt; but—the query occurred to my mind involuntarily—what kind of lady must she be who would "come oft'n to take a cup o' tea, or a sup o' sommat better, wi' me, in my poor little place?"
I confess, this voluntary information, not less than the tone and language in which it was delivered, prejudiced me so little in favour of my companion, that I took up pencil and paper, and was shortly wrapped in the most agreeable reverie. Briefly, I was in the exquisite Land of Faerie: I beheld the beautiful little people; their tiny feet twinkled in the dance; their small arms waved lightly and gently; and their perfect forms were miniature models of all loveliness and grace;—the rosy blush of affection tinted the delicate cheeks of the fair; their eyes gleamed, like the minute gems which cluster around the ice-plant;—and lo! a pair, as far different from these as is darkness from light, now peered into my face, and a voice, very unlike the blissful tones of the gay music of Faëry Land, exclaimed,
"Um 'fear'd you ar'n't well, mum, hey?"
"Thank you, I am perfectly well."
"Are you indeed? why you set up your eyes, and looked as pale and peekin like, as if you'd seen a sperrit."
"Did I? perhaps I was thinking; and naturally I am very pale."
"Oh well—um glad 'tis no wuss; but setting there as you do, with your back to the osses, 'tis the most foolishest thing in the wuld, for a sickly-like-looking cretur, as I may say yourself, to think on—du come o' this side."
I declined the good woman's proposition, alleging that riding backwards I always found the best preventive of illness from the motion of the vehicle.
"Now really," I exclaimed she, almost aghast with astonishment, "that is curous! But um fear'd you're faint, though you won't tell me so. Here," handing to me a large basket, well stored, I perceived, with provender, "take a happle, or a bun, or a sandwage, or a bit o' gingerbread—and a fine thing too it is for the stomach—or a pear, or a puff, or a chiscake;—I always take a cup of chocolate, and a slice of rich plum-cake, every morning after breakfast: 'tis peticklar wholesome, a gentleman of my acquaintance says; and this I know, I should be dead in no time if I didn't—so du take something."
I could not be so ill-natured as to reject all the offers made me by this benevolent, but uncouth gentlewoman, so accepted a sandwich, and thereby giving her, as it were, a signal to commence operations. To work she applied herself upon the contents of her wicker store-room, with such hearty good-will, that I imagined myself secured from her volubility for at least one hour. Alas! alas! her tongue and her teeth were, I verily believe, running a race; and when the good dame discovered that to her queries and remarks I deigned not a reply, she "just was so glad there was somebody in the coach to talk to, for 'twas the most moanfullest thing in the wuld to go journeying on and on, for long, long miles, without ever 'earing a body speak." I would not appear to understand my persevering friend's insinuation, and was quickly lost in the charming description of wild, woodland scenery, afforded by one of Sir Walter's novels: here a slight bridge hung, as in air, between gigantic rocks, and over a foaming cataract; there, a light column of bluish, curling smoke told of the shepherd's shieling, situated, bosomed in trees, amid some solitary pass of the mountains; here, the dark, melancholy pine reared its mournful head, companioned by the sable fir, the larch, the service-tree, and the wild cherry; there, the silvery willow laved its drooping branches in the stormy flood; whilst, with the white foam of the joyous exulting waters, all trees of beauty, majesty, and grace, rising from a richly-verdant turfing, formed a delightful contrast. I heard the cry of the soaring eaglet, as he rose from his eyry in the rock; wild, but pleasant music was in the cool, strong wind, which flowed now roughly around, and lashed me, like the sweeping sea-wave.
"Hey? Um 'fear'd you're a trifle ard of 'earing, arn't you? Why then put a roasted ingin when you go to bed into your earn, and I'll warrant 'twill cure you if you do 't reglar."
"O dear, no ma'am," I replied; "indeed I'm not deaf," with a peculiar emphasis on this last word.
"No? Well, I do declare then, I've been haxing you to admire this fine country for this ten minutes;—only look! 'tis a vast deal more bootiful than the road I travelled t'other day!"
So, to please the honest woman, I looked at her "fine country," and beheld on my side the road (for we were sitting at cross corners) a stunted hedge-row, inclosing a field or two of stubble; and on hers, a sear, dismal heath, whereupon were marshalled, in irregular array, a few miserable, brown furze bushes; amongst which, a meagre, shaggy ass, more miserable still, with his hind legs logged and chained, was endeavouring to pick up a scanty subsistence. What the road of the other day could have been, it surpassed even my capacity, with this specimen of "the bootiful" before me, to surmise; but my companion was evidently one of those enviable individuals, whose ignorance is indeed their happiness, or whose imagination supplies the deficiencies of bare reality.
Shortly afterwards we took up another passenger—a "lady" also—whose figure was youthful, and whose face, perhaps, was not otherwise; but as she was weeping bitterly, her features were concealed by a white cambric mouchoir from my curious gaze. Poor creature! Had she parted from a lover?—a parent?—a child? Was she a reduced lady, quitting, for the first time and the last, her paternal home, to seek, by the exertion of her talents, or the labour of her hands, a precarious subsistence in the cold, wide world? Had she hurried from the bed of death? or, did she merely indulge in the soft sentimental sorrow, induced by Colburn's, or Longman's, or Newman's last novel? Alas! the fair mourner informed us not. I felt delicate on the point of intruding upon private sorrows, and so, I presume, did my loquacious friend for she was actually silent;—albeit, I perceived that the good woman was embarrassed as to the line of conduct she ought to adopt towards the afflicted stranger. To make acquaintance with, and comfort her, was the prompting of her benevolent heart; so she put a blue glass bottle of smelling-salts into the mournful lady's hand, which was immediately returned with a dignified, repellant bow. The basket of provisions was next offered; but this the weeping fair one, it was clear, did not see; and my honest widow, not a little disconcerted, made yet another attempt to console one who evidently "would not be comforted," by a full, particular, and authentic relation of certain woful passages in her own monotonous life. All, however, would not do—Niobe still wept; and the widow and I felt ourselves in a very awkward, uncomfortable situation.
After awhile, however, we took up another passenger—a "lady" again—and, Heaven bless the woman! one even more voluble than my first companion, and decidedly more candid, since she had not been seated five minutes in the vehicle, ere she unblushingly announced herself—a baker's wife! Good Heavens! and in these march-of-intellect and refinement days, too! Well might Niobe wake with a start from her trance of woe, and, glancing sovereign contempt upon the new, unconscious passenger, discover to me a countenance as plain, withered, and fraught with the impress of evil passions, as that of the Lady in the Sacque, in Sir Walter's tale of the Tapestried Chamber. I never beheld so fretful and malignant-looking a being!—and the contrast which her visage afforded to that of my kind-hearted widow, which beamed with satisfaction and good-humour, was quite remarkable. This "lady," indeed, now appeared to have regained her native element, and not to be out-done in frankness by Mistress Baker, first avowed herself the widow of a chandler, but lately retired from business; and subsequently I gathered from her discourse that the gentleman her relation was, until his infirmity deprived him of the situation—groom, in a REAL gentleman's family (the distinction I particularly admired); and that the lady, her condescending friend, was a grocer's daughter! Niobe, at this precise point of the conversation, bestowed a ghastly grin upon the new allies, and producing from her reticule a well-soiled and much be-thumbed volume (whether of plays, or a novel, I could not discern), commenced perusing it with an avidity apparently unchecked by its disgusting odour, the which powerfully assailed me. I, too, was allowed by my loquacious widow, now that she had fallen in with a bird of her own feather, to read in peace for the space of some three or four miles; but at length my attention was aroused from my book by the loud voice of Mrs. Baker, who was promulgating to Dame Chandler the mysterious manner in which she fattened her dogs, by giving them, twice or thrice a day, a quartern loaf, crumbed, and sopped in melted fat, or dripping, which saved meat, since the animals liked that food far better. But at this instant the Telegraph stopped; and the coachman demanding his fare, since she had reached the place at which she had desired to be set down, a violent altercation ensued between them respecting sixpence; and finally the lady just stepped out of the vehicle in time to save herself from the indignity of being pulled from it by its infuriated driver.
